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TEMPEST. 



PERSONS BEPRESENTED. 



Alonso, King of Naples. 

Sebastian, his brother. 

Prosp ro, the rightful Duke o/ Milan. 

Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke 

of Milan. 
Ferdinand, son to tlie King o/ Naples. 
GoszALO, an honest old counsellor of 

Naples. 



Adrian, a lord. 

Francisco, a lord. 

Caliban, a savage and deformed slave. 

Trinculo, a jester. 

Stephano, a di-unken butler. 

Master of a ship, Boatswain, and Mar- 
iners. 



Miranda, daughter to Prospero. 



Ariel, an airy spirit. 



Iris, 
Ceres, 
, Juno, 



spirits. 



Reapers, J "J"*^"*. 

Other spirits attending on Prospero. 



Scene. — The sea, with a ship: after- 
wards an Island. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— On a ship at sea. A Storm, with Thunder 

and Lightning. 

Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain. 

Master. Boatswain,— 

Boats. Here, master: What cheer? 

Master. Good: Speak to the mariners: fall to't 
yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. 

lExit. 
Enter Mariners. 

Boats. Heigh, my hearts; cheerly, cheerly, my 
hearts; yare, yare: Take in the topsail: Tend to the 
master's whistle.— Blow till thou burst thy wind, if 
room enough ! 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, 
Gonzalo, and others. 

Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the 
master? Play the men. 

Boats. I pray now, keep below. 

Ant. Where is the master, boson? 

Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: 
Keep your cabins: You do assist the storm. 

Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 

Boats, when the sea is. Hence ! What care these 
roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence; 
trouble us not. 

Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. 

Boats. None that I more love than myself, ^ou 
are a counsellor; if you can command these ele- 
ments to silence, and work the peace of the present, 
we will not hand a rope more; use your authority. 
If you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, 
and make yourself ready in j'our cabin for the 
mischance of the hour, if it so iiap.— Cheerly, good 
hearts.— Out of our way, I say. {Exit. 

Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: me- 
thinks he hath ho drowning mark upon him; his com- 
plexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, to 
his hanging ! make the rope of his destiny our cable, 
for our own doth little advantage ! If he be not born 
to be hanged our case Is miserable. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Boatswain. 

Boats. Down with the topmast; yare; lower, lower; 

bring her to try with main-course. [A cry within.'] 

A plague upon this howling I they are louder than 

the weather, or our office. 

Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
Yet again? what do you here? Shall we give o'er 
and drown? Have you a mind to sink? 

Seb. A pox o' your throat ! you bawling, blasphem- 
ous, incharitable dog ! 

Boats. Work you, then. 

Ant. Hang.cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent noise- 
maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. 

Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the 
ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky 
as an unstanched wench. 

Boats. Lay her ahold, a-hold: set her two courses; 
off to sea again; lay her off. 

Enter Mariners, wet. 

Mar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! 

[Exeunt. 

Boats. What, must our mouths be cold? [them. 

Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist 
For our case is as theirs. 

Seb. I am out of patience. 

Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunk- 
ards.— 
This wide-chopped rascal;— 'Would, thou mightst lie 
The washing of ten tides ! [drowning, 

Gon. He'll be hanged yet; 

Though every drop of water swear against it. 
And gape at widst to glut him. 

[A confused noise within.]— 'Kercy on us ! We split, 
we split !— Farewell, my wite and children ! I^re- 
well, brother .' We split, we split, we split !— 

Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. 

Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. 

Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea 
for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown 
furze, anything: The wills above be done : but I 
would fain die a dry death. [Ex-it. 

Scene U.—The Island: before the cell o/ Prospero. 
Enter Prospero and Miranda. 
Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them: 
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch. 
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek. 
Dashes the Are out. O, I have suffered 
With those that I saw suffer i a brave vessel. 
Who had no doubt some noble creature in her, 
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
Against my very heart ! Poor souls ! they perish'd. 
Had I been any god of power, I would 
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
It should the good sliip so have swallow'd, and 
The fraughting souls within her. 



Pro. Be collected; 

No more amazement: tell your piteous heart. 
There's no harm done. Mira, O, woe the day ! 

Pio. No harm. 

I have done nothing but In care of thee, 
.(Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter !) who 
Art Ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
Of whence I am; nor that I am more better 
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell. 
And thy no greater father. 3Iira. More to know 
Did never meddle with my thoughts. 

Pio. 'T is time 

I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, 
And pluck my magic garment from me.— So; 

[Lays down his Tnantle. 
Lie there, my art.- Wipe thou thine eyes; have com- 
fort. 
The dire spectacle of the wrack, which touch'd 
The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
I have with such provision in mine art 
So safely order'd, that there is no soul- 
No, not so much perdition as an hair, 
Betid to any creature in the vessel [Sit down; 

Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. 
For thou must now know farther. 

Mira. You have often 

Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd. 
And left me to a bootless inquisition; 
Concluding. 'Stay, not yet.'— 

Pro. The hour's now come; 

The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; 
Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
A time before we came unto this cell? 
I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast not 
Out three years old. 

Mira, Certainly, sir, I can. 

Pro. Bj' what? by any other house, or person? 
Of anything the image tell me that 
Hath kept with thy remembrance. 

Mira, 'T is far off; 

And rather like a dream than an assurance 
That my remembrance warrants: Had I not 
Four or five women once that tended me? [is it 

Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda: But how 
That this lives in thy mind? What see'st thou else 
In the dark backward and abysm of time? 
It thou remember'st aught ere thou cam'st here. 
How thou cam'st here thou may'st. 

Mira. But that I do not. 

Pro. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year 
Thy father was the duke of Milan, and [since, 

A prince of power. 

Mira. Sir, are not you my father? 

Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father 
Was duke of Milan; and his only heir 
And princess no worse issued. 

Mira. O, the heavens ! 

What foul play had we, that we came from thence? 
Or blessed was 't we did? 

Pro. Both, both, my girl; 

By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence; 
But blessedly holp hither. 

Mira. O, my heart bleeds 

To think o' the teen that I have turned you to, 
Which is from my remembrance! Please you, far- 
ther. 

Fro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio,— 
I pray thee mark me that a brother should 
Be so perfldious;— he whom, next thyself. 
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
The manage of my state, as, at that time. 
Through all the signiories it was the first 
And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed 
In dignity; and for the liberal arts 
Without a parallel: those being all my study 
The government 1 cast upon mj' brother. 
And to my state grew stranger, being transported. 
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle- 
Dost thou attend me? 

Mira. Sir, most heedfuUy. 

Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, ' 
How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom 
To trash for overtopping; new created [them. 

The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 
Or else new form'd them; having both the key 
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state 
To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was 
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, [not. 

And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'st 

Mira. O good sir, I do. 

Pro. I pray thee, mark me. 

I thus neglecting worldly ends, all detlicated 
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
With that, which, but by being so retired. 
O'er priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
Awafc'd an evil nature: and my trust. 
Like a good parent, did beget of him 
A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit, 
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
Not only with what my revenue yielded. 
But what my power might else exact,— like one 
Who having unto truth, by telling of it, 



Made such a sinner of his memory, 

To credit his own lie,— he did believe 

He was indeed the duke; out of the substitution, 

And executing the outward face of royalty. 

With all prerogative:— Hence his ambition 

Growing,— Dost thou hear? 

Mira. Your tale, sir, vv'ould cure deafness. 

Pio. To have no screen between this part he play 'd. 
And him he play'd It for, he needs will be 
Absolute Milan: Me, poor man ! my library 
Was dukedom large enough; of temporal royalties 
He thinks me now incapable: confederates 
(So dry was he for sway) with the king of Naples, 
To give him annual tribute, do him homage; 
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (alas, poor Milan !) 
To most ignoble stooping. 

Mira. O the heavens ! 

Pro. Mark his condition, and the event; then tell me. 
If this might be a brother. Mira. I should sin 

To think but nobly of my grandmother: 
Good wombs have borne bad sons. 

Pro. Now the condition. 

This king of Naples, being an enemy 
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; 
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises 
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute. 
Should presently extirpate me and mine 
Out of the dukedom; and confer fair Milan, 
With all the honours, on my brother: Whereon 
A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
The gates of Milan; and, i' the dead of darkness. 
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
Me, and thy crying self. Mira. Alack, for pity I 

I. not rememb'ring how I cried out then. 
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint, 
That wrings mine eyes to 't. 

Pi-o. Hear a little farther. 

And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
Which now 's upon us; without the which, this story 
Were most impertinent. 

Mira. Wherefore did they not 

That hour destroy us? 

Pro. Well demanded, wench; 

My tale provokes that question. Dear, tliey durst not; 
(So dear the love my people bore me) nor set 
A mark so bloody on the business; but 
With colours fairer painted their foul ends. 
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark; 
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd 
A rotten carcase of a butt, not rigg'd. 
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats 
Instinctively have quit it: there they hoist us. 
To cry to the sea that roared to us; to sigh 
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again. 
Did us but loving wrong. 

Mira. Alack ! what trouble ■ 

Was I then to you ! Pro. O ! a cherubln 

Thou wast that did presence me ! Thou didst smile. 
Infused with a fortitude from heaven. 
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt; 
Under my burthen groan 'd; which rais'd in me 
An undergoing stomach, to bear up ■ 
Against what should ensue, 

Mira. How came we ashore? 

Pro. By Providence divine, 
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
Out of his charity (who being then appointed 
Master of this design) did give us; with 
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries. 
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentle- 
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnished me, [ness. 
From mine own library, with volumes that 
I prize above my dukedom. 

3Iira. 'Would I might 

But ever see that man ! Pro. Now I arise: — 

Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
Here in this island we arrived; and here 
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
Than other princes can, that have more time 
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful, [you, sir, 

Mira. Heavens thank you for 't ! And now, I pray 
(For still 't is beating in my mind) your reason 
For raising this sea-storm? 

Pro. Know thus far forth. 

By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, 
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
Brought to this shore: and by my prescience 
I find my zenith doth depend upon 
A most auspicious star; whose infiuence 
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
Will ever after droop. — Here cease more questions: 
Thou art inclined to sleep; 't is a good dulness, 
And give it way;— I know thou canst not choose. 

[Miranda sleeps. 
Come away, servant, come: I am ready now; 
Approach, my Ariel; come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. All hall, great master ! grave sir. hail ! I come 
To answer thy best pleasure; be 't to fly, 
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 



TEMPESl. 



[Act II. 



On the curl'd chnuis; to thy atroiiK bliUlliiK task 
Ariel, and all Ills .[iKillty. I'ro. Hast thou, .spirit, 

PerformM to ixiiiu the tempest that 1 i;aile thee? 

Ari. To evi'i-y article, 
I boarded the kliiK's ship; now on the beak. 
Now III the waist, the diik. In every cabin, 
1 flamed aniazenient: tSonietlnie I'd divide 
And bnrii in many plaees; on the topmast, 
The yards and bowsprit, would I tlame distinctly, 
Theii meet, anil ,1oln: .love's liKhtniiit,'s, the precurs- 
C th<Mirradl'ul thunder flajts, more momentary [ors 
And sltrhtoutrunnlni; were not. The lire, and eracks 
Of sulphurous roariUK', the most mighty Neptune 
Seem to litsieije, and make his bold waves tremble. 
Yea, his dread trident shake. 

Pro. My brave spirit ! 

^Vho was so firm, so constant, that this coll 
AVould not infect his reason? -•Iri. Not a soul 

But felt the fever of the mad, and play'd 
Some tricks of desperation: All but mariners 
Plunp'd ill the foaniinu^ brine, aiul q\iit the vessel. 
Then all a-flre wllh me: the kind's son, Ferdinand, 
With hair up-st;iriiiK, ithi'n like reeds, not hair,) 
« as the first man that lea|)'d; cried, 'Hell is empty, 
And all the devils are here." 

„ I^o. Why, that's my spirit ! 

But was not this nigh shore? 

-;!'''• Close by, my master. 

Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe? 

-■In. Not a hair perish'd; 

On their .sustaining garments not a blemish. 
But fresher than before: and, as thou l)ad'st me. 
In troops t have dlspers'd them 'bout the isle: 
The king's son have I landed bv himself; 
whom I left cooling of the air with sighs, 
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, 
His arms in this sad knot. 

Pi'o. Of the king's ship, 

The mariners, say, how thou liast dispos'd, 
And all the rest o' the fleet. 

^'■'- Safely In harbour 

Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once 
Thou oall'dst me no at midiiiglit to fetch dew 
From the stiil-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid: 
The mariners all nnder hatches stow'd; 
Whom, with a charm ioin'd to their sufter'd labour, 
I have left asleep: and for the rest o' the fleet, 
w hicli I dlspers'd, the.v all have met again; 
And are upon the Mediterranean flote. 
Bound sadly home for Naples: 
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wraek'd. 
And his great person perish. Pro. Ariel, thy charge 
Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work: 
what is the time o' the day? 

-4)'!. Past the mid season. 

P)-o. At least two glasses. The time twixt six and 
Must iiy us l)oth he spent most preeiousl.v. [now 

Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me 
pains, 
Let me remember thee what thou hast pronits'd, 
Which Is not yet perform'd me. 

Pi'O. How now? moody? 

AVhat is 't thou canst demand? .4r?. My liberty. 

Pro. Before the time be out? no more. 

Ari. I prithee 

Remember, I have done thee worthy service; 
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd 
Witliout or grudge, or grumblings: thou didst prom- 
To bate me a full year. [Ise 

Pro. Dost thou forget 

From what a torment I did free thee? Ari. No. 

Pro. Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the 
Of the salt deep; [ooze 

To run upon the sharp wind of the north; 
To do me business in the veins o' the earth, 
When it is bak'd with frost. Ari. I do not, sir. 

Pro. Thou best, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot 
The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, 
Was grown Into a lioop? hast thou forgot her? 

Ari. No, sir. [me. 

Pro. Thou hast: Where was she born? speak ; tell 

AH. Sir, in Argier. Pro. O, was she so? I must, 
Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, 
AVhlch thou forgett'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, 
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrl'ole 
To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
Thou know'st, was banish'd; for one thing she did 
They would not take her life: Is not this true? 

Ari. Ay, sir. [child. 

Pro. This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with 
And here was left by the sailors: Thou, my slave. 
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant: 
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands. 
Refusing her grand bests, she did confine thee. 
By help of her more potent ministers. 
And in her most unmitigable rage. 
Into a cloven pine; within which rift 
Imprlson'd, thou didst painfully remain 
A dozen years, within which space she died, 
And left thee there;where thou didst vent thy groans. 
As fast as mlll-wheels strike: Then was this island* 
(Save for the son that she did litter here, 
A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with 
A human shape. Ari. Yes; Caliban her son. 

Pro. Dull thing, I .say so; he, that Caliban, 
Whom now I keep In service. Thou best know'st 
What torment I did find thee in: thy groans 
Did make wolves howl, and nenetratethe breasts 
Of ever-angry bears: it was a torment 
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
Could not again undo; it was mine art, 
AVhen I arriv'd and heard thee, tliat ma'de gape 
Tile pine, and let thee out. 

Ari. I thank thee, master. 

Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak. 
And peg thee In his knotty entrails, till 
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 

Ari. Pardon, master: 

I will be correspondent to command, 
And do my spriting gently. 

Pro. Do so; and after two days 

I will discharge thee. 

--l'"i'. That's my noble master! 

What .shall I do? say what? what shall I do? 

Pro. Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea; 
Be subject to no sight but thine and mine; Invisible 
To every eyeball else. Go, take this shape. 
And hitber come In't: go, hence, with diligence. 

[K.rit Ariel. 
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; 
Awake! 

Mira. The strangeness of your story put 



Heaviness In me. Pro. Shake it oft: Come on; 

We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
Yields us kind answer. Mira. 'T is a villain, sir, 
I do not love to look on. Pio. But, as 't is, 

\Vc cannot miss liim: he does make our (Ire, 
Fetch in our wood, and .serves in oHlces 
Tliat protit us. Wliat ho! slave! Caliban! 
Thou earth, thou! speak. 
Cal. [VVithin.] There's wood enough within. 
Pro. Come forth, I say; there's other business for 
Come, thou tortoise! when! [thee: 

Pe-enter Ariel, like a water-nymph. 
Fine apparition! My <jualnt Ariel, 
Hark In thine ear. 
Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Kvit. 

Pro Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself 
Upon thy wicked dam, co.ne forth! 
Ent:'r Caliban. 
Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
Drop on you both! a soutli-Avest blow on ye, 
Antl blister you all o'er. [cramps. 

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 
Side-stitches that shall pen (hy breath up; urchins 
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work. 
All exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'd 
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging 
Than bees that made them. 

Cnl. I must eat my dinner. 

This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
Wlilch thou tak'st from me. When thou eamest fir.st. 
Thou strok'dst me, and niad'st much of me; wouldst 
Water with berries In 't; and teach me how [give me 
To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee. 
And shoiv'd thee all the qualities o' the isle. 
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place, and fer- 
Cursed be I that did so!— All the charnis [tile; 

Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! 
For I am all the subjects that you have. 
Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me 
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
The rest of the island. 

Pro. Thou most lying slave. 

Whom stripes may move, not kindness: I have us'd 

thee. 
Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodg'd thee 
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate 
The honour of m.y child. 

Cal. O ho, O ho!— 'n-ould it had been done! 
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else 
This isle with Calibans. Pro. Abhorred ilave; 

Which any print of goodness will not take, 
Being capable of all 111! I pitied thee, [hour 

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each 
One thing Or other; when thou didst not, savage. 
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like 
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes [race. 
With words that made them known: But thy vile 
Though thou didst learn, had that in 't which good 

natures 
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou 
Deservedly confln'd into this rock. 
Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. 

Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on 't 
Is, I know how to curse: the red plague rid you, 
For learning me your language! 

Pro. Hag-seed, hence! 

Fetch us In fuel; and be quick, thou wert best. 
To answer other business. Shrugg'st thou, malice? 
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; 
Fill all thy bones with aches; make tliee roar 
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 

Cal. No, pray thee!— 

I must obey: his art is of such power, [^Aside. 

It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
And make a vassal of him. 
Pro. So, slave; hence! 

Exit Caliban. 
Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing; Fevdi- 
nsind folloicing him. 
Ariel's Song. 
Come unto these yellow sands, 

And then take hands: 
Courtsled when you have, and kiss'd 

The wild "waves whist. 
Foot it featly here and there; 
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
Bur. Hark, hark! Bowgh, wowgli. 
The watch-dogs bark: 
Bowgh, wough. [dispersedly. 

Ari. Hark, hark! I hear 

The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. 
Fer. Where should this music be? i' the air, or the 
earth? 
It sounds no more:— and sure it waits upon 
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank, 
Weeping again the king my father's wrack. 
This music crept by me upon the waters; 
Allaying both their fury, and my passion. 
With its sweet air: thence I have foUow'd It, 
Or It hath drawn me rather:— But 't Is gone. 
No, it begins again. 

Ariel sings. 
Full fathom five thy father lies; 

Of his bones are coral made; 
Those are pearls that were his eyes; 

Nothing of him that doth fade. 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: 

IBurden, ding-dong. 
Hark ! now I hear them,— ding-dong, bell. 
Fer, The ditty does remember my drown'd fath- 
This is no mortal business, nor no sound [er:— 

That the earth owes:— I hear it now above me. 

Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance, 
And say, what thou seest yond'. 

Mira. ' What Is 't? a spirit? 

Lord, how It looks about ! Believe me, sir, 
It carries a brave form:— But 't is a spirit. [senses 
Pro., No, wench; it eats, and sleeps, and hath such 
As we have, such: This gallant, wliich thou seest. 
Was in the wrack; and but he's something stain'd 
With grief, that's beaut.v's canker, thou mlglit'st call 
A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows, [him 

And strays about to find them. 

3Iira. I might call him 

A thing divine; for nothing natural 
I ever saw so uoble. 



Pro. It goes on, I see, [Aside. 

As my sotd prompts It:— Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free 
Within two days for this. [thee 

^Pi^r. Most sure, the goddess 

On whom these airs attend .'—Vouchsafe my prayer 
May know if you remain upon this island: 
And that you will some good instruction give, 
How I may bear me here: My prime request. 
Which I do last pronounce, is, you wonder ' 
If you be maid or no? Mira. No wonder, sir: 

But, certainly a maid. 

Fer. My language ! heavens !— 

I am the best of them that speak this speech. 
Were I but where 't Is spoken. 

Pro. How ! the best ? 

What wert thou, if the lilng of Naples heard thee ? 

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me; 
.■iiid that he does I weep: myself am Naples; 
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb. beheld 
The king my father wracked. 

Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of Milan, 
And his brave son, being twain. 

Pro. The duke of Milan, 

And his more braver daughter, could control thee. 
If now 't were fit to do 't:— At the first sight [.4side. 
They have chang'd eyes:— Delicate Ariel, 
I'll set thee free for this !— A word, good sir; 
I Iciir you have done yourself some wrong: a word. 

Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This 
Is the third man that e'er I .saw; the first 
That e'er I sighed for; pity move my father 
To be inclln'd my wa.v. Fer. O, if a virgin. 

And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you 
"The queen of Naples. 

I^o. Soft, sir; one word more. — 

The.y are both in cither's powers; but this swift bus- 
iness 
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside. 
Make the prize light.— One word more; I charge thee. 
That thou attencf me: thou dost here usurp 
The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself 
Upon this island, as a spy, to win it 
From me, the lord on 't. 

Fer. No, as I am a man. 

Mira. There's nothing ill can dwellln such a tem- 
If the ill spirit hath so fair a house, [pie: 

Good things will strive to dwell with 't. 

.fho. Follow me.— [To Ferd. 

Speak not you for him; he's a traitor.— Come. 
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together; 
Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
The fresh-brook muscles, withered roots, and husks 
Wherein the acorn cradled: Follow. Fer. No; 

I will resist such entertainment, till 
Mine enemy has more power. 

[He draxes, and is cha-i^ied from moving. 

Mira. O dear father. 

Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
He's gentle, and not fearful. Pi-o. What, I say. 

My foot my tutor ! Put thy sword up, traitor; [science 
Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con- 
Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward; 
J"or I can here disarm thee with this stick. 
And make thy weapon drop. 

Mira. Beseech j'ou, father! 

Pro. Hence; hang not on my garments. 

Mira. Sir, have pity; 

I'll be his surety. Fro. Silence! one word more 

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! 
An advocate for an impostor! hush! 
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, 
Having seen but him and Caliban: Foolish wench! 
To tile most of men this is a Caliban, ' 
And they to him are angels. 

Mira. My affections 

Are then most humble; I have no ambition. 
To see a goodlier man. 

Pro. Come on; obey: [To Ferd. 

Thy nerves are in their infancy again. 
And have no vigour in them. Fer. So they are: 

My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
The wrack of all my friends, or this man's threats, 
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me. 
Might I but through my prison once a day 
Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth 
Let liberty make use of; space enough 
Have I in such a prison. 

Pro. It works:— Come on.— 

Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!— Follow me.— 

[To Ferd. and Mir. 
Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel. 

Mira. Be of comfort; 

My father's of a better nature, sir, 
Than he appears b.v speech; this is unwonted. 
Which now came from him. 

Pro. Thou shalt be as free 

As mountain winds; but then exactb' do 
All points of my command. Ari. To the syllable. 

Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt. 

ACT. IL 

Scene I.— Another part of the Island. 

Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, 
Francisco, and others. 

Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause 
(So have we all) of Joy; for our escape 
Is much beyond our loss: Our hint of woe 
Is common; every day, some sailor's wife. 
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, 
Have Just our theme of woe: but for the miracle, 
I mean our preservation, few in millions 
Can speak like Us: then wisely, good sir, weigh 
Our sorrow with our comfort. 

Alon. Prithee, peace. 

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 

Ant. The vl.sitor will not give him o'er so. 

Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; 
By and by it will strike. 

Gon. Sir,— 

Seb. One:— Tell. 

Oon. When every grief is entertain 'd that's ofter'd, 
Comes to the entertainer— 

Seb. A dollar. 

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have 
spoken truer than you purposed. 

Seb. You have taken it vviseller than I meant you 
should. 

Oon. Therefore, my lord, — 

Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! 



Scene ii.] 



TEMPEST. 



A Ion. I prithee spare. 
Gon. Well, I have done: But j-et— 
Seb. He will be talkiiiK- 

Ant. Which, of lie, or Adrian, ^or a good waper, 
first bepriiis to ciow? 
Seb. Tlio old cook. 
Ant. The oockrel. 
Seb. Done: the wager? 
Ant. A laughter. 
Seb. A match. 

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,— 
Seb. Ha, ha, ha! 
Ant. So, you're paid. 

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,— 
Seb. Yet, 
Adr. Yet— 

Ant. He could not miss It. 

Adr. It muse needs be of subtle, tender, and 
delicate temperance. 
Ant. Temperance was a delicate wrench. 
Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly de- 
livered. , ^ ^, 
Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. 
Seb. As if It had lungs, and rotten ones. 
Ant. Or, as 't were perfumed by a fen. 
Gon. Here is everything advantageous to life. 
.Ant. True; save means to live. 
Seb. Of that there's none, or little. 
Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how 
green! 
Ant. The ground. Indeed, is tawny. 
. Seb. Witli an eye of green In 't. 
Ant. He misses not much. 

Seb. No; he doih but mistake the truth totally. 
Gon. But tlie rarity of it is (which is indeed almost 
beyond credit)— 
Seb. As many vouched rarities are. 
Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, 
drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their 
freshness, and glosses; being rather new dyed than 
stained with salt water. 

Ant. It but one of his pockets could speak, would 
it not say, he lies? 
Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 
Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh as 
when we put them on first in Atric, at the marriage 
of the king's tair daughter Claribel, to the king of 
Tunis. 

Seb. 'T was a sweet marriage, and we prosper well 
In our return. 

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a 
paragon to their queen. 
Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 
Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! How came that 
widow in? Widow Dido! 

Seb. What if he had said, widower .Slneas too? 
good lord, how you take it! 

Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me study 
of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 
Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
Adr. Carthage? 
Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 
Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 
Seb. He hath raisd the wall, and houses too. 
Ant. What inipo.-sible matter will he make easy 
next? 

Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his 
pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 

Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring 
forth more islands. 
Gon. Ay? 

Ant. Why, in good time. 

Gon. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem 
now as fresh as ^vhen we were at Tunis at the mar- 
riage of your daughter, who is now queen. 
Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 
Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 
Ant. O, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido. 
Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the flrst 
day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. 
Ant, That sort was well flsh'd for. 
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? 
Alon. You cram these words into mine ears, against 
The stomach of my sense: 'Would I had never 
Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, 
M.y son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, 
Who is so far from Ital.v remoVd, 
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
Of Naples and of Milan, wha*^ strange flsh 
Hath made his meal on the' 

Fran. Sir, he may live; 

I saw him beat the surges ..ider him, 
And ride upon their back , he trod the water, 
Whose enmity he flung-aside, and breasted 
The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 
'Bove the contentlou ; waves he kept, and oar'd 
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd. 
As stooping to relieve him; I not doubt. 
He came alive to land. Alon. No, no, he's gone. 

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself tor this great loss. 
That would not bless our Europe with your daugh- 
But rather lose her to an African; fter. 

Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, 
Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't. 
Alon. Prithee, peace. 

Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd other- 
By all of us; and the fair soul herself [wise 

Weigh 'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost 
I fear, for ever; Milan and Naples have [your son, 
More widows in them of this business' making. 
Than we bring men to comfort them; the fault 's 
Your own. Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. 

Gon. My lord Sebastian, 
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness 
And time to speak it in; you rub the sore, 
When you should bring the piaster. 
Seb. Very well. 

Ant. And most chlrurgeonly. 
Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir. 
When you are cloudy. Seb. Foul weather? 

Ant. Very foul. 

Gon. Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,— 
Ant. He 'd sow 't with nettle-seed. 
Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 

Gon. And were the king of it. What would I do? 
Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. 
Gon. I' the commonwealth I would by contraries 
Execute all things; for no kind of traffic 
Would I admit; no name of magistrate; 
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty. 
And use of service, none; contract, succession, 



Bourn, hound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; 
No use of iMctal, corn, or wine, or oil: 
No Dcoupatlon; all moll idle, all; 
AikI women too; but innocent and pure: 
No .sovereignty;— 
Seb. Yet he would be king on 't. 

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets 
the beginning. 

Gon. .\11 tilings in common nature should produce 
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony. 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of an.v engine. 
Would I not li.ive; but nature should bring forth, 
Of its own kind, nil foizon, all abundance. 
To feed my innocent people. 
Seb. No inarrying 'mong his subjects? 
Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. 
Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, 
To excel the golden age. 
Seb. 'Save his majesty! 

.,411^ Long live Gonzalo! 

Gon. And, do you mark me, sir?— 

Alon. Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to 
me. 
. Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did it to 
minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of 
such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use 
to laugh at nothing. 
Ant. 'T was you we laugh'd at. 
Oon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am no- 
thing to you; so you may co«itinue, and laugh at no- 
thing still. 
Ant. What a blow was there given! 
Seb. An it had not fallen fiat-long. 
Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you 
would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would 
continue in it Ave weeks without changing. 

Enter Ariel invisible^ playing solemn music. 
Seb. We would so, and then go a bat -fowling. 
Ant.. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. 
Gon. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my 
discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for 
I am very heavy? 
Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 

lAll sleex> but Alon., Seb., and Ant. 

Alon. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes 

Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I 

They are inclin'd to do so. [Hud 

Seb. Please you, sir, 

Do not omit the heavy offer of it: 
It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth. 
It is a comforter. Ant. We two, my lord. 

Will guard your person while you take your rest, 
And watch your safety. 
Alon. Thank you: wondrous heavy. 

[Alonso sleeps. Eotit Ariel. 
Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them! 
Ant. It is the quality of the climate. Seb. Why 
Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not 
Myself dispos'd to sleep. 

Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. 

They fell together all, as by consent; 
They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might. 
Worthy Sebastian?— O, what might?— No more:— 
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face. 
What thou should'st be: the occasion speaks thee; 
My strong imagination sees a crown [and 

Dropping upon thy head. 
Seb. What, art thou Waking? 

Ant. Do you not hear me speak? 
Seb. I do; and, surely, 

It is a sleep.y language; and thou speak'st 
Out of thy sleep: What is it thou didst say? 
This is a strange repose, to be asleep 
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving. 
And yet so fast asleep. Ant. Noble Sebastian, 
Thou lett'st thy fortune sleep, die rather; wink'st 
Whiles thou art waking. 

Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly; 

There's meaning In thy snores. 

Ant. I am more serious than my custom: you 
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do 
Trebles thee o'er 
Seb. Well, T am standing water. 

Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 
Seb. Do so: to ebb. 

Hereditary sloth instructs me. Ant. O, 
If you but knew how you the purpose cherish 
whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, 
You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed, 
Must often do so near the bottom run. 
By their own fear, or sloth. Seb. Prithee say on: 
The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed, 
Which throes thee much to yield. 

Ant. Thus, sir: 

Although this lord of weak remembrance, this 
(Who shall be of as little memor.v. 
When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded 
(For he's a spirit of persuasion, only 
Professes to persuade, )the king his son's alive, — 
'T Is as impossible that he's undrown'd. 
As he that sleeps here, swims. 

Seb. I have no hope 

That he's undrown'd. 

Ant. O, out of that no hope. 

What great hope have you! no hope, that way is 
Another way so high a hope, that even 
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond. 
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant with 
That Ferdinand is drown'd? [me, 

Seb. . He's gone. 

Ant. Then, tell me. 

Who's the next heir of Naples? Seb. Claribel. 

Ant. She that is queen of Tunis: she that dwells 
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples 
Can have no note, unless the sun were post, 
(The man i' the moon's too slow,) till new-born chins 
Be rough and razorable; she that from whom 
We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again; 
And by that destiny to perform an act. 
Whereof what's past is prologue; what to come, 
In yours and my discharge. 

Seb What stuff is this?— How say you? 

'T is true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis: 
So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt whicn regions 
' There is some space. 

Ant. A space whose every cubit 

Seems to cry out, 'How shall that Claribel 
Measure us back to Naples?'— Keep in Tunis, 
And let Sebastian wake!— Say, this were death 
That now hath selz'd them; why, they were no 
worse 



Than now the.v are: There be that can rule Naples 

As well as lie that sleeps; lords that can prate 

As amply and unnecessarily 

As this Uonzalo; I my.self could make 

A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore 

The mind that 1 do! what a sleep were this 

For your advancement! Do you understand me? 

Seb. Methinks, I do. 

Ant. And how does your content 

Tender your own good fortune? 

Seb. I remember. 

You did supplant your brother Prospero. 

Ant. True: 

And look how well my garments sit upon me; 
Much f eater than before: My brother's servants 
Were then my fellows, now they are my men. 

Seb. But, for your conscience— 

Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that? if 't were a kybe, 
'T would put me to m.y slipper: But I feel not 
This deity in my bosom; twenty consciences. 
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they. 
And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother. 
No better than the earth he lies upon. 
If he were that which now he's like, that's dead; 
Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, 
Can lay to bed for ever: whiles you, doing thus. 
To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
This ancient mor.sel, this sir Prudence, who 
Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest. 
They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk; 
They'll tell the clock to any business that 
We say befits the hour. 

Seb. Thy case, dear friend. 

Shall be my precedent; as thou gott'st Milan, 
I '11 come by Naples. Draw thy sword; one stroke 
Shall free thee from the tribute which tnou pay'st; 
And I the king^hall love thee. 

Ant. Draw together: 

And when I rear my hand, do you the like. 
To fall it on Gonzalo. Seb. O, but one word. 

IThey converse apart. 
Music. Re-enter Arie\,invisible. 

Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger 
That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth, 
(For else his project dies,) to keep them living. 

^ iSings in Gonzalo's ears. 

While you here do snoring lie 
Open-eyed Conspiracy 

His time doth take: 
If of life you keep a care. 
Shake off slumber, and beware: 

Awake! Awake! 

Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 

Gon. Now, good angels, perserve the king! 



[They awake. 
Sfhy 



Alon. Why, how now, ho! awake! Why are you 
Wherefore this ghastly looking? [drawn? 

Gon. What's the matter? 

Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose. 
Even now we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
Like bulls, or rather lions; did it not wake you? 
It struck mine ear most terribly. 

Alon. I heard nothing. 

Ant. O, 't was a din to fright a monster's ear; 
To make an earthquake! sure it was the roar 
Of a whole herd of lions. 

Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? 

Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming, 
And that a strange one too, which did awake me: 
I shak'd you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open'd, 
I saw their weapons drawn:— there was a noise, 
That's verity: 'T is best we stand upon our guard; 
Or that we quit this place: let's draw our weapons. 

Alon. Lead off this ground; and let's make further 
For my poor son. [search 

Gon, Heavens keep him from these beasts! 
For he is, sure, i' the Island. Alon. Lead away. 

Ari. Prospero my lord shall know what I have 

done: reside. 

So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt. 

Scene ii.— Another part of the Island. 

Enter Caliban, ivith a bunhen of wood. 

A noise of thunder heard. 

Cat. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him 
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me. 
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch. 
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire. 
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark 
Out of my way, unless he bid them; but 
For every trifle are they set upon me: 
Sometimes like apes, that moe and chatter at me, 
And after, bite me; then like hedgehogs, which 
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount 
Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I 
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, 
Do hiss me into madness:- Lo ! now ! lo ! 

Enter Trlnculo. 

Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me. 
For bringing wood in slowly: I'll fall flat; 
Perchance, he will not mind me. 

Trin. Here's neither brush nor shrub, to bear off 
an}' weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear 
it sing i' the wind: yond' same black cloud, yond' 
huge one, looks like a foul bumbard that would shed 
his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I 
know not where to hide my head: yond' same cloud 
cannot choose but fall by pailfuls.— What have we 
here? a man or a flsh? Dead or alive? A flsh: he 
smells like a flsh; a very ancient and flsh-like smell; 
a kind of, not of the newest. Poor- John. A strange 
flsh ! Were I in England now, (as once I was,) and 
had but this flsh painted, not a holWay fool there 
but would give a piece of silver: there would this 
monster make a man; any strange beast there makes 
a man: when they will hot give a doit to relieve a 
lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead In- 
dian. Legged like a man! and his flns like arms! 
Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose my opinion, 
hold it no longer; this is no flsh, but an Islander, 
that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thun- 
der.'] Alas! the storm is come again: my best way 
is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other 
shelter hereabout: Misery acquaints a man with 
strange bedfellows. I will here shroud till the dregs 
of the storm be past. 



TEMPEST. 



[Act in. 



£nterStephaiio, singing; a bottle in his hand, 

Ste. I shall no morf to sea, to sea, 

Here shall I die ashore:— 
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral: 
AVell, hero's my comfort. [Drinks. 

The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 

The tjunner. and his mate, 
Lov'd Mall. Mi'K, and JInrliui, and Margery, 
Hilt none of us car'd for Kate: 
For she had a toiitriie with a tang, 
M'oiiitl cry to a sailor. ' tJo hang;' 
She lov'd iu)i I lie savour of tar nor of pitch, 
i'et a tailor iiiiglit scralcli her where'er .she did itch: 
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 

This Is a scurvy tune too: But here's my comfort. 

[Drinks. 

Ca2. Do not torment mo: O ! 

Sle. What's the matter? Have we devils here? 
Do you put tricks U|K>n us with savages and men 
of Inde? Ha ! 1 have not 'scaped drowning, to be 
afeard now of your four legs; for it hath been said. 
As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot 
make him give ground: and it shall be said so again, 
while Stephano breathes at nostrils. 

Cal. The spirit torments me: O! 

Stc. This is some monster of the isle, with four 
legs; who hath got, as I take it, an ague: Where the 
devil should he learn our language? I will give him 
some relief, if it be but for that: If I can recover 
him and keep him tame, and get to Naples with 
him, he's a present for any emperor that ever trod 
on neat's-leather. 

Cal. Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my 
wood home faster. 

Ste. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the 
■wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never 
drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit: 
If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not 
take too much for him: he shall pay for him that 
hath him, and that soundly. 

Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt 
anon, I know it by thy trembling: Now Prosper 
works upon thee. 

Ste. Come on your ways; open your mouth: here 
Is that which will give language to you, cat; open 
your mouth: this will shake your shaking, I can tell 
you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your 
friend: open your chaps again. 

Trin. I should know that voice: It should be- 
But he Is drowned; and these are devils: O ! de- 
fend me !— 

Ste. Four legs, and two voices; a most delicate 
monster ! His forward voice now is to speak well 
of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul 
speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my 
bottle will recover him, I will help his ague: Come 
— Amen ! I will pour some in thy other mouth. 

Trin. Stephano, — 

Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy .' mer- 
cy ! This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave 
him; I have no long spoon. 

Trin. Stephano ! — if thou beest Stephano, touch 
me, and speak to me; for I am Trinculo; — be not 
afeard,- thy good friend Trinculo. 

Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth; I'll pull 
thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, 
these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed: 
How camest thou to be the siege of this moon- 
calf? Can he vent Trinculos? 

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke: 
— But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now, 
thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I 
hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine, for 
fear of the storm: And art thou living, Stephano? O 
Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped ! 

Ste. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach Is 
not constant. 

Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. 
That's a brave god, and Ijears celestial liquor: 
I will kneel to him. 

Ste. How didst thou 'scape? How camest thou 
hither? swear by this bottle, how thou camest hith- 
er. I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors 
heaved overboard, by this bottle ! which I made of 
the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was 
cast ashore. 

Cal. I'll swear upon that bottle, to be thy true sub- 
ject; for that liquor is not earthly. 

Ste. Here; swear then hov/ thou escapedst. 

Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck; I can swim 
like a duck, I'll be sworn. 

Ste. Here, kiss the book: Though thou canst swim 
like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 

Triti. O Stephano, hast any more of this? 

Ste. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a rock by 
the sea side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon- 
calf? how does thine ague? 

Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven? 

Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was the 
man in the moon, when time was. 

Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee: 
My mistress showed me thee, and thy dog, and bush. 

Ste. Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will fur- 
nish it anon with new contents: swear. 

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
monster:— I afeard of him ! a very weak monster: — 
The man i' the jnoon! a most poor credulous mon- 
ster: Well drawn, monster. In good sooth. 

Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island; 
And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god. 

Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken 
monster; when his god 's asleep he'll rob his bottle. 

Cal. I'll kiss thy foot: I'll swear myself thy subject. 

Ste. Come on then; down and swear. 

Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- 
headed monster: a most scurvy monster I 1 could 
And in my heart to beat him,— Ste. Come, kiss. 

Trin. —but that the poor monster's in drink; An 
abominable monster! [berries; 

Cal. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee 
I'll flsh for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve I 
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
Thou wond'rous man. 

Trin. A most ridiculous monster ! to make a won- 
der of a poor iliuiikard. 

Cal. I prltliio lit nie bring thee where crabs grow. 
And I with my long nails will dig theo pignuts; 
Show thee a jay's nest, and instriirt, thi-e liovv 
To snare the nimble marinozet; I'll liriug tliee 
To clust'rlng fllberds, and sometiims I II got thee 
Young scaraels from the rock: wilt thou go with me? 



Ste. I prithee now, lead the way, without any more 
talking.— Trinculo, the king and all our company 
else being drowned, we will Inherit here.— Here: 
bear my bottle. Fellow Trineulo, we'll All him by 
and by again. 
Cal. Farewell, master: farewell, farewell. 

[Sings drunkenly. 
Trin. A howling monster; a drunken monster. 
Cai. No more dams I '11 make for flsh 
Nor fetch in firing 
At requiring. 
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish; 
Ban 'Ban, Ca— Caliban, 
Has a new master— Get a new man. 
Freedom, heyday! hey-day, freedom! freedom 
hey-day, freedoml 
Ste. O brave monster! lead the way. {,Exeunt. 

ACT III. 
Scene i.— Before Prospero's Cell. 
£n<er Ferdinand, hearing a log. 

Fer. There be some sports are painful; and their 
labour^ 
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
Are nobly undergone; and most poor matters 
Point to rich ends. This my mean task 
Would be as heavy to me as odious: but 
The mistress which I serve quickens what 's dead. 
And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is 
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed; 
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove 
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up. 
Upon a sore Injunction: My sweet mistress 
Weeps when she sees me work; and says such base- 
Had ne'er like executor. I forget: [ness 
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my la- 
Most busy least when I do it. [hours; 
Enter Miranda, and Prospero at a distance. 

Mira. Alas, now! pray you, 

Work not so hard;, I would the lightning had 
Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile! 
Pray set it down, and rest you: when this burns, 
'T will weep for having wearied you: My father 
Is hard at study; pray now rest yourself; 
He's safe for these three hours. 

Fer. O most dear mistress. 

The sun will set before I shall discharge 
What 1 must strive to do. Mira. If you'll sit doWn 
I'll bear your logs the while: Pray give me that; 
I'll carry it to the pile. 

Fer. No, precious creature: 

I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
Than you should such dishonour undergo. 
While I sit lazy by. Mira. It would become me 

As well as it does you: and I should do it. 
With much more ease; for my good will is to it, 
And yours it Is against. 

Pro. Poorworm! thou art infected; 

This visitation shows It. Mira. You look wearily. 

Fer. No, noble niistress; 't is fresh morning with 
When you are by at night. I do beseecn you, [me, 
(Chiefly, that I may set it in my prayers,) 
What is your name? 

Mira. Miranda;— O my father, 

I have broke your hest to say so! 

Fer. Admir'd Miranda! 

Indeed the top of admiration; worth 
What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady 
I have eyed with best regard; and many a time 
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
Brought ray too diligent ear: for several virtues 
Havel lik'd several women; never any 
With so full soul, but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd 
And put it to the foil: But you, O you 
So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
Of every creature's best. Mira. I do not know 

One of my sex; no woman's face remember. 
Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen 
More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
And my dear father: how features are abroad, 
I am sklU-less of; but by my modesty, 
(The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish 
Any companion In the world \)ut you; 
Nor can imagination form a shape, 
Beside yourself, to like of: But I prattle 
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
I therein do forget. Fer. I am in my condiiion, 
A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; 
(I would not so!j and would no more endure 
This wooden slavery, than to suffer 
The flesh-fly blow my mouth.— Hear my soul 
The very Instant that I saw you, did [speak:— 

My heart fly to your service; there resides. 
To make me slave to it; and for your sake 
Am I this patient log-man Mira. Do you love me? 

Fer. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, 
And crown what I profess with kind event. 
If I speak true; if hollowly. Invert 
What best is boded me, to mischief! I, 
Beyond all limit of what else 1' the world. 
Do love, prize, honor you. Mira. I am a fool, 

To weep at what I am glad of. 

Pro. Fair encounter 

Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace 
On that which breeds between them! 

Fer. Wherefore weep you? 

Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer 
What I desire to give; and much less take 
What I shall die to want: But this Is trifling; 
And all the more it seeks to hide Itself, 
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! 
And prompt me, plain and hol.v innocence! 
I am your wife, if you will marry me; 
If not I'll die your maid: to be your fellow 
You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, 
Whether you will or no. 

Fer. My mistress, dearest, 

And I thus humble ever. 

Mira. My husband then? 

Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
As bondage e'er of freedom; here's my hand. 

Mira. And mine, with my heart in't- And now 
farewell. 
Till half an hour hence. 

Fer. A thousand! thousand! 

[Exeunt Fer and Mir. 

Pro. So glad of this as they I cannot bo. 
Who are surprls'd with all; but my rejoicing 
At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; 
For yet, ere supper-timo, must I perform 
Much business appertaining. [Exit. 



I Scene II.— Another part of the Island. 

Enter Stephano and Trinculo; Caliban following 
with a bottle. 

Ste. Tell not me;— when the butt is out we will 
drink water; not a drop before: therefore boar up, 
and board 'em: Servant-monster, drink to me. 

Trin. Servant-monster? the folly of this island! 
They say there's but flve upon this isle: we are three 
of them; if the other two be brained like us, the state 
totters. 

Ste. Drink, .servant-monster, when Ibid thee; thy 
e.ves are almost set in thy head. 

Ttnn. Where should they be set else? he were a 
brave monster indeed. If tliey were set in his tail. 

Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in 
sack: for my part, the sea cannot drown me: I swam, 
ere I could recover the shore, flve-andlhlrty leagues. 
off and on. By this light, thou shaltbemy lieutenaiii, 
monster, or my standard. 

Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard. 

Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. 

Trin. Nor go neither; but you'll He, like dogs; and 
yet say nothing neither. 

Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest 
a good moon-calf. 

Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe: 
I'll not serve him, he is not valiant. 

Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster; I am in 
case to justle a constable; why, thou deboshod flsh 
thou, was there ever man a co>vard that hath drunk 
so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous 
lie, being but half a flsh, and half a monster? 

Cal. Lo, how he mocks me! wUt thou let him, my 
lord? 

Trin. Lord, quoth he!— that a monster should be 
such a natural! 

Cal. Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I prithee. 

Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head; 
if you prove a mutineer, the next tree- The poor 
monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indig- 
nity. 

Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd 
To hearken once again to the suit I made to thee? 

Ste. Marry will I: kneel and repeat it; I will stand, 
and so shall Trinculo. 

Enter Ariel, invisible. 

Cat. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant; 
A sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me 
Of the island. 

Ari. Thou liest. 

Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou; I 
would my valiant master would destroy thee: I do 
not lie, 

Ste. Trinculo, If you trouble him any more in his 
tale, by this hand I will supplant some of your teeth. 

T)-in. Why, I said nothing. 

Ste. Mum then, and no more.— [To Caliban.] Pro- 

Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this Isle; [ceed. 

From me he got it. If thy greatness will 
Revenge it on him — for, I know, thou dar'st; 
But this thing dare not. 

Ste. That's most certain. 

Cal. Thou Shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. 

Ste. How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou 
bring me to the party? 

Cal. Yea, yea, my lord; I'll yield him thee asleep. 
Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. 

Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not. 

Cal. What a pled ninny's this! Thou scurvy 
patch!— 
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows. 
And take his bottle from him: when that's gone. 
He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show 
Where the quick freshes are. [him 

Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger: Interrupt 
the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I'll 
turn my mercy out of doors, and make a stockflsh of 
thee. 

Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing; I'll go 
further off 

Ste. Didst thou not say he lied? 

Ari. Thou liest. 

Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Strikes him.'] As you 
like this, give me the lie another time. 

Trin. I did not give the lie:— Out o' your wits, and 

hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! this can sack 

and drinking do.— A murrain on your monster and 
the devil take your flngers! 

Cat. Ha, ha, ha! 

Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Prithee stand 
further off. 

Cat. Beat him enough; after a little time, 
I'll beat him too. 

Ste. Stand further.— Come, proceed. 

Cal. Why, as I told thee, 't is a custom with him 
I' the afternoon to sleep: there thou may'st brain him. 
Having flrst selz'd his books; or with a log 
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake. 
Or eut his wezand with thy knife: Remember, 
First to possess his books; for without them 
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
One spirit to command: They all do hate him, 
As rootedly as I: Burn but his books; 
He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them.) 
Which, when he has a house, he'll deck wltnal. 
And that most deenl,v to consider. Is 
The beauty of his daughter: he himself 
Calls her a nonpareil: 1 ne'er saw woman, 
But only Sycorax my dam, and she; 
But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, 
As greatest does least. 

Ste. Is It so brave a lass? 

Cal. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant. 
And bring thee forth brave brood. 

Ste. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and 
I will be king and queen; (save our graces!) and Trin- 
culo and thyself shall be viceroys:- Dost thou like 
the plot, Trinculo? 

Trin. Excellent. 

Stc. Give me thy hand; I am sorry I beat thee: but, 
while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. 

Cat. Within this half -hour will he be asleep; 
Wilt thou destroy him then? 

Ste. Ay, on mine honour. 

Ari. This will I tell my master. 

Cal. Thou niak'st me merry : I am full of pleasure; 
Let us be jocund: Will you troll the catch 
You taught me but whlle-ere? 

Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any 

reason: Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings. 

Flout 'em, and cout 'em; and scout 'em, and 

Thought is free. [flout 'em; 



Scene in.] 



TEMPEST. 



Cal. That's not the tune. 

[Ariel plays the tune on a tabor andpipe. 

Ste. What Is this same? 

Trin. This Is the tune of our catch, played by the 
picture of Nobody. 

Ste. It thou beest a man, show thyself in thy like- 
ness: it thou beest a devil, take 't as thou list. 

Ti-in. O, forgive me my sins! 

Ste. He that dies pays all debts; I defy thee:— 
Mercy upon us! 

Cal. Art thou afeard? 

Ste. No, monster, not I. 

Cal. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, 
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt 
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments [not. 
Will hum about mine ears; and si metlme voices, 
That, It I then had wak'd after long sleep. 
Will make me sleep again: and then in dreaming. 
The clouds, methought, would open and show riches 
Ready to drop upon me; that when I wak'd 
I cried to dream again. 

Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where 
I shall have my music for nothing. 

Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. [story. 

Ste. That shall be by and by: I remember the 

Trin. The sound Is going away: let's follow it, and 
after, do our work. 

Ste. Lead, monster; we 'II follow. — I would I could 
see this taborer: he lays It on. 

Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow Stephano. [Exeunt. 

Scene 111.— Another part of the Island. 
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
Adrian, Francisco, and others. 

Gon. B.v 'r lakin, I can go no further, sir; 
My old bones ache; here's a maze trod. Indeed, 
Through forthrights and meanders! by your pa- 
I needs must rest me. [tience. 

Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee. 

Who am myself attaeh'd with weariness. 
To the dulling of m,y spirits: sit down and rest, 
Even here, I win put off my hope, and keep it 
No longer for my flatterer: he is drovvn'd 
Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks 
Our frustrate search on land: Well, let him go. 

Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. 

[Aside to Sebastian. 
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
That you resolv'd to effect. 

Seb. The next advantage 

Will we take throughly Ant. Let it be to-night; 

For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
As when they are fresh. 

S^b. I say to-night; no more. 

Solemn and strange music ; and Prospero above^ 

invisible. Enter seyeral strange Shapes, bringing 

in a banquet; they dance about it with gentle actions 

of salutation; and, inviting the King, &e., to eat, 

they depart. 

Alon. What harmony Is this? my good friends, 

Gon. Marvellous sweet music! [hark! 

Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were 

Seb. A living drollery: Now I will believe [these? 
That there are unicorns; that ii> Arabia 
There Is one tree, the phoenix' throne; one phoenix 
At this hour reigning there. 

Ant. I '11 believe both; 

And what does else want credit, come to me. 
And I '11 be sworn 't Is true: Travellers ne'er did lie, 
Though fools at home condemn them. 

Gon. If In Naples 

I should report this now, would they believe me? 
If I should say I saw such Islanders, 
(For, eertes, these are people of the island,) 
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note. 
Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of 
Our human generation you shall fmd 
Many, nay, almost any. Pro. Honest lord. 

Thou hast said well; for some of you there present. 
Are worse than devils. [Aside. 

Alon. I cannot too much muse 

Such shapes, such gestui-e, and such sound, express- 
(Although they want the use of tongue) a kind [ing 
Of excellent dumb discourse. 

Pro. Praise In departing [Aside, 

Fran. They vanlsh'd strangely. 

Seb. No matter, since 

They have left their viands behind; for we have 

stojnachs.— 
Will 't please you taste of what is here? 

Alon. _ Not I. [boys, 

Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear: When we were 
Who would believe that there were mountaineers 
Dew-Iapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 

them 
Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men 
Whose heads stood In their breasts? which now we 
Each putter-out of five for one will bring us [find. 
Good warrant of. 

Aloti. I will stand to, and feed. 

Although my last; no matter, since I feel 
The best Is past:— Brother, my lord the duke. 
Stand to, and do as we. 
Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a harpy; 

claps his wings upon the table, and with a quaint 

device the banquet vanishes. 

Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny 
(That hath to instrument this lower world. 
And what is in 't,) the never surfeited sea 
Hath caus'd to belch up you, and on this Island 
Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men 
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad: 

Seeing Alon., Seb., &c., draw their swords. 
And even with suchlike valour, men hang and 

drown 
Their proper selves. You fools! I and my fellows 
Are ministers of fate; the elements. 
Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 
Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
One dowle. that's in my plume; my fellow ministers 
Are like invulnerable: if you could hurt. 
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths 
And will not be uplifted: But, remember, 
(For that's my business to you,) that you three 
From Milan did supplant good Prospero; 
Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit It, 
Him and his innocent child; for which foul deed 
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures 
Against your peace: Thee, of thy son, Alonso, 



They have bereft; and do pronounce by me, 

Ling'ring perdition (worse than any death 

Can be at once,) shall step by step attend 

You, and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from 

(Which here, in this most desolate Isle, else falls 

Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow. 

And a clear life ensuing. 

He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music; enter the 

Shajjes again, and dance with mops and mowes, and 

carry out the table. 

Pro. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 
Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring: 
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life. 
And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
Their several kinds have done: my high charms 
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up [work 

In their distractions: they now are in m.v power; 
And in these fits I leave them, while I visit 
Youn^ Ferdinand, (whom they suppose Is drown'd,) 
And his and my loved darling. 

[Exit Prospero /ro»i above. 

Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why stand 
In this strange stare? [you 

Alon. O, it is monstrotis! monstrous! 

Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; 
The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder. 
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd 
The name of Pro.sper; it did bass my trespass. 
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded; and 
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded. 
And with him there lie mudded. [Exit. 

Seb. But one flend at a time, 

I'll fight their legions o'er. 

Ant. I'll be thy second. 

[Exeunt Seb. and Ant. 

Gon. All three of them are desperate; their great 
Like poison given to work a great time after, [guilt. 
Now 'gins to bite the spirits:— I do beseech you 
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly. 
And hinder them from what this ecstacy 
May now provoke them to. 

Adr. Follow, I pray you. 

[Exeunt 
ACT. IV. 

Scene I.— B^ore Prospero's Cell. 
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 

Pro. If I have too austerely punlsh'd you. 
Your compensation makes amends; for I 
Have given you here a thread of mine own life. 
Or that for %vhich I live; whom once again 
I tender to tliy hand: all thy vexations 
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, 
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 
Do not smile at me that I boast her off. 
For thou Shalt find she will outstrip all praise. 
And make it halt behind her. Fer. I do believe it, 
Against an oracle. 

Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: But 
If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
With full and holy rite be mlnister'd. 
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
To make this contract grow: but barren hate, 
Sour-ey'd disdain and discord, shall bestrew 
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly. 
That you shall hate It both: therefore take heed. 
As Hymen's lamp shall light you. 

Fer. As I hope 

For quiet days, fail' issue, and long life. 
With such love as 't is now, the murkiest den. 
The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion 
Our worser genius can, shall never melt 
Mine honour into lust; to take away 
The edge of that day's celebration. 
When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are f ounder'd. 
Or night kept chaln'd below. Pro. Fairly spoke: 
Sit then, and talk with her, she Is thine own.— 
What, Ariel; my Industrious servant, Ariel! 
Enter Ariel. 

Ari. What would my potent master? here I am. 

Pro. Thou and thy meaner f el lows your last sei-vice 
Did worthily perform; and i must use you 
In such another trick: go, bring the rabble. 
O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place: 
Incite tliem to quick motion; for I must 
Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise, 
And they expect it from me. Ari. Presently? 

Pro. Ay, with a twink. 

Ari. Before you can say. Come, and Go, 
And breathe twice; and cry, So, so; 
Each one, tripping on his toe. 
Will be here with mop and mowe: 
Do you love me, master? no. 

Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel: Do not approach 
Till thou dost hear me calL 

Ari. Well, I conceive. [Exit. 

Pro. Look, thou be true: do not give dalliance 
Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw 
To the flre 1' the blood; be more abstemious. 
Or else good night your vow! 

P^^ I warrant you, sir. 

The white cold virgin snow upon my heart 
Abates the ardour of my liver. Pro. Well.— 

Now come, my Ariel: bring a corollary. 
Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly.— 
No tongue; all eyes; be silent. [Soft music, 

A Masque. Enter Iris. 

Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease; 
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep. 
And flat meads thateh'd with stover, them to keep; 
Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims. 
Which spongy April at thy best betrims, 
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom 

groves. 
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipp'd vinevard; 
And thy sea-marge, sterll, and roeky-hard. 
Where thou thyself dost air: The queen o' the sky. 
Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, 
Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace. 
Here on this grass-plot, in this very place. 
To come and sport; her peacocks ily amain: 
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 
Enter Ceres. 

Cer. Hail many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 



Dost disoliey the wife of .Tunltor; 

Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers 

Diftusest honey-drops, refreshing showers; 

And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 

My bosky acres, and my unshrubb'd down. 

Rich scarf to my proud earth: Why hath thy queen 

Summon'd me hither, to this short -grass'd green? 

B-is. A contract of true love to celebrate; 
And some donation freely to estate 
On the bless'd lovers. 

Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow. 

If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know. 
Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot 
The means tliat dusky Dls my daughter got. 
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 
I have forsworn. Iris. Of her society 

Be not afraid; I met her deity 
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos; and her son 
Dove-drawn with her: here thought they to have 

done 
Some wantom charm upon this man and maid. 
Whose vows are that no bed-rite shall be paid 
Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but in vain; 
Mars's hot minion is return'd again; 
Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows. 
Swears he will shooi no more, but play with sparrows, 
And be a boy right out. 

Cer. Highest queen of state. 

Great Juno comes: I know her by ner gait. 
Enter Juno. 

Jun. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me. 
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, 
And honour'd in their Issue. 

SONG. 

Jun. Honour, riches, marriage blessing. 
Long continuance and increasing. 
Hourly joys be still upon you! 
Juno sings her blessings on you. 
Cer. Earth's increase, foison plenty. 
Barns and garners never empty; 
Vines, with clust'ring bunches growing; 
Plants with goodly burthen bowing; 
Spring come to you, at the farthest. 
In the very end of harvest! 
Scarcit.v and want shall shun you; 
Ceres' blessing so is on you. 

Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
Harmonious charmingly: May I be bold 
To think these spirits? 

Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 

I have from their confines called to enact 
Mj^ present fancies. 

Fer. Let me live here ever; 

So rare a wonder'd father and a wise. 
Makes this place Paradise. 

Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employ/ 
ment. 

Pro. Sweet now, silence; 

Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; 
There's something else to do: husli, and be mute. 
Or else our spell Is marr'd. [brooks. 

Iris. You nymphs call'd Naiads, of the wind'ring 
With your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks. 
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land ' 
Answer your summons: Juno does command: 
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
A contract of true love; be not too late. 

Enter certain Nymphs. 
You sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary. 
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry; 
Make iioliday: your rye-straw hats put on. 
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
In country footing. 
Enter certain Reapers, properly habited; they join 

with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towaras the 

end whereof Prospero starts suddenly, and speaks; 

after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused 

nx)ise, they heavily vanish. 

Pro. [Aside.\ I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates. 
Against my life; tlie minute of their plot 
Is almost come.— [To the Spirits.'\ Well done;— 
avoid;— no more. 

Fer. This is strange; your father's in some passion 
That works him strongly. 

Mira. Never till this day. 

Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 

Pro. You do look, my son. In a mov'd sort 
As if you were dismay 'd: be cheerful, sir: 
Our revels now are ended: these our actors. 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted Into air, into thin air: 
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision. 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe Itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; 
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded. 
Leave not a rack behind: We are such stuff 
As dreams are made on, and our little life 
Is rotmded with a sleep.— Sir, I am vex'd; 
Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled. 
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity; 
If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell. 
And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk. 
To still my beating mind. 

Fer. Mira. We wish your peace. [Exeunt. 

Pro. Come with a thought:— I thank thee, Ariel: 
come. 

Enter Ariel. 

Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to: What's thy plea- 
sure? Pro. Spirit, 
We must prepare to meet with Caliban. 

Ari. Ay, my commander; when I presented Ceres, 
I thought to have told thee of it; but 1 fear'd 
Lest I might anger thee. [lets? 

Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these var- 

Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drlnlc- 
So full of valour that they smote the air [ing: 

For breathing in their faces; beat the ground 
For kissing of their feet; yet always bending 
Towards their project: Then I beat m.y tabor. 
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses. 
As they smelt music; so I charm'd their ears. 
That, calf-like, they my lowing foUow'd, through 
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and 

thorns. 
Which enter'd their frail shins: at last I left them 
I' the filthy mantled pool beyond vour cell. 
There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
O'erstunk their feet. 



TEMPEST. 



[Act v. 



Pn>. This was well (lone, my bird; 

Thy shape Invisible retain thou still: 
The trumpery in niv house, go, bring It hither, 
For stale to catch these thieves. 

A ri. I RO, I Ro. [i<:ai7. 

Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurtuie can never stick; on whom my pains, 
Hinnanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost: 
And as, with aue, his body uglier Rrows, 
So his mind cankers: I will plague them all, 

lie-cnter Ariel, Joaden unth glistering apparel, di'c. 
Even to roaring:— Come, hang them on this line. 
Prospero and Ariel 7'eninin invisible. Knter 
Caliban, Stephano, and Trlnculo, all wet. 

Cat. Pray yon, tread softly, that the iillnd mole may 
Hear a foot fall: \\'e now are near his cell [not 

Ste. Monster, your fairy, which y-ou say is a harm- 
less fairy, has dbue llttic'bettcrthau played the Jack 
with us. 

Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which 
my nose Is In great indignation. 

Ste. So Is mine. Do you hear, monster? It I should 
take a displeasure against you; look you, — 

Trin. Thou Avert but a lost monster. 

Cat. Good my lord, give me thy favour still: 
Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 
Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak 

softly, 
All's hush'd as midnight yet. 

Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles In the pool,— 

Ste. There Is not only disgrace and dishonour in 
that, monster, but an Infinite loss. 

Trin. That's more to me than my wetting: yet this 
is your harmless fairy, monster. 

Ste. I will fetch oft my bottle, though I be o'er ears 
for my labour. 

Cat. Prithee, my king, be quiet: See's thou here, 
This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter. 
Do that good mischief, which may make this island 
Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
For aye thy foot-llcker. 

Ste. Give me thy hand: I do begin to have bloody 
thoughts. 

Tnn. O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Ste- 
phano! look, what a wardrobe here Is for thee! 

Cat. Let it alone, thou fool; It Is but trash. 

Trin. O ho, monster: we know what belongs to a 
frippery:— O king Stephano! 
. Ste. Put oft that gown, Trlnculo; by this hand, I'll 
have that gown. 

Trin. Thy grace shall have it. [mean. 

Cat. The dropsy drown this fool! what do you 
To dote thus on such luggage? Let's alone. 
And do the murther first: if he awake, 
From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches; 
Make us strange stuff. 

Ste. Be you quiet, monster.— Mistress line, is not 
this my jerkin? Now is the Jerkin under the line; 
now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove 
a bald jerkin. 

TiHn. Do, do: We steal by line an level, an 't 
like your grace. 

Ste. I thank thee for that jest: here's a garment 
for 't: wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king 
of this country: Steal by line and level, is an excel- 
lent pass ot pate; there's another garment for 't. 

Trin. .'VIonster, come, put some lime upon your fin- 
gers, and away with the rest. 

Cat. I win have none on 't: we shall lose our time. 
And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
With foreheads villainous low. 

Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers; help to bear this 
away where my hogshead of wine Is, or I'll turn 
you out of my kingdom: go to, carry this. 

Trin. And this 

Ste. Ay, and this. 

A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in 

shape of hounds and hunt them about. 

Prospero and Ariel setting them on. 

Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey! 

Ari. Silver! there it goes. Silver! 

Pro. Fury, Fury! there Tyrant, therel hark, hark! 
[Cal., Ste., and Trin. are driven out. 
Go, charge my goblins that the.v grind their joints 
With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews 
With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make 
Than pard or cat o' mountain. [them, 

Ari. Hark, they roar. 

Pro. Let them be hunted .soundly: At this hour 
Lie at m.v mercy all mine enemies: 
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou 
Shalt have the air of freedom: for a little. 
Follow and do me service. lExeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— Before the Cell of Prospero. 

Enter Prospero in his magic robes; and Ariel. 

Pro. Now does my project gather to a head: 
My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and Time 
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? 

Ari. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord. 
You said our work should cease. 

Pro. I did say so. 

When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit. 
How fares the king and 's followers? 

Ari. Confln'd together 

In the same fashion as you gave in charge; 
Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, 
In the line-grove which weather-tends your cell; 
They cannot budge till your release. The king. 
His "brother and yours, abide all three distracted; 
And the remainder mourning orer them, 
Brimful of sorrow and dbmay; but chiefly [zalo;' 
Him that you term'd, sir, 'The good old lord, Gon- 
His tears ran down his beard, like winter's drop-; 
From eaves of reeds: your charm so strongly works 
That if you now beheld them your affections [thtm 
Would become tender. 

Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit? 

Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 

Pro. And mine shall. 

Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
Of their afflictions? and shall not myself. 
One of their kind, ,hat ri'lish all as .s'hai plv 
Passion as tlicv, i.c kirnlllcr iiiov'd than thou art? 
Though with iheirlilgii wrongs 1 :ini strook to the 
Yet, with my nobler reason 'gain.st no' fury [quick, 
Do I take part: the rarer action is 
In virtue than In vengeance: they being penitent. 
The sole drift of my purpose doth cxtencf 



Not a frown further: Go, release them, Ariel; 
My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, 
And they shall be themselves. 

Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. [Exit, 

Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and 
.\nd ye that on the sands with printless foot [groves; 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him. 
When he comes back; youdeml-pnppets that 
Bv moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, 
\\''hereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime 
Is to make midnight-mushrooms; that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid 
(Weak masters though ye be) I have bedlmm'd 
The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds. 
And 'twlxt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thundei 
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory 
Have 1 made shake; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
The pine and cedar: graves, at my command. 
Have wak'd their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth 
By my so potent art: But this rough magic 
I here abjure: and, when I have requlr'd 
Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
To work mine end upon their senses that 
This airy chirm is for, I'll break my staff. 
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth. 
And, deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
I'll drown my book. [Solemn miisic. 

Re-enter Ariel: after him, Alonso, with a frantic 
gesture, attended by Gonzalo; Sebastian and An- 
tonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and 
Francisco: they all enter the circle which FrospeTO 
had made, and there stand charmed; which 
Prospero observing, spealcs. 
A solemn air, and the best comforter 
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains. 
Now useless, boli'd within thy skull! There stand. 
For you are spell-stopp'd. 
Holy Gonzalo, honourable man. 
Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine. 
Fall fellowly drops. — The charm dissolves apace; 
And as the morning steals upon the night. 
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
"Their clearer reason.- O good Gonzalo, 
My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
To him tnou follow'st, I will pay thy graces 
Home, both in word and deed. — Most crupUy 
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: 
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act;— [blood. 
Thou art pinch'd for 't now, Sebastian.— Flesh and 
You brother mine, that entertatn'd ambition, 
ExpeU'd remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian, 
(Wnose Inward pinches therefore are most strong,) 
Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive' thee. 
Unnatural though thou art!— Their understanding 
Begins to swell; and the approaching tide 
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores. 
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them 
That yet looks on me, or would know me:— Ariel, 
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my ceil; 

[Exit Ariel. 
I will disease me, and myself present. 
As I was sometime Milan:— quickly, spirit; 
Thou Shalt ere long be free. 

Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire Prospero. 
Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 
In a cowslip's bell I lie: 
There I couch when owls do cry. 
On the bat's back I do fly 
After summer merrily: 
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
Pro. Why, that's my dainty Ariel: I shall ralss thee; 
But yet thou shalt have freedom; so, so, so.— 
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art: 
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
Under the hatches; the master, and the boatswain. 
Being awake, enforce them to this place; 
And presently, I prithee. 

An. I drink the air before me, and return 
Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel. 

Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 
Inhabits here: Some heavenly power guide us 
Out ot this fearful country! 

Pro. Behold, sir king, 

The wronged duke of Milan, Prospero: 
For more assurance that a living prince 
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; 
And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
A hearty welcome. 

Alon. Whe'r thou beest he, or no. 

Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me. 
As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse 
lieats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee. 
The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
I fear, a madness held me- this must crave 
(An if this be at all) a most strange story. 
Thy dukedom I resign; and do entreat 
Thou pardon me my wrongs:— But how should 
Be living, and be here? [Prospero 

Pro. First, noble friend. 

Let me embrace thine age; whose honour cannot 
Be lueasur'd, or conlln'd. Gon. Whether this be. 
Or be not, I'll not swear. Pro. You do yet taste 
Some subtlltles o' the isle, that will not let you 
Believe things certain: — Welcome, my friends all:— 
But you, my orace of lords, were I so minded, 

[Aside to Seb. and Ant. 
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you. 
And justify you traitors; at this time 
I'll tell no tales. 
Seb. The devil speaks In hlra. [Aside. 

Pro. No:— 

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require 
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know 
Thou must restore. 

Alon. If thou beest Prospero, 

Give us particulars of thy preservation: 
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
Were wrack'd upon this shore; where I have lost 
(How sharp the point of this remembrance is!) 
My dear son Ferdinand. 
Pro. I am woe for 't, sir. 

Alon. Irreparable is the loss; and patience 
Says It is past her cure. Pro. 1 rather think, 
You have not sought her help; of whose soft grace 
For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid. 
And rest myself content. 



Alon. You the like loss? 

Pro. As great to me, as late; and supportable 
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
Than you may call to comfort you; for I 
Have lo.st my daughter. Alon. A daughter? 

heavens! that they were living both in Naples, 
The king and queen there! that they were, I wish 
Myself were mudded In that oozy bed [ter? 
Where my son lies. When did you loise your daugh- 

Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive these lords 
At this encounter do so much admire. 
That they devour their reason; and scaive think 
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
Are natural breath; but, howsoe'er you have 
Been justled from your senses, know for certain 
That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
Which was thrust forth ot Milan; who most strangely 
Upon this shore, where you were wrack'd, was land- 
To be the lord on 't. No more yet of this; [ed. 
For 't is a chronicle ot day by day. 
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 
This cell's my court: here have I few attendants, 
And .subjects none abroad: pray you, look In. 
My dukedom since you have given me again, 

1 will reqtiite you with as good a thing; 

At least, orlng forth a wonder to content ye. 
As much as me my dukedom. 

The entrance of the Cell opens and discovers Fei- 
dinand and Miranda playing at chess. 

Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. 

Fer. No, my dearest love, 

I would not for the world. 

Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
And I would call it fair play. [wrangle, 

Alon. It this prove 

A vision of the island, one dear son 
Shall I twice lose. Seb. A most high miraclel 

Fer. Though the seas threaten they are merciful: 
I have curs'd them without cause. 



[Fer. kneels to Alon. 
No 



Alon. Now all the blessings. 

Of a glad father compass thee about! 
Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 

Mira. O! wondert 

How many goodly creatures are there here! 
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world. 
That has such people In 't! 

Pro. 'T Is new to thee. 

Alon. What Is this maid, with whom thou wast at 
play? 
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours: 
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us. 
And brought us thus together? 

Fer. Sir, she's mortal; 

But, by Immortal providence, she's mine; 
I chose her, when I could not ask my father 
For his advice; nor thought I had one: she 
Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan, 
Of whom so often I have heard renown. 
But never saw before; of whom I have 
Reeeiv'd a second life, and second father 
This lady makes him to me. Aion. I am hersr 

But O, how oddly will it sound that I 
Must ask my child forgiveness! 

Pro. There, sir, stop; 

Let us not burthen our remembrances with 
A heaviness that's gone. Gon. I have inly wept. 
Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods. 
And on this couple drop a blessed crown; 
For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way 
Which brought us hither! 

Aloyi. I say, amen, Gonzalof. 

Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his Issue 
Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice 
Beyond a common joy; and set it down 
With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage 
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; 
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife 
Where he himself was lost; Prospero, his dukedom. 
In a poor Isle; and all of us, ourselves. 
When no man was his own. 

Alon. Give me your hands: 

rro Fer. and Mir. 
Let grief and sorrow stUl embrace his heart 
That doth not wish you Joy! 



Gon. 



Be 't so! Amen! 



Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain. 
amazedly folloiving. 

look, sir, look, sir; here are more of us! 

1 prophesied if a gallows were on land. 

This fellow could not drown; now blasphemy, 
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore?' 
Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? 

Boats. The best news is that we have safely found 
Our king, and company: the next our ship,— , 

Whlcli, but three glasses since, we gave out split, — 
Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
We first put out to sea. 

Ari. Sir, all this service ) 

Have I done since I went. [Aside. 

Pro. My tricksy spirit! ) 

Alon. These are not natural events; they 

strengthen, [hither? 

From strange to stranger:— Say, how came you 

Boats. It I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
I'd strive to tell you. We were dead ot sleep. 
And (how, we know not,) all clapp'd under hatches. 
Where, but even now, with strange and several 

noises 
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, glngllng chains. 
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible. 
We were awak'd; straightway, at liberty: 
Were we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master 
Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you. 
Even in a dream, were we divided from them, 
And were brought moping hither. 

Ari. Was 't well done?) 

Pro. Bravely, my dilligence. Thou shalt I Aside. 
be free. ' ' 

Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod: 
And there is in this business more than nature 
Was ever conduct of: some oracle 
Must rectify our knowledge. Pro. Sir, my liege. 

Do not Infest your mind with beating on 
The strangeness of this business: at plck'd leisure. 
Which shall be shorlly, single I'll resolve you 
(Which to you shall seem probai)le) of CACry 
These hapi^en'd accidents: till when, be cheerful. 
And think of each thing well.- Come hither, spirit; 

{.Aside. 



Scene i. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Set Caliban and his companions free; 
Untie tlie spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fai-es jny gra- 
There are yet missius of youi- conrpany [clous sir? 
Some few odd lads tnat you remember not. 
He-tnter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano, and 
Trinculo, in Uicir stolen Apparel. 

Ste. Every man srtift for all the rest, and let no 
man take care for himself; for all is but fortune:— 
Coragio, bully -monster, Coragio! 

Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
head, here's a goodly sight. 

Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits, indeed! 
How fine my master Is! I am afraid 
He will chastise me. Seb. Ha, ha! 

W.iat tilings are these, my lord Antonio? 
"Will money buy them? 

Ant. Very like; one of them 
Is a plain tlsh, and, no doubt,' marketable. 

1 10. Mark but the badge of these men. my lords. 
Then sav if they be true: this mls-shapt n knave,— 
His mother was a witch, and one so strong 
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs. 



Find tills grand liquor that hath gilded them?— 
How cam'st thou in this pickle? 

Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you 
last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones; 
I shall not fear fly-blowing. 

tieb. Why, how now, Stephano? 

Ste. O.touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp. 

Pro. You'd be king of tile isle, sirrah? 

Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 

Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on. 

[Pointing t'j Caliban. 

Pro. He is as disproportion'd-in his manners 
As in his shape:— Go, sirrah, to my cell; 
Take with you your companions; as you look 
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 

Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter, 
And seek for grace: What a thrice-double ass 
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god. 
And worship this dull fool! Pro. Go to; away! 

Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you 

Seb. Or stole it, rather. [found it. 

{Exeunt Cal., Ste., and Trin. 

Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train. 



Alon. I long 

To hear the story of your life, which must 
Take the ear strangely. Pro. I '11 deliver all; 

And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
Your royal fleet far off.— My Ariel;— chick,— 
That is thy charge; then to the elements 
Be free, and fare thou well!— [^side.] Please you 
draw near. [Exeunt. 

EPILOGUE. 
Spoken by Prosporo. 

Now my charms are all o'erthrown. 
And what strength I have's mine own; 
Which is most faint: now 't is true, 
I must be here confin'd by you. 
Or sent to Naples: Let me not. 
Since I have m.y dukedom got. 
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell 
In this bare island, by your spell; 
But release me from my bands. 




[Two Gentlemen of Verona.] Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Here is a coll with protestation \— [Tears the letter. \ [act i.— scene II.2 



And deal in her command, without her power; 
These three have rohb'd me: and this demi-devil 
(For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them 
To take my life: two of these fellows vou 
3Iust know, and own; this thing of darkness I 
Acknowledge mine. 

Cal. 1 shall be pinch'd to death. 

Alnn. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? 

Seb. He is drunk now: where had he wine? 

Mon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: Where should 
they 



To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 
For this one night; (which part of it) I '11 waste 
With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make It 
Go quick away: the story of my life. 
And the particular accidents gone by. 
Since I came to this isle: And in the morn 
I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd; 
And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
Every third thought shall be my grave. 



With the help of your good hands. 
Gentle breath of yours my sails 
Must flU, or else my pro.i'ect falls. 
Which was to please: Now I want 
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; 
And my ending is despair. 
Unless I be rellev'd by prayer; 
Which pierces so, that it assaults 
Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 
As you from crimes would pardon'd bo 
Let your indulgence set me free. 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



HVK^, father to Silvia. 

Valentink, 

Peot-:us, 



The two Gentlemen. 



Antonio, father to Proteus. 
Thurio, a foolish rival to Valentine. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



EGLAMoun, agent for Silvia, in her 

escape. 
Speed, a clownish servant to Valentine. 
Launce, the like to Proteus. 
Panthino, servant to Antonio. 
Host, whtre Julia lodges. 



OuT-LAWS, u-ith Valentine. 

Julia, a lady o/ Verona, beloved of Pro- | 

tens. 
Silvia, the Dvke^s daughter^ beloved of 

Valentine. I 



I LucETTA, waiting-woman to Julia. 
Servants, Musicians. 



In the original, Proteus is Invari- 
ably spelt Protheus. 



10 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



LAcr i. 



ACT I. 

SCEKE 1—An open place in Verona. 

Enter Valentine and Proteus. 

Val Ci»!ise to persuade, my loving Proteus; 
Home keeping youth have ever homely wits; 
Wer't not affection chains thy tender days 
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, 
I rather would entreat thy company, 
To see the woiidera of th« world abroad. 
Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home, 
Wear out thv youth with shapeless idleness. 
But, since tlio'u lov'st, love still, and thrive therein. 
Even as I would, when I to love begin. 

Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu! 
Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest 
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel: 
Wish lie partaker in thv happiness, 
When thou dost meet good hap: and in thy danger. 
If ever danger do environ thee. 
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers. 
For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine. 

Val. And on a love-book pray for my success? 

Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. 

Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love, 
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 

Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love; 
For he was more than over boots in love. 

Val. 'T is true; for you are over boots in love. 
And yet you never sworn the Hellespont. 

Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots. 

Val. No, I will not, for It boots thee not. 

Pro. What? 

Val. To be In love, where scorn Is bought with 
groans; [mirth. 

Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's 
With twenty wat?hful, weary, tedious nights: 
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain; 
If lost, why then a grievous labour won; 
However, but a folly bought with wit. 
Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 

Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. 

Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove. 

Pro. 'Tls love you cavil at; I am not love. 

Val. Love is your master, for he masters you: 
And he that is so yoked by a fool, 
Methinks should not be chronicled for wise. 

Pro. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud 
The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 

Val . And writers say, as the most forward bud 
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow. 
Even so by love the young and tender wit 
Is turn'd to folly; blasting in the bud. 
Losing his verdure even in the prime. 
And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, 
That art a votary to fond desire? 
Once more adieu: ray father at the road 
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 

Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. 

Val. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave. 
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters. 
Of thv success in love, and what news else 
Betid'eth here in absence of thy friend; 
And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 

Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan! 

Val. As mucn to you at home! and so farewell. 

lExit Valentine. 

Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love: 
He leaves his friends to dignify them more; 
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. 
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me; 
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time. 
War with good counsel, set the world at nought; 
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with tnought. 

Enter Speed. 

Speed. Sir Proteus, save you: Saw you my master? 

Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan. 

Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already; 
And I have played the sheep, in losing him. 

Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, 
An if the shepherd be awhile away. 

Speed. You conclude that my master Is a shepherd 
then, and I a sheep? 

Pro. I do. 

Speed. Why then ray horns are his horns, whether 
I wake or sleep. 

Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 

Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 

Pro. True; and thy master a shepherd. 

Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. 

Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove It by another. 

Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the 
sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my 
master seeks not me: therefore, I am no sheep. 

Pro. The sheep tor fodder follow the shepherd, the 
shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thou for 
wages followest thy master, thy master for wages 
follows not thee: therefore, thou art a sheep. 

Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. 

Pro. But dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter to 
Julia? 

Speed. Ay, sir; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to 
her, a laced mutton; and she, a laced mutton, gave 
me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labour! 

Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such store of 
muttons. 

Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best 
stick her. 

Pro. Nay, in that you are astray; 'twere best pound 
you. 

Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me 
for carving your letter. 

Pro. You mistake; I mean the pound, a pinfold. 

Speed. From a pound to a pin? told it over and over, 
'T is threefold too little for carrying a letter to your 
lover. 

Pro. But what said she? did she nod? 

• LSpeed nods. 

Speed. I. 

Pro. Nod, I; why, that's noddy. 

Sueed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you 
ask me, if she did nod; and I say, I. 

Pro. And that set together, is— noddy. 

■Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it to- 
getner, take it for your pains. 

Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter. 

Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear with 
you. 

Pro. Why, air, how do you bear with me? 



Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having 
nothing but the word, noddy, tor my pains. 

Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 

Speed. And yet It cannot overtake your slow purse. 

Pro. Come, come, open the matter In brief: What 
said she? 

Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the 
matter, may be both at once delivered. 

Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains: What said 
she? 

Speed. Truly sir, I think you'll hardly win her. 

Pro. Why? Could'st thou perceive so much from 
her? 

Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; 
no not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter: 
And being so hard to me that brought your mind, I 
fear, she'll prove as hard to you in telling your mind. 
Give her no token but stones; for she's as hard as 
steel. 

Pro. What said she,— nothing? 

•Speed. No, not so much as— take this for thy pains. 
To testify your bounty, I thank you you have tes- 
tern'd me; In requital whereof, henceforth carry your 
letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to my 
master. 

Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your .ship from wrack; 
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard. 
Being destined to a drier death on shore:— 
I must go send some better messenger; 
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines, 
Keceivlng them from such a worthless post. 

lExeunt. 

Scene II.— r7ie same. Garden of Julia's House. 
Enter Julia and Lucetta. 

Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love? 

Luc. Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfuUy. 
Jul. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen. 
That every day with parte encounter me, 
In thy ODinlon, which is worthiest love? [mind 

Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll show my 
According to my shallow simple skill. 

Jul. What thlnk'st thou of the fair sir Eglamour? 

Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine; 
But, were I you, he never should be mine. 

Jul. What thlnk'st thou of the rich Mercatlo? 

Luc. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so, so. 

Jul. What thlnk'st thou of the gentle Proteus? 

Luc. Lord, lord! to see what folly reigns in us! 

Jul. How now! what means this passion at his 
name? 

Luc. Pardon, dear madam; 't Is a passing shame. 
That I, unworthy body as I am. 
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen. 

Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest? 

Luc. Then thus, of many good I think him best. 

Jul. Your reason? 

Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason; 
I think him so, because I think him so. [him? 

Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on 

Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. 

Jut. Why, he of all the rest hath never mov'd me, 

Xtte. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. 

Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small. 

Luc. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all. 

Jul. They do not love that do not show their love. 

Luc. O, they love least that let men know their love. 

Jul. I would I knew his mind. 

Luc. Peruse this paper, madam. 

Jul. To Julia,— Saj from whom? 

Luc. That the contents will show. 

Jul. Say, say; who gave It thee? pProteus: 

Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from 
He would have given it you, but I, being In the way. 
Did In your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray. 

Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker! 
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines? 
To whisper and conspire against my youth? 
Now, trust me, 't is an office of great worth 
And you an ofBcer fit for the place. 
There, take the paper, see it be return'd; 
Or else return no more into my sight. 

Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate. 

Jul. Will you be gone? 

Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit. 

Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. 
It were a shame to call her back again. 
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
What 'fool is she, that knows that I am a maid. 
And would not force the letter to my view! 
Since maids, in modesty, say No to that 
Which they would have the profterer construe Ay. 
Fie, tie! how wayward is this foolish love. 
That, like a testy babe, will scratcli the nurse, 
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! 
How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 
When willingly I would have had her here! 
How angerly I taught my brow to frown. 
When Inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile! 
My penance is, to call Lucetta back. 
And ask lemission for my folly past: — 
What ho! Lucetta? 

Re-enter Lucetta. 

Luc. What would your ladyship? 

Jul. Is 't near dinner time? 

Luc. I would It were; 

That you might kill your stomach on your meat. 
And not upon your maid. 

Jul. What Is 't you took up 

So gingerly? 

Luc. Nothing. 

Jul. Why didst thou stoop then? 

Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall, 

Jul. And Is that paper nothing? 

Luc. Nothing concerning me. 

Jul. Then let It lie for those that it concerns. 

Luc. Madam, it will not lie where It concerns. 
Unless it have a false Interpreter. 

Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you In rhyme. 

Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune: 
Give me a note: your ladyship can set. 

Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible: 
Best sing it to the tune of Light o' love. 

Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 

Jul. Heavy? belike it hath some burden then. 

Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing It. 

Jul. And why not you? 

Luc. I cannot reach so high. 

Jul. Let's see your song?— How now, minion? 

Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing It out: 
And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. 



Jul. You do not? 

Luc. No, madam; 't is too sharp. 

Jul. You, minion, are too saucj*. 

Luc. Nay, now you are too flat. 
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant: 
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. 

Jul. The mean is drown'd with fou, unridy base. 

Luc. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. 

Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
Here Is a coll with protestation!— [Tears the letter. 
Go, get you gone; and let the papers lie: 
You would be fingering them, to anger me. 

Xuc. She makes it strange; but sue would be best 
pieas'd 
To be so anger'd with another letter. [Eritt 

Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same! 

hateful hands, to tear such loving words! 
Injurious wasps! to feed on such a sweet honey. 
And kill the bees, that yield it, with your stings! 
I'll kiss each several paper for amends. 

Look, here is writ— Arind Julia;— unkind Julia! 
As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 

1 throw thy name against the bruising stones. 
Trampling contemptuously oh thj' disdain. 
And, here is writ— /<n'e-M'o«nded Proteus:— 
Poor wounded name! my bosotn, as a bed. 

Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be thoroughly heal'd; 
And thus I search it with a sovet-etgn kiss. 
But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down: 
Be calm, good wind, blow not A word away. 
Till I have found each letter In that letter. 
Except mine own name: that some Whirlwind bear 
Unto a ragged, fearful-hanging rock, 
And throw it thence into the raKlns sea! 
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,— 
Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 
To the sweet Julia: that I'll tear hwtty; 
And yet I will not, slth so prettily 
He couples It to his complaining hAhies; 
Thus will I fold them one upon another; 
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do Vfhtlt you will. 
Re-enter Lucetta, 

Luc. Madam, dinner Is ready fthd your father 

Jul. Well, let lis go. [stays. 

Luc. What, shall these papers lleltke telltales here? 

Jul. If you respect them, b?st to tttke them up. 

Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down: 
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 

Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 

Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see; 
I see things too, although you judge I wink. 

Jul. Come, come, wilt please you go. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— :r7ie same. A Room In Atitonld's House. 
Enter Antonio and Panbhlno. 

Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that. 
Wherewith my brother held you In the cloister? 

Pan. "t was of his nephew Proteus, your son. 

Ant. Why, what of him? 

Pan. He wonder'd, that your lordship 

Would suffer him to spend his youth at home; 
While other men, of slender reputation. 
Put forth their sons to seekTerferment put: 
Some, to the wars, to try their fortuiie there; 
Some, to discover islands far away; 
Some, to the studious universities. 
For any, or for all these exercises, 
He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet: 
And did request me, to importune you. 
To let him spend his time no more at hotne, 
Which would be great Impeachment to his age. 
In having known no travel in his youth. 

Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune mfe to that 
Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
I have conslder'd well his loss of time; 
And how he cannot be a perfect man. 
Not being try'd, and tutor'd in the world: 
Experience Is by industry achiev'd 
And perfected by the swift course of time! 
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him? 

Part. I think, your lordship Is not Ignorant, 
How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
Attends the emperor In his royal court. 

Ant. 1 know it well. [hlrt thither: 

Pan. 'T were good, I think, your lordship sent 
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 
Hear sweet dlscoure, converse with noblemeni 
And be in eye of every exercise. 
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 

Ant. I like thy counsel; weii hast thdu adyls'd: 
And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it. 
The execution of it shall make known: 
Even with the speediest expedition 
I will dispatch him to the emperor's Court. 

Pan. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso 
With other gentlemen of pood esteem. 
Are journeying to salute the emperor. 
And to commend their service to his will. 

Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go: 
And,— In good time.— Now will we break with him. 
Enter Proteus. 

Pro. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life! 
Here Is her hand, the agent of her heart; 
Here Is her oath for love, her honour's pawn: 
O, that our fathers would applaud our loves, 
To seal our happiness with their consents! 

heavenly Julia! 

Ant. How now? what letter are you reading thefe? 

Pro. May 't please your lordship, 't is a word or two 
Of commendation sent from Valentine, 
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 

Ant. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. 

Pro. There Is no news, my lord; but that he writes 
How happily he lives, how well-beloved. 
And daily graced by the emperor; 
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 

Ant. And how stand you affected to his wishf 

Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will. 
And not depending on his friendly wish. 

Ant. My will Is something sorted witii his wish; 
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; 
For what I will, I will, and there an end. 

1 am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time 
With Valentinus in the emperor's court; 
What maintenance he from his friends receives. 
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. 
To-morrow be in readiness to go: 

Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 

Pro. My lord, I cannot he so soon provided: 
Please you, deliberate a day or two. [theei 

Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after 
No more of stay; to-morrow thou must go.— 



Scene iii.] 



TIVO GJENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



Come on, Paiithino; you shall be employ'd 
To hasten on his expedition. 

[Exeunt Ant. and Pan. 

Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the Are, for fear ot burn- 
ing; 
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd: 
I fear'd to sliow my father Julia's letter. 
Lest he should take exceptions to my love; 
And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
Hath he accepted most against my love. 
O, how this spring ot love resembleth 

The uncertain glory ot an April day; 
Which now shows all tlie beauty of the sun, 

And by and by a cloud takes all away! 
Reenter Panthlno. 

Pan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you; 
He is in haste; therefore, I pray you go. 

Pro. Why, this it is! my heart accords thereto: 
And yet a thousand times it answers, no. {Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I.— Milan. -4 Room in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Valentine anS, Speed. 

Speed. Sir, your glove. 

Val. Not mine; my gloves are on. 

Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but 
one. 

Val. Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it 's mine:— 
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! 
Ah Silvia! Silvia! 

Speed. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia! 

T^ai. How now, sirrah? 

Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 

Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her? 

Speed. Your worship, .sir; or else I mistook. 

Val. Well, you '11 still be too forward. 

Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too 
slow. 

Val. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know madam Sil- 
via? 

Speed. She that your worship loves? 

Val. Why, how know you that I am in love? 

Speed. Marry, by these special marks: First, you 
have learned, like Sir Proteus, to wreath your arms 
like a male-content; to relish a love song, like a 
Robln-recl-breast; to walk alone, like one that had 
the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had 
lost his A. B. C; to weep, like a young wench that 
had buried her grandam; to fast, like one that takes 
diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to 
speak puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You 
were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; 
when you walked, to walk like one of the lions; 
when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when 
you looked sadly. It was for want of money: and 
now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, 
when I look on you, I can hardly think you my 
master. 

Val. Are all these things perceived in me? 

Speed!. They are all perceived without ye. 

Val. Without me? they cannot. 

Speed. Without you! nay, that's certain, for with- 
out you were so simple, none else would; but you 
are so without these follies, that these follies are 
within you, and shine through you like the water in 
an urinal; that not an eye that sees you but is a 
physician to comment on your malady. 

Val. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia? 

Speed. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at sup- 
per? 

Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. 

Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 

Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and 
yet know'st her not? 

Speed. Is she not hard favoured, sir? 

Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured. 

Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 

Val. What dost thou know? 

Speed. That she is not so fair, as (oj<|^xeu)rwell 
favoured. ' " , '. 

Val. I mean, that her beauty Is exquisite, but her 
favour infinite. 

Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the 
other out of all count. 

Val. How painted? and how out of count? 

i'peed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that 
no man counts of her beauty. 

Val. How esteemest thou me! I account of her 
beauty. 

Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed. 

Val. How long hath she been deformed? 

Speed. Ever since you loved her. 

Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and still 
I see her beautiful. 

Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 

Val. Why? 

Speed. Because love Is blind. O, that you had mine 
eyes; or yourown eyes had the lights they were wont 
to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going uu- 
gartered! 

Val. What should I see then ? 

Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing de- 
formity; for he, belni; in love, could not see to garter 
his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on 
your hose. 

Fa?. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last 
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 

Speed. 'True, sir; I was in love with my bed: I thank 
you, you swing'd me for my love, which makes me 
the bolder to chide you for yours. 

Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 

Speed. I would you were set; so your affection 
would cease. 

Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some 
lines to one she loves. 

Speed. And have you? 

Val. I have. 

Speed. Are they not lamely writ? 

Val. No, boy, but as well as I can do them: 
Peace, here she comes. 

Enter Silvia. 

Speed. O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet! 
no'w will he interpret to her. 

Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-mor- 
rows. 

Speed. O, 'give ye good even; here's a million of 
manners. 

Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand. 

Speed. He should give her Interest, and she gives it 
him. 

Val. As you enjoin 'd me, I have writ your letter, 
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours; 



I Which I was much unwilling to proceed In, 
But for my duty to your ladyship. 

Sil. I thank you, gentle servant; 't Is very clerkly 
done. 

Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off. 
For, being ignorant to whom it goes, 
I writ at random, very doubtfully. 

Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? 

Val. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write. 
Please you command, a thousand times as much: 
And yet,— 

Sil. A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel; 
And yet I will not name it;— and yet I care not;— 
And yet take this again;— and yet I thank you; 
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 

Speed. And yet you will; and yet another yet. 

[Aside. 

Val. What means your ladyship? do you not like it? 

Sil. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ: 
But since unwillingly, take them again; 

Nay, take them. Val. Madam, they are for you. 

Sil. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request; 
But I will none of them; they are for you: 
I would have had them writ more movingly. 

Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. 

Sil. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over: 
And if it please you, so: if not, why so. 

Val. If It please me, madam! what then? 

Sil. Why, if it please .vou, take it for your labour. 
And so good morrow, servant. [Exit Silvia. 

/Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible. 
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 

steeple! 
My master sues to her; and she hath taught her sui- 
He being her pupil, to become her tutor, [tor. 

O excellent device! was there ever heard a better? 

That my master, being scribe, to himself should 
write the letter? 

Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with 
yourself? 

Speed. Say, I was rhyming; 't is you that have the 
reason. 

Val. To do what? 

Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. 

Val. To whom? 

Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a figure. 

Val. What figure? 

Speed. By a letter. I should say. 

Va'. Why, she hath not writ to me? 

Speed. What need she, when she hath made you 
write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Speed. No believing you indeed, sir: But did you 
perceive her earnest? 

Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. 

Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 

Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. 

Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there 
an end. 

Val. I would, it were no worse. 

Speed. I'll warrant you 't is as well. 
For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty. 
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; 
Or fearing else some messenger, that might her mind 
discover, [her lover. — 

Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto 
All this I speak in print, f.'r in print I found it. — 
Why muse you, sir? 't is dinner time. 

Val. I have dined. 

Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the cameleon 
Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish- 
ed by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, 
be not like your mistress; be moved, be moved. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene II.— Verona. A Room in Julia's House. 
Enter Proteus and Julia. 

Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 

Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 

Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 

Jul. It you turn not, you will return the sooner: 
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 

[Giving a ring. 

Pro. Why then we '11 make exchange; here, take 
you this. 

Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 

Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy; 
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day, 
Wheiein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake. 
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
Torment me for my love's forgetf ulness; 
My lather stays my coming; answer not; 
The tide Is now: nay, not thy tide of tears; 
That tide will stay me longer than I should: 

[Exit Julia. 
Julia, farewell. — ^What! gone without a word? 
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; 
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. 
Enter Panthlno. 

Pan. Sir Proteus, you are staid for. 

Pro. Go; I come, I come:— 
Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene III.— Tfte Same. A Street. 
Enter Launce, leading a Dog. 

Laun. Nay, 't will be this hour ere I have done 
weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very 
fault: 1 have received my proportion, like the pro- 
digious son; and am going with Sir Proteus to the 
Imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the sour- 
est-natured dog that lives: my mother weepingi my 
father wailing, my sister crying, our maid a howling, 
our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a 
great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur 
shed one tear; he is a stone, a very pebble-stone, 
and has no more pity in, him than a dog; a Jew 
would have wept to have 'seen our parting; why, 
my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself 
blind at my parting. Nay, I '11 show you the man- 
ner of it: This shoe is my father;— Jio, this left shoe 
is my father;— no, no, this left shoe is my mother;— 
nay, that cannot be so neither:— yes, it is so, it is so: 
it hath the worsersole; This shoe with the hole in it, 
is my mother, and this my father; A vengeance on't! 
there 't is: now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look 
you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand: 
this hat is Nan, our maid; I am the dog:— no, the dog 
is himself, and I am the dog,— O, the dog is me, and 
I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; 
Father, your blessing; now should not the shoe speak 
a word for weeping; now, should I kiss my father; 
well, he weeps on:— now come I to my mother, (O, 



that she could speak now!) like a wood woman;— 
well. I kiss her;— why, there 't Is; here's my njother's 
breath up and down; now come I to my sister; mark 
the moan she makes: now the dog all this while sheds 
not a tear, nor speaks a word: but see how I lay the 
dust with my tears. 

Enter Panthlno 

Pan. Launce, away, away, aboard; thy master is 
shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. What's 
the matter? why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass; 
you'll lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 

Laun. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it Is 
the unkindest tied that ever man tied. 

Pan. What's the unkindest tide? 

Laun. Why, he that's tied here; Crab my dog. 

Pan. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the Hood: and, 
in losing the flood, lose thy voyage; and, in losing thy 
voyage, lose thy master; and, in losing thy master, 
lose thy service; and, in losing thy service,— Why 
dost thou stop my mouth? 

Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. 

Pan. Where should I lose my tongue? 

Laun. In thy tale. 

Pan. In thy tail? 

Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the mas- 
ter, and the service, and the tied! Why, man, if the 
river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if 
the wind were down, I could drive the boat with my 
sighs. 

Pan. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call 
thee. 

Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. 

Pan. Wilt thou go? 

Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— Milan. A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurlo, and Speed. 

Sil. Servant. 

Val. Mistress. 

Speed. Master, sir Thurlo frowns on you. 

Val. Ay, boy, it 's for love. 

Speed. Not of you. 

Val. Of my mistress then. 

Speed. "T were good you knocked him. 

Sil. Servant, you are sad. 

Val. Indeed, madam, 1 seem so. 

Thu. Seem you that you are not? 

Val. Haply I do. 

Thu. So do counterfeits. 

Val. So do you. 

Thu. What seem I, that I am not? 

Val. Wise. 

Thu. What Instance of the contrary? 

Val. Your folly. 

Thu. And how quote you my folly? 

Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 

Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 

Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. 

Thu. How? 

Sil. What, angry, sir Thurlo? do you change colour? 

Val. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of came- 
leon. 

Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your blood, 
than live in your air. 

Val. You have said, sir. 

Thu A.v, sir, and done too, for this time. 

Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you 
begin. 

Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly 
shot off. 

Val. 'T is indeed, madam; we thank the giver. 

Sil Who is that, servant? 

Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire: sir 
Thurlo borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, 
and spends what he borrows, kindly In your com- 
pany. 

Thu, Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I 
shall make your wit bankrupt. 

Val. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of 
words, and I think, no other treasure to give your 
followers; for it appears by their bare liveries that 
they live by your bare words. 

Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more; here comes my 
father. 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health: 
What say you to a letter from your friends 
Of much good news? 

Val. My lord, I will be thankful 

To any happy messenger from thence. 

Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? 

Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
To be of worth, and worthy estimation. 
And not without desert so well reputed. 

Duke. Hath he not a son? 

Val Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves 
The honour and regard of such a father. 

Duke. \o\x know him well? 

Val. I know him, as myself; for from our Infancy 
We have convers'd and spent our hours together: 
And though myself have oeen an idle truant, 
Omitttingthe sweet benefit of time 
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection. 
Yet hath sir Proteus, for that's his name. 
Made use and fair advantage of his days; 
His years but young, but his experience old; 
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; 
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
Come all the praises that I now bestow,) 
He is complete in feature, and in mind. 
With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 

Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good, 
He is as worthy for an empress' love. 
As meet to be an an emperor's counsellor. 
Well, sir: this gentleman is come to me. 
With commendation from great potentates; 
And here he means to spend his time awhile: 
I think 't is no unwelcome news to you. 

Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. 

Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth; 
Silvia, I speak to you: and you, sir Thurlo:— 
For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it: 
I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke. 

Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship. 
Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 

Sil. Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them. 
Upon some other pawn for fealty. [still. 

Val. Nay, sure 1 think she holds them prisoners 

Sil. Nay. then he should be blind; and, being blind, 
How could he see his way to seek out you? 

Vol, Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 



12 



TWO GENTLEyiEN OF VERONA. 



[Act ni> 



Thu. They say, that love hath not an eye at all— 
Vol. To see such lovers, Tluirlo, as yourself; 
TJpon a homely object love can wink. 

Enter Proteus. 

SU. Have done, have done; here comes the gentle- 
man, [you, 

TVi', Welcome, dear Proteus!— Mistress, I beseech 
Conllrm his welcome jvith some special favour. 

SU His worth Is warrant for his welcome hither, 
If rliis be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 

Vnl. Mistress, it is: sweet lady, entertain him 
To he mv fellow-servant to your ladyship. 

.Si7. Too low a mlstres^: for so high a servant. 

Pro. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant 
To have a look of sucli a worthy mistress. 

Vnl. Leave off discourse of disability:— 
Swpptlady. entertain him for your servant. 

Pro. M.v (Intv will I boast of, nothing else. 

.Si7. And duty never yet did want his meed; 
Servant, you are welcome to a wortliless mistress. 

J'ro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. 

Sil. That you are welcome? 

Pro. No; that you are ■worthless. 

Enter Servant. 

Sit. Madam, my lord your father would speak with 
you. 

Sil. I wait upon his pleasure. {Exit Servant. 

Come, sir Thurio, 
Go with me:— Once more, new servant, welcome: 
I '11 leave you to confer of home affairs; 
When you liave done, we look to hear from you. 

Pro. We '11 botli attend upon your ladyship. 

\E.veunt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. 

Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you 
came? [commended. 

Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much 

Val. And how do yours? 

Pro. I left them all in health. 

Val. How does your lady? and how thrives your 
love? 

Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you; 
I know you jov not in a love-discourse. 

Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now: 
I have done penance for contemning love; 
Whose high imperious thoughts have punlsh'd me 
Witli bitter fasts, witli penitential groans. 
With nightly tears, anci daily heart-sore sighs; 
For, in revenge of m.v contempt of love. 
Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes. 
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sor- 
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord; [row. 

And hath so humbled me, as, I confess, 
There Is no woe to his correction. 
Nor to his service no such jo.v on earth! 
Now, no discourse, except it be of love; 
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, 
Upon the very naked name of love. 

Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye: 
Was this the idol that you worship so? 

Val. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint? 

Fro. No; but she is an earthly paragon. 

Val. Call her divine. 

Pro. I will not flatter her. 

Val. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises. 

Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills; 
And I must minister the like to you. 

Val. Then speak the truth by her; If not divine, 
Yet let her be a principalit.v. 
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 

Pro. Except my mistress. 

Val. Sweet, except not any; 

Except thou wilt except against my love. 

Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own? 

Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too: 
She shall be dignified wltii this high iionour, — 
To bear my lady's train; lest the base earth 
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss. 
And of so great a favour growing proud. 
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, 
And make rough winter everlastingl.y. 

Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this? 

Val. Pardon me, Proteus: all I can is nothing 
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing; 
She is alone. Pro. Tiien let her alone. 

Val. Not for the world: why, man, she is mine 
And I as rich in having such a jewel, [own; 

As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, 
Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
My foolish rival, that her father likes, 
Only for his possessions are so huge. 
Is gone with her along; and I must after, 
For love, thou know'st, is full of Jealousy. 

Pro. But she loves you? 

Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; 

Nay, more, our marriage hour. 
With all the cunning manner of our flight, 
Determin'd of: how I must climb her window; 
The ladder made of cords; and all the means 
Plotted, and 'greed on, for my happiness. 
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber. 
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 

Pro. Go on before; I shall inquire you forth; 
I nmst unto the road, to disemoark 
Some necessaries that I needs must use; 
And then I '11 presently attend you. 

Val Will you make haste? 

Pro. I will.— [ExitYa.1. 

Even as one heat another heat expels. 
Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
So the remembrance of my former love 
Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
Is It her mien or Valentinus' praise. 
Her true perfection, or my false transgression, 
That makes me reasonless, to reason thus? 
She's fair: and so is Julia, that I love:— 
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; 
Which, like a waxen image 'gain t a Are, 
Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold; 
And that I love him not, us I was wont: 
O! but I love his lady too, too much; 
And that's the reason I love him so little. 
How shall I dote on her with more advice. 
That thus without advice begin to love her? 
'T is but Irt iji(.-ture I have yet beheld, 
And that hafli dazzled my reason's light; 
But w hen I look on her perfcction.s, 
■There is no reason lull I sliall be blind. 
If I can check my erring lov<', 1 will; 
If not, to compass her I 'II use my skill. [Exit. 



Scene Y.—The same. A Street. 
Enter Speed and Laiince. 

Speed. Launce? by mine honesty, welcome to 
Milan. 

Laun. Forswear not th.yself, sweet youth; for I am 
not welcome. I reckon this always— that a man is 
never undone till he be hanged; nor never welcome 
to a place till some certain shot be paid, and the 
hostess say, welcome. 

Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I '11 to the ale- 
house with you )iresently; where, for one sliot of 
flve-pence, th on shalt have five thousand welcomes. 
But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam 
Julia? 

Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
parted very fairly in jest. 

Speed. But shall she marry him? 

Laun. No. 

Speed. How then? shall he marry her? 

Laun. No, neither. 

Sijeed. What, are they broken? 

Laun. No, they are both as whole as a flsh. [them? 

Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with 

Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with him, 
It stands well with her. 

Speed. What an ass art thou! lundenstand theenot! 

Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst not! 
My staff uiMlerstands me. 

Speed. What thou say'st? 

Laun. Ay, and what I do, too: look thee, I '11 but 
lean, and my staff understands me. 

Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 

Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one. 

Speed. But tell me true, will 't be a match? 

ioHH. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if he .■■ay, 
no, it will: if he shake his tail, and say nothing. It will. 

Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. 

Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me 
but by a parable. 

Speed. "T is well that I get it so. But, Launce, how 
sa.v'st thou, that my masteris become a notable lover? 

Laun. I never knew him otherwise. 

Stieed. Than how? [be. 

Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to 

Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakest me. 

Latin. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy 
master. 

Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hat lover. 

Latin. Wh.v, I tell thee, I care not though he burn 
himself in love. If thou wilt, go with me to tlie ale- 
house; if not. thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and hot 
worth the name of a Christian. 

Speed. Why? 

Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in 
thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian: Wilt thou go? 

Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt. 

Scene VL — The same. A Euom in the Palace. 
Enter Proteus. 
P)-o. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn; 
To love fair Silvia, shall I be fors\Yorn; 
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn; 
And even that power, which gave me first my oath. 
Provokes me to this threefold perjury. 
Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear: 

sweet-suggesting love. If thou hast sinn'd. 
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
At first I did adore a twinkling star. 

But now I worship a celestial sun. 
Unheedful vows may heedfuUy be broken; 
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will 
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. — 
Fye, fye, unreverend tongue! to call her bad, 
'\'i''hose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
With twenty thousand soul-confirming oatlis. 

1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do; 

But there I leave to love, where I should love, 
Julia I lose, and Valentine 1 lose: 
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; 
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, 
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. 
I to myself am dearer than a friend: 
For love is still most precious in itself: 
And Silviaj witness heaven, that made her fair! 
Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
I will forget that Julia is alive, 
Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead; 
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy. 
Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 
T cannot now prove constant to myself. 
Without some treachery used to Valentine: — 
This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder 
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window; 
Myself in counsel, his competitor: 
Now presently I'll give her father notice 
Of their disguising, and pretended flight; 
Who, all enraged, will banLsh Valentine: 
For 'Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter:— 
But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross. 
By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift. 
As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift! [Exit. 
Scene VII.— Verona, A Eoom in Julia's House. 
Enter Jul'a and Lucetta. 

Jul. Counsel, Lucetta! gentle girl, assist me! 
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee,- 
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, — 
To lesson me; and tell me some good mean. 
How, with my honour, I may undertake 
A Journey to my loving Proteus. 

Jjuc. Alas! the Avay is wearisome and long. 

Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; 
Much less shall she that hath love's wings to fly; 
And -H'hen the flight is made to one so dear. 
Of such divine perfection, ns sir Proteu-s. 

Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 

Jul. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's 
Pity the dearth that I have pined in, [food? 

By longing for that food so long a time. 
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
Thou would'st as soon go ^indle fire with snow. 
As seek to quench the flre of love with words. 

Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire; 
But qualify the fire's extreme rage. 
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 

Jul. The more thou damm'st it up, the more it 
burns; 
The current, that with gentle murmur glides. 
Thou know'st, being stopp'd. Impatiently doth rage; 
But, when his fair course is not hinder'd, 



He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, 

Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 

He overtaketh In his pilgrimage; 

And so by many winding nooks he strays. 

With willing sport, to tlie wild ocean. 

Then let me go, and hinder not my course: 

I'll be as patient as a gentle stream. 

And make a pastime of each weary step. 

Till the last step have brought me to my love; 

And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, 

A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 

Luc. But in what habit will you go along? 

Jul. Not like a woman; for I would prevent 
The loose encounters of lascivious men: 
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
As may beseem some well-reputed page. 

Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair. 

Jul No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings; 
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots: 
To be fantastic, may become a youth 
Of greater time than I shall show to be. 

Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make your 
breeches? [lord, 

Jul. That fits as well, as— tell me, good my 
'What compass ivill you wear your farthingale?' 
Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. 

Luc. You must needs have them witli a cod-piece, 
madam. 

Jul. Out, out. Lucetta! that ivill be iU-favour'd. 

Luc. A round hose, madam, iiow's not worth a pin. 
Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. 

Jul. Lucetta. as thou lov'.st me, let me have 
What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerl.v: 
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me, 
For undertaking so unstaid a journey? 
I fear me. it will make me scandaliz'd. 

Luc. It you think so, then stay at home and go not. 

Jul. Nay, tliat 1 will not. 

Luc. Then never di-eam on infamy, but go. 
If Proteus like .your journey, when you come. 
No matter who's displeased, when you are gone: 
1 fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. 

Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of m.v fear: 
A thou.sand oaths, an ocean of his tears. 
And instances of infinite of love. 
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 

Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 

Jul. Base men, that use them to so base effect! 
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth! 
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; 
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; 
His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart; 
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. 

Imc. Prav heaven, he prove so, when you come to 
him! 

Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong. 
To bear a hard opinion of his trutli: 
Only deserve my love, by loving him: 
And presently go with nie to my chamber. 
To take a note of what I stand in need of. 
To furnish me upon my longing Journey. 
All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 
My goods, m.v lands, my reputation: 
Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence: 
Come, answer not, but to it presently; 
I am impatient of my tarriance. [E.reunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. — Milan. An Ante-room in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. 

Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile; 

We have some secrets to confer about. 

[Exit Thurio. 
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me? 

Pro. My gracious lord, that w"hich I would discover. 
The law of ft-iendship bids me to conceal: 
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours 
Done to me, undeserving as I am, 
M.v duty pricks me me on to utter that 
Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
Know, worth.y prince, sir Valentine, my fiiend. 
This night intends to steal away your daughter: 
Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
I know^ you have determin'd to bestow her 
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; 
And should she thus be stolen away from you, 
It would be much vexation to your age. 
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather cho.se 
To cross my friend in his intended drift. 
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, 
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave. 

Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care; 
Which to reqiiite, command me while I live. 
This love of tlieirs myself have often seen, 
Hapl.v, when they have judg'd me fast asleep; 
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 
Sir Valentine her company, and m.v court: 
But, feariug lest my jealous aim might err. 
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, 
(A rashness that I ever j'et haive shunn'd,) 
I gave him gentle looks; thereby to find 
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
And, that thou ma.v'st perceive my fear of this, 
Knowingthat tender youth is soon suggested, 
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower. 
The key whereof myself have ever kept; 
And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 

Pio. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
How he her chamber-window will ascend. 
And with a corded ladder fetch her down; 
For which the youthful lover now is gone. 
And this way comes he with it presently; 
AVhere, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
But. good m.v lord, do it so cunningly, , 
'I hat my discovery be not alm'd at; 
For love of you, not hate unto m.v friend, 
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 

Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know 
That I had any light from thee of this. 

Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming. 

[Exit. 
Enter Valentine. 

Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? 

Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
And I am going to deliver them. 

Duke. Be they of much import? 

Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
My health, and happy being at your court. 

Duke. Nay, then no matter; stay with me a while; 
I am to break with thee of some affairs. 
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 



Scene i.] 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEIiONA. 



IS 



'T Is not unknown to thee, thnt I have sought 
To nmtch my liMenil, sir Thnrio, to my dauKhtor. 

I'd/. I know it well, my lonl; and, sure, the match 
Were ricli and lioiumralile; besides, the nc'itlemaii 
Is full of virtue, bounty, worlh. and (jiialities 
Bescemin^^ sueh a wife" as your fail- daughter: 
Cannot your pi'ncc \viii Ikm- to fancy Idni.'' 

Duke. No, trust me; slii' is peevish, sullen, frovvard, 
Proud, disobedient, stuliborii. laekinR duty; 
Neither vegai-dins,' that she is my ehild. 
Nor fearinct me as if I were her father: 
And, may I .say to thee, this pride of her.s. 
Upon advice, hath drawn mj' love from her; 
And, "Where Ithouirht the remnant of mine age 
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty, 
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife. 
And turn her out to who will take her In. 
Then let lier beauty be her wedding-dower; 
For me and my possessions she esteems not. ' 

Vol. What would your grace have me to do.in this? 

Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here, 
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy. 
And nought esteems my aged eloquence: 
Now, tlierefore, would I have thee to ray tutor, 
(For long agone I have forgot to cotnt: 
Besides, the fa.shion of the time is chang'd;) 
How, and which wa.v, I may bestow raj'self. 
To he regarded in her sun-bright e.ve. 

Val. Win her ^vlth gifts, if she respect not words; 
Dumb ,1ewels often, iji their silent kind. 
More than quick \vords, do move a. woman's mind. 

Dxike. But she did .scorn a present that I sent her. 

Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best contents 
.Send her anotlier; never give her o'er; [her: 

For scorn at-first makes after-love the more. 
If she do frown, 't is not in hate of you. 
But rather to beget more love in you: 
If she do chide, 't is not to have you gone; 
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
Take no repulse, whatever she d(-th say: 
For, get you gone, she doth not mean away ; 
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces; 
Though ne'er so black, .say they have angels' faces. 
That man that hath a tongue, I say. Is no man, 
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 

Duke. But, she I mean is promised by her friends 
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth; 
And kept severely from resort of men, 
That no man hath access by day to her. 

Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. 

Duke. Ay, but the doors be locked, and keys kept 
That no man hath recourse to her by night. [safe. 

Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? 

Duke. Her chamlier is aloft, far from the ground; 
And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
Without apparent hazard of his life. 

Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords, 
To cast up with a pair of anch.-)ring hooks. 
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, 
So bold Ijcander would adventure it. 

Duke. Now-, as thou art a gentleman of blood. 
Advise me where I may have such a ladder. 

Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that. 

Duke. This very night; for love is like a child. 
That longs for everything that he can come by. 

Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. 

Duke. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone; 
How shall I best convey the ladder thither? 

Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear It 
Under a cloak, that is of any length. 

Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn ! 

Val. Ay, my good lord. 

Duke. Then let me see thy cloak: 

I'll get me one of such another length. 

Val. 'Vnvy, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 

Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? — 
I pi-ay thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.— 
What letter is this same? What's here?— To Silvia ? 
And here an engine fit for my proceeding! 
I'll be so. bold to break the seal for once. [fleads 

My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly; 
And slaves they are to me, that send them flying: 

O, could their master come and go as lightly, [ing. 
Himself would lodge, where senseless they are ly- 

My herald thoughts in th.y pure bosom rest them; 
While I, their king, that thither them importune, 

JJo curse the grace that with such grace hath 
bless'd them. 
Because myself do want my servants' fortune: 

I curse myself, for they are sent by me, [be. 

That they should harbour where their lord should 
What's here? 

Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee. 
'T is so; and here's the ladder for the purpose. 
Wh.v Phaeton, (for thou art Merop's son,) 
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car. 
And with thy daring folly burn the world? 
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? 
Go, base intruder ! over-weening slave ! 
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates; 
And think my patience, more than thy desert. 
Is privilege for thy departure hence: 
Thank me for this, more than tor all the favours, 
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. 
But if thou linger in my territories, 
Longer than swiftest expedition 
Will give thee time to leave our royal court. 
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. 
Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, 
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. 

[_Exit. Duke. 

Val. And why not death, rather than living tor- 
To die. Is to be banished from myself; [ment? 

And Silvia is m.yself : banish'd from her. 
Is self from self: a deadly banishment 1 
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen? 
What joy is joy. if Silvia be not by? 
Unless it be to think that she Is by. 
And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
Except I be by Silvia in the night, 
There is no music in the nightingale; 
Unless I look on Silvia In the day. 
There is no day for me to look upon: 
She is my essence; and I leave to be. 
If I be not by her fair Influence 
Foster'd, illumln'd. cherish'd, kept alive. 
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom 
Tarry I here, I but attend on death; 
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life. 

Enter Proteus and Launce. 

Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. 



iMun. So-ho! so-ho! 

Pro. What seest thou? 

Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on 's 
head, but 't is a Valentine. 

Pro. Valentine? 

Val. No. 

Fro. Who then? his spirit? 

Val. Neither. 

Pro. What then? 

Val. Nothing. 

Laun. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? 

Pro. Who would'st thou strike? 

Laun. Nothing. 

Pro. Villain, forbear. 

Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pra.v you,— 

Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear; Friend Valentine, a 
word. [news, 

Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good 
So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 

Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine. 
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. 

Val. Is Silvia dead? 

Pro. No Valentine. 

Val. No, Valentine, Indeed, for sacred Silvia!— 
Hath she forsworn me? 

Pi'o. No, Valentine. 

Val. No, Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me!— 
What is your news? 

Laun. Sir, tliere's a proclamation that you are 
vanish'd. 

Pro. That thou art banish'd. O, that's the news; 
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. 

Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already. 
And now excess of it will make me siu'feit. 
Doth Silvia know that I am banished? 

Pro. Ay, ay; and she hath offer'd to the doom, 
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,) 
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears: 
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; 
With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became 
As If but now the.y waxed pale for woe: [them. 

But neither bended knees, pure hands held up. 
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 
Could penetrate her uncompassiouate sire; 
But Valentine, If he be ta'en, must die. 
Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so. 
When she for thy repeal was suppliant. 
That to close prison ne commanded her. 
With many bitter threats of 'biding there, [speak'st 

Val. No more; unless the next word that thou 
Have some malignant power upon my life; 
It so, I pray thee, breath It In mine ear. 
As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 

Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help. 
And study help for that which thou lament'st. 
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love; 
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
Hope Is a lover's staff; walk hence with that. 
And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence, 
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
The time now serves not to expostulate: 
Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate; 
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
Of all that ma.v concern th.v lOve-affairs: 
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself. 
Regard thy danger, and along with me. 

Val. I pray thee, Launce, and if thou seest my boy, 
Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north-gate. 

Pro. Go. sirrah. And him out. Come, Valentine. 

Val. O my dear Silvia, hapless Valentine I 

[E.veunt Valentine and Proteus. 

Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and .yet I have 
the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave; but 
that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not 
now that knows me to be in love; yet I am In love; 
but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me; 
nor who 't is I love, and yet 't is a woman- but what 
woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 't is a milk- 
maid; yet 't is not a maid, for she hath had gossips: 
yet 't is a maid, for she is her master's maid, and 
serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a 
water-spaniel,— which is much in a bare-christian. 
Here is the cate-log [Pulling out a paper^ of her 
conditions. Imprimis, She can fetch and carry. 
Wh.v, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot 
fetch, but only carr.y; therefore Is she better than a 
iade. Item, She can milk; look you, a sweet virtue 
in a maid with clean hands. 

Enter Speed. 

Speed. How now, signior Launce? what news with 
your mastership? 

Laun. With my master's .ship? why It Is at sea. 

Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the word: 
What news then in your paper? 

Laun. The blackest news that ever thou heard'st. 

Speed. Why, man, how black? 

Laun. Why, as black as ink. 

Speed. Let me read them. 

Laun. F.ye on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read. 

Speed. Thou llest, I can. 

Laun. I will try thee: tell me this: Who begot 
thee? 

Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 

Laun. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy 
grandmother: this proves, that thou canst not read. 

Speed. Come, fool, come: try me Inthy paper. . 

Laun. There; and St. Nicholas be thy speed! 

Speed. Imprimis, She can milk. 

Laxm. Ay, that she can. 

Speed. Item, She brews good ale. 

Laun. And thereof comes the proverb,— Blessing 
of your heart, you brew good ale. 

Speed. Item, She can seio. 

Laun. That's as much as to say, can she so? 

Speed. Item, She can knit. 

Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a 
wench, when she can knit him a stock. 

Speed. Item, She can wash and scour. 

Laun. A special virtue; for then she need not be 
washed and scoured. 

Speed. She can spin. 

Laun. Then I may set the world on wheels, when 
she can spin for her living. 

Speed, item. She hath many nameless virtues. 

Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard virtues; 
that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore 
have no names. 

Speed. Here Jollow her vices. 

Laun. Close at the heelsof her virtues. 



Speed. Item, Site is not to be kixsed fasting, in re- 
spect to her breath. 

Laun. Well, that fault may be mended, with a 
breakfast: Read on. 

Speed. Item, She hath a sircH mouth. 

Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath. 

Sliced. Item, She doth talk in, her steep. 

Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not In 
her talk. 

Speed. Item, Site is slow in words. 

Laun. O villain, that set this down among her 
vices! To be slow in words Is a woman's only virtue; 
I pray thee, out with 't; and place It for her chief 
virtue. 

Spc:'d. Item, She is proud. 

Laun. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, 
and cannot be ta'en from her. 

Speed. Item, She hath no teeth 

Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love 
crusts. 

Speed Item, She is curst. 

Laun. Well; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 

Speed. She will often praise her liquor. 

Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will 
not, I will; for good things should be praised. 

Speed. Item, She is too liberal. 

Laun. Other tongue she cannot; for that's writ 
down she Is slow of: of her purse she shall not; for 
that I'll keep shut: now of another thing she may; 
and that cannot I help? Well, proceed. 

Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, and 
more faults than hairs, a.nd more wealth than faults. 

Laun. Stop there; I'll have her: she was mine, and 
not mine, twice or thrice in that last article: Re- 
hearse that once more. 

Speed. Iteni, She hnth more hair than loit, — 

Laun. More hair than wit,— it may be; I'll prove 
it; The cover of the salt hides the salt, and therefore 
it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit. 
Is more than the wit; for the greater hides the less. 
What's next? 

Speed.— And more faults than hairs, — 

Laun. That's monstrous: O, that that were out ! 

Speed. — And more wealth than faults. 

Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gracious: 
Well, I'll have her: And if it be a match, as nothing 
Is Impossible.- 

Speed. What then? 

Laun. Why, then will I tell thee,— that thy master 
stays for thee at the north gate. 

Speed. For me? 

Laun. For thee? ay: who art thou? he hath staid 
for a better man than thee. 

Speed. And must I go to him? 

Laxm. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid so 
long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 

Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox of your 
love-letters. [Evit. 

Laxm. Now will he be swinged for reading my let- 
ter: .4n unmannerly slave, that will thrust himself 
into secrets !— I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's cor- 
rection. \_Exlt. 

Scene II.— Milan. A room in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Duke and Thurlo; Proteus behind. 

Duke. Sir Thurlo, fear not but that she will love 
Now Valentine Is banish'd from her sight. [you, 

Thu. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most, 
Forsworn my company, and rall'd at me, 
That I am desperate of obtaining her. 

Duke. This weak impress of love Is as a figure 
Trenched in ice; which with an hour's heat 
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. 
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts. 
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. — 
How now, sir Proteus? Is your countryman. 
According to our proclamation, gone? 

Pro. Gone, my good lord. 

Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 

Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 

Duke. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. — 
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee. 
(For thou hast shown some sign of good desert,) 
Makes me the better to confer with thee. 

Pro. Longer than I prove lo.yal to your grace. 
Let me not live to look upon your grace. 

Duke. Thou know'st, how willingly I would effect 
The match between sir Thurio and my daughter. 

Pro. I do. my lord. 

Dxike. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
How she opposes her against my will. 

Pi^o. She did, my loid, when Valentine was here. 

Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
What might we do, to make the girl forget 
The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio? 

Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine 
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent; 
Three things that women highly nold in hate. 

Duke. Ay, but she '11 think, that It is spoken in 

Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it: [liate. 

Therefore it i"nust, with circumstance, be spoken 
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. 

Ihike. Then you must undertake to slander him. 

Pro. And that, luy lord, I shall be loth to do: 
'T is an ill office for a gentleman; 
Especially against his ver.v friend. 

Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage 
Your slander never can endamage him; [him. 

Therefore the oflice Is indifferent. 
Being entreated to it b.y your friend. 

Pro. You have prevailed, m.v lord: If I can do It, 
B.y aught that I can speak In his dispraise. 
She shall not long continue love to nlm. 
But say, this weed her love from Valentine, 
It follows not that she will love sir Thurlo. 

Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him. 
Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, 
You must provide to bottom it on me; 
Which must b^ done, by praising me as much 
As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. 

Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this 
Because we know, on Valentine's report, [kind. 

You are already love's firm votary. 
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
Upon this warrant shall you have access. 
Where you with Silvia may confer at large; 
For she Is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, 
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you; 
Where you may temper her, by your persuasion. 
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. 

Pro. As much as I can do. I will effect; — 
But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; 
You must lay lime, to tangle her desires, 



14 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



[Act IV. 



By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
Should 1)1' full fraught with servlce<able vows. 

Duke \\, niueli Is the foroo of heaven-bred poesy. 

Pro. Sa.\', that upon the alter <>f her beauty 
You sacrltice your tears, your sighs, your heart. 
Write till your Ink be dry ; and with jour tears 
Moist It again; and frame some feeling line, 
That may discover such integrity: 
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poet's sinews; 
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
After your dire lamenting elegies. 
Visit by night your lady's chamber- window, 
With some sweet consort; to their instruments 
Tune a deploring dump; the night's dead silence 
Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance. 
This, or else nothing, will inherit iier. 

Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been in love. 

Thu. And thy advice this night I '11 put in practice. 
Therefore, siveet Proteus, my direction-giver, 
IiCt us into the city presently 
To sort some gentlemen well sklU'd in music. 
I have a sonnet that will serve the turn. 
To give the onset to thy good advice. 

Duke. About It, gentlemen. 

Pro. We '11 wait upon your grace, till after supper; 
And afterward determine otir proceedings. 

Duke. Even now about U; I will pardon you. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene 1.—A Forest, near Mantua. 

Enter certain Outlaws. 

1 Out. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. 

2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 

*em. 

Enter Valentine and Speed. 

3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about 
If not, we '11 make you sit, and rifle you. [you; 

Speed. Sir, we are undone! these are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 
Val. My friends,— 

1 Out. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. 
'i Out. Peace; we '11 h«ar him. 

3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he's a proper 
man. 

Val. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose; 
A man I am cross'd with adversity: 
My riches are these poor habiliments, 
Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
You take the sum and substance that I have. 

2 Out. Whither travel you? 
Val. To Verona. 

1 Out. Whence came you? 
Val. From Mllau. 

3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there? 

Val. Some sixteen months; and longer might haVe 
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. [staid, 

1 Out. What, were you banlsh'd thenee? 
Val. I was. 

2 Out. For what offence? 

Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse: 
I klU'd a man, whose death I much repent; 
But yet I slew him manfully In flght. 
Without false vantage, or base treachery. 

1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, it it were done so: 
But were you banlsh'd for so small a fault? 

Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 

1 Out. Have you the tongues? 

Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy; 
Or else I often had been miserable. 

3 Out. By the bare scalp of Bobin Hood's fat friar 
This fellow were a king tor our wild faction. 

1 Out. We'll have him; sirs, a word. 
Speed. Master, be one of them; 

It is an honourable kind of thievery. 
Val. Peace, villain! 

2 Out. Tell us this: Have you anything to take to? 
Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 

3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentleman, 
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth' 

Thrust from the company of lawful men: 
Myself was from Verona banished, 
For practising to steal away a lady. 
An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 

2 Out. And I from Manteau, for a gentleman, 
Whom, in my mood, Istabb'd unto the heart. 

1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 
But to the purpose,— for we cite our faults. 

That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives, 
And, partly, seeing you are beautified 
With goodly shape; and by your own report 
A linguist; and a man of such perfection, 
As we do in our quality much want; — 

2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banlsh'd man. 
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you: 

Are you content to be our general? 

To make a virtue of necessity. 

And live, as we do, in this wildnerness? 

3 Out. What say'st thou? wilt thou be of our con- 
Say, ay, and be the captain of us all: [sort? 
We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee. 

Love thee as our commander, and our king. 

1 Out. But If thou scorn our courtesy, thou die^t. 

2 Out. Thou Shalt not live to brag what we have 

offer'd. 
Val. I take your offer, and will live with you; 
Provided that you do no outrages 
On silly women, or poor passengers. 

3 Out. No, we detest such base vile practices. 
Come, go with us, we '11 bring thee to our crews. 
And show thee all the treasure we have got; 
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene II.— Milan. Court of the Palace. 
Enter Proteus. 
Pro. Already have I been false to Valentliie, 
And now I muA be as unjust to Thurio. 
Under the colour of commending him, 
I have access my own love to prefer: 
But Silvia Is too fair, too true, too holy 
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
When I protest true loyalty to her. 
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend: 
When to her beauty I comniend my vows, 
She bids me think, how I have been forsworn 
In breaking faith with Julia whom I loved: 
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips. 
The least whereof would quell a lover's hopes. 
Yet, spauiel-Iike, the more she spurns my love. 



The niore it grows, and fawneth on her still. 
But here comes Thurio: now must we to her window. 
And give some evening music to her ear. 
Enter Thurio and Musicians. 

Thu. How now, sir Proteus? are you crept before 
us? 

Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for, you know, that love 
Will creep in service where it cannot go. 

Thu. Ay, but, I hope, sir, that you love not here. 

Pro. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence. 

Thu. Who? Silvia? 

Pro. Ay, Silvia,— for your sake. 

Thu. I thank vou for your own. Now, gentlemen. 
Let 's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 
Enter Host, at a distance; and Julia in hoy's clothes. 

Host. Now, my young guest! methinks you'really" 
cholly; I pray jou, why Is It? 

Jill. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 

Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring you 
where you shall hear music, and see the gentleman 
that you ask'd for. 

Jul. But shall I hear him speak? 

Host. Ay, that you shall. 

Jul. That will be music. [Music plays. 

Host. Hark! hark! 

Jul. Is he among these? 

Host. Ay: but peace, let 's hear 'em. 

SONG. 
Who is Silvia? what is she. 

That all our swains commend her? 
Holy, fair, and wise is she. 

The heaven such grace did lend her. 
That she might admired be. 

Is she kind, as she is fair, 
For beauty lives with kindness: 

Love doth to her eyes repair. 
To help him of his blindness; 

And, being help'd, inhabits there. 

Then to Silvia let us sing, 

That Silvia is excelling; 
She excels each mortal thing. 

Upon the dull earth dwelling: 
To her let us garlands bring. 

Host. How now? are you sadder than you were 
before? 
How do you, man; the music likes you not. 

Jul. You mistake; the musician likes me not. 

Host. Why, my pretty youth? 

Jul. He plays false, father. 

Host. How? out of tune on the strings? 

Jul. Not so; but yet so false that lie grieves my very 
heart-strings. 

Host. You have a quick ear. 

Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have a 
slow heart. 

Host. I perceive, you delight not in music. 

Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 

Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music ! 

Jul. Ay; that change is the spite. 

Host. You would have them always play but one 
thing. 

Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. 
But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, 
Often resort unto this gentlewoman? 

Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me, he 
loved her out of all nick. 

Jul. Where is Launce? 

Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, by 
his master's command, he must carry for a present 
to his lady. 

Jul. Peace ! stand aside ! the company parts. 

Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! I will so plead. 
That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. 

Thu. Where meet we? 

Pro. At saint Gregory's well. 

Thu. Farewell. 

' [Exeunt Thurio and Musicians. 

Silvia appears above, at her window. 

Pro. Madam, good even lo your ladyship. 

Sil. I thank vou for your music, gentlemen: 
Who is that, that spake? 

Pro. One, lady, if you know his pure heart's truth. 
You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. 

Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 

Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 

Sil. What is your will? 

Pro. That I may compass yours. 

Sil. You have your wish; my will is even this,- 
That presently you hie you home to bed. 
•rhou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man ! 
Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless. 
To be seduced by thy flattery. 
That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? 
Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
For me,— by this pale queen of night I swear, 
I am so far from granting thy request. 
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit; 
And by and by intend to chide myself 
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 

Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; 
But she is dead. 

Jid. 'T were false, if I should speak It; 
For I am sure she is not burled. [Aside. 

Sil. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend. 
Survives; to whom, thyself art witness, 
I am betroth 'd: And art thou not asham'd 
To wrong him with thy importunacy? 

Pro. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. 

Sil. And so suppose am I; for in his grave 
Assure thyself my love is buried. 

Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 

Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence; 
Or. at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. 

Jul. He heard not that. [Aside. 

Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate. 
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
The picture that is hanging in your chamber; 
To that I '11 speak, to that I '11 sigh and weep: 
For, since the substance of your perfect sell 
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; 
And to your shadow will I make true love. 

Jul. If 't were a substance, you would, sure, de- 
ceive it, 
And make it but a shadow, as I an. [Aside. 

Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir; 
But since your falsehood shall become you well 
To worship .shadows, and adore false shapes. 
Send to me In the morning, and I '11 send It: 
And so, good rest. 



Pro. As wretches have o'er night. 
That wait for execution in the morn. 

[Exeunt Proteus; and Silvia, from above. 

Jul. Host, will vou go? 

Host. By my halidoin, I was fast asleep. 

Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus? 

Host. Marry, at ray house: Trust me, I think, 't Is 
almost day. 

Jul. Not so; but it hath been the longest night 
That e'er I watched, and the most heaviest. 

'[Exeunt 

Scene lU.—Tln: same. 
Enter Eglamour. 

Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
Entreated me to call, and know her mind; 
There's some great matter she'd employ me in.— 
Madam, madam! 

Silvia appears above, at her window. 

Sil. Who calls? 

Egl. Your servant, and your friend; 
One that attends your ladyship's command. 

Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-morrow. 

Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. 
According to your ladyship's impose, 
I am thus early come, to know what service 
It is your pleasure to command me in. 

Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
(Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not,) 
Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd. 
Thou art not ignorant what dear good will 
I bear unto the banlsh'd Valentine; 
Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. 
Thyself hast loved; and I have heard thee say. 
No grief did ever come so near thy heart. 
As when thy lady and thy true love died. 
Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode; 
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
I do desire thy worthy company, 
Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
But think upon my grief, a lady's grief; 
And on the justice of my flying lience. 
To keep me from a most unholy match, 
Whicli Heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. 
I do desire thee, even from a heart 
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands. 
To bear me company, and go with me: 
If not, to hide what I have said to thee. 
That I may venture to depart alone. 

Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances; 
Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd 
I give consent to go along with you; 
Recking as little what betideth me 
As much I wish all good befortuue you. 
When will you go? 

Sil. This evening coming. 

Egl. Where shall I meet you? 

Sil. At friar Patrick's cell. 
Where I intend holy confession. 

Egl. I will not fail your ladyship: 
Good-morrow, gentle lady. 

Sil. Good-morroW, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt. 
Scene IV.— The same. 
Enter Launce, with his dog. 

When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, 
look you, it goes hard: one that 1 brought up of a 
puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when three 
or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it ! 
I have taught him— even as one would say precisely. 
Thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to deliver 
him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from my master; 
and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but 
he steps me to her trencher, and steals her caiion's 
leg. O, 't is a foul thing when a cur cannot keep 
liimself in all companies! I would have, as one 
should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog in- 
deed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had 
not had more wit than he, to take a fault upon me 
that he did, I think verily ho had been hanged for 
it; sure as I live he had suffer'd for it: you shall 
judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of 
three or four gentlemen like dogs, under the duke's 
table: he had not been there (bless the mark) a piss- 
ing while, but all the chamber smelt him. Out with 
the dog, says one; What cur is that? says another: 
Whip himout, says the third; Hang him up, says the 
duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell be- 
fore, knew it was Crab ; and goes me to the fellow 
that whips the dogs: Friend, quoth I, you mean to 
ichip the dog:' Ay, marT^/, do I, quoth he. You do 
him the more wrong, quoth I; 't icas I did the thing 
you wot of. He makes me no more ado, but whips 
me out of the chamber. How many masters would 
do this for their servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have 
sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, other- 
wise he had been executed: I have stood on the pil- 
lory fo* geese he hath killed, otherwise he had suf- 
fer'd for it: thou think'st not of this now!— Nay, I re- 
member the trick you served me, when I took my 
leave of madam Silvia; did I not bid thee still mark 
me, and do as I do? When didst thou see me heave 
up my leg, and make water against a gentlewoman's 
farthingale? didst thou ever see me do such a trick? 

Enter Proteus and Julia. 

Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well. 
And will employ thee in some service presently. 

Jul. In whatyou please. — I'll do what I can. 

Pro. I hope that you wilt.— Ho w now, you whoreson 
peasant? [To Launce, 

Where have you been these two days loitering? 

Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog 
you bade me. 

Pro And what says she to my little jewel? 

Laun. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur; and 
tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a 
present. 

Pro. But she received my dog? 

Laun. No, indeed, did she not: here have I brought 
him back again. 

Pro. What, didst thou otter her this from me? 

Laun. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen from 
me by the hangman's boys in the market-place; and 
then I offered her mine own; who is a dog as big as 
ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 

Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again. 
Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
Away, I say: Stay'st thou to vex me here? 



Scene iv.] 



TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 



15 



A slave, that still an end turns me to shame. 

\_Exit Launce. 
Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
Partly, that I have need of such a youth. 
That can with some discretion do my business, 
For 't Is no trusting to yon foolish lowt; 
But, chiefly, tor thy face and thy behavior; 
Which (if my auRury deceive me not) 
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth: 
Therefore know thee, for this I entertain thee. 
Go presently, and take this ring with thee, 
Deliver it to madam Silvia: 
She loVd me well, dellver'd it to me. 

Jul. It seems you lov'd her not to leave her token: 
She's dead, belike. 

Pro. Not so; I think she lives. 

Jul. Alas! 

Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas! 

Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. 

Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pity her? 

Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well 
As you do love your lady Silvia: 
She dreams on him that has forgot her love. 
You dote on lier that cares not for your love. 
'T Is pity, love should be so contrary; 
And thinking on it makes me cry, alas! 

J^o. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal 
This letter;— that 's her chamber.— Tell my lady, 
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
Where thou Shalt find me sad and solitary. 

{Exit Proteus. 

Jul. How many women would do such a message? 
Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertain'd 
A fox, to be the shepherd of thy lambs: 
Alas, poor fool! why do I pity him 
That with his very heart desplscth me? 
Because he loves her, he despiseth me; 
Because I love him, I must pity him. 
This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, 
To bind him to remember my good will: 
And now am I (unhapp.v messenger) 
To plead for that, which I would not obtain; 
To carry that which I would have refus'd; 
To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. 
1 am my master's irue confirmed love; 
But cannot be true servant to my master, 
Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
Yet I will woo for him; but yet so coldly. 
As, Heaven It knows, I would not have him speed. 

Enter Silvia, attended. 
Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you, be my mean 
To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. 

Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she? 

Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 

Sil. From whom? 

Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 

Sil. O!— he sends you for a picture? 

Jul. Ay, madam. 

Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. 

[Picture brought. 
Go, give your master this: tell him from me. 
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget. 
Would better fit his chamber, than this shadow. 

Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. 

Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd 
Delivered you a paper that I should not: 
This is the letter to your ladyship. 

Sil I pray thee, let me look on that again. 

Jul. It may not be; good madam, pardon me. 

Sil. There, hold. 
I will not look upon your master's lines: 
I know they are stufl'd with protestations. 
And full of new-found oaths; which he will break, 
As easily as I do tear his paper. 

Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 

Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me; 
For, I have heard him say a thousand times. 
His Julia gave It him at his departure: 
Though his false finger have profan'd the ring, 
Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 

Jul. She thanks you. 

5i7. What say'st thou? 

Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her: 
Poor gentlewoman! my master wrongs her much. 

Sil. Dost thou know her? 

Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself: 
To think upon her woes I do protest 
That I have wept an hundred several times. 

Sil. Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook 
her. 

Jul. I think she doth, and that 's her cause of sor- 
row. 

Sil. Is she not passing fair? 

Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she Is: 
When she did think my master lov'd her well. 
She, in my Judgment, was as fair as you; 
But since she did neglect her looking-glass, 
And threw her sun-expelling mask away. 
The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks. 
And pinch'd the lily -tincture of her face, 
That now she is become as black as I. 

Sil. How tall was she? 

Jul. About my stature: for, at Pentecost, 
When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
Our youth got me to play the woman's part. 
And I was trlmm'd in madan^ Julia's gown: 
Which serv'd me as fit, by all men's Judgment, 
As if the garment had been made for me: 
Therefore, I know she is about my hight. 
And, at that time, I made her weep a-good. 
For I did play a lamentable part; 
Madam, 't was Ariadne, passioning 
For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight; 
Which I so lively acted with my tears. 
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal. 
Wept bitterly; and, would I might be dead, 
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow! 

.Sil. She is beholden to thee, gentle yojith! — 
Alas, poor lady! desolate and left!— 
I weep myself to think upon thy words. 
Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this 
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou iov'st her. 
Farewell. [Exit Silvia. 

Jul. And she shall thank you for 't, if e'er you 
know her. 
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. 
I hope my master's suit will be but cold. 
Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
Alas, how love can trifle with Itself! 
Here Is her picture: Let me see; I think, 
If I had such a tire, this face of mine 



Were full as lovely as is this of hers; 

And yet the painter flatter'd hei- a little, 

Unless I flatter with myself too much. 

Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow: 

If that be all the difference in his love, 

I '11 get me such a colour'd periwig. 

Her eyes are grey as glass; and so are mine: 

Ay, but her forehead 's low, and mine 's as high. 

What should it be, that he respects In her, 

But I can make respective in myself, 

If this fond love were not a blinded god? 

Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up. 

For 't is thy rival. O thou senseless form. 

Thou Shalt be worshipp'd, klss'd, lov'd, and ador'd; 

And, were there sense in his idolatry, 

Mv substance should be statue in thy stead. 

I '11 use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake. 

That used me so; or else, by Jove I vow, 

I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes. 

To make my master out of love with thee. [Exit. 

ACT V. 
Scene l.—The same. An Abbey. 
Enter Eglamour. 
Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky: 
And now. It is about the very hour 
That Silvia, at friar Patrick's ceil, should meet me. 
She will not fail; for lovers break not hours. 
Unless It be to come before their time; 
So much they spur their expedition. 

Enter Silvia. 
See where she comes: Lady, a happy evening! 

Sil. Amen, amen! go on, good Eglamour, 
Out at the posten by the abbey-wall; 
I fear I am attended by some spies. 

Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off: 

If we recover that, we are sure enough. [Exeunt, 

Scene II.— The same. A Boom in the Duke's 

Palace. 

Enter Thurlo, Proteus, and Julia. 

Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? 

Pro. O, sir, I fliid her milder than she was; 
And yet she takes exception at your person. 

Thu. Wh,i,t, that my leg is too long? 

Pio. No; that it is too little. [er. 

Thu. I'll wear a boot, to make It somewhat round- 
Pro. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. 

Thu. What says she to my face? 

Pro. She says It is a fair one. 

Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies; my face is black. 

Pio. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is, 
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. 

Jul, 'T is true, such pearls as put out ladles' eyes; 
For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside. 

Thu. How likes she my discourse? 

Pi'O. Ill, when you talk of war. 

Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and peace? 

Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. 

{Aside. 

Thu. What says she to my valour? 

Pro, O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 

Jul, She needs not, when she knows It cowardice. 

[Aside. 

Thu. What says she to my birth? 

Po. That you are well deriv'd. 

Jul. True; from a gentleman to a fooL [Aside. 

Thu. Considers she my possessions? 

Pro. O, ay; and pities them. 

Thu. Wherefore? 

Jul. That such an ass should owe them. [Aside. 

Pi'o. That they are out by lease. 

Jul. Here comes the duke. 

Enter Duke. 

DuJce. How now, sir Proteus? how now, Thurlo? 
Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late? 

Thu. Not I. Pro. Nor I. 

Duke. Saw you my daughter? Pro. Neither. 

Duke. Why, then, she's fled unto that peasant Val- 
And Eglamour is in her company. [entine; 

'T is true; for friar Lawrence met them both. 
As he in penance wander'd through the forest: 
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she; 
But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it: 
Besides, she did intend confession 
At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not: 
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse. 
But mount you presently; and meet with me 
Upon the rising of the mountain-foot 
That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled. 
Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 

Thu. Why this it is to be a peevish girl, 
That flies her fortune when it follows her: 
I'll after; more to be reveng'd on Eglamour, 
Than for the love of reckless Silvia. [Exit. 

Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love. 
Than hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Exit. 

Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love. 
Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Ex-it. 

Scene III.— Frontiers o/ Mantua. The Forest. 
Enter Silvia, and Outlaws. 

1 Out. Come, come; 

Be patient, we must bring you to our captain. 

Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one 
Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 

2 Out. Come, bring her away. 

1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with Her? 

3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us, 
But Moyses and Valerius follow him. 

Go thou with her to the west end of the wood. 
There is our captain: we'll follow him that's fled. 
The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape. 

1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's 
Fear not; he bears an honourable mind, [cave; 

And will not use a woman lawlessly. 

Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee. [Exeunt. 

Scene W.— Another part of the Forest. 
Enter Valentine. 

Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man! 
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
■I better brook than flourishing peopled towns: 
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any. 
And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
Tune my distresses, and record my woes. 
O thou that dost inhabit in my breast. 
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless; 
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall. 



And leave no memory of what It was! 

Repair me with thy presence, Silvia; 

Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain! 

What nalloing, and what stir, is this to-day? 

These are my mates, that make their wills theirlaw. 

Have some unhappy passenger in chase: 

They love me well; yet I have much to do. 

To keep them from uncivil outrages. 

Withdraw thee, Valentine; who's this comes here? 



[Steps aside. 
lira. 



Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julfi 

Pro. Madam, this .service I have done for you, 
(Though you respect not aught your servant doth,) 
To hazard life, and rescue you from him 
That would have forc'd your honour and your love. 
Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; 
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg. 
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 

Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear! 
Love, lend me patience to forbear a while. [Aside. 

Sil, O miserable, unhappy that I am! 

Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; 
But, by my coming, I have made you happy. 

Sil. By thy approach thou mak's tme most unhappy. 

Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your pre- 
sence. [Aside, 

Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
I would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
O, Heaven be Judge, how I love Valentine, 
Whose life 's as tender to me as my soul; 
And full as much, (for more there cannot be,) 
I do detest false perjur'd Proteus: 
Therefore be gone, solicit me no more. 

Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to death. 
Would I not undergo for one calm look? 
O, 't is the curse in love, and still approv'd. 
When women cannot love, where they're belov'd. 

Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd. 
Read over Julia's heart, thy flrst best love. 
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
Into a thousand oaths; and ail those oaths 
Descended tnto perjury, to love me. 
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou hadst two. 
And that's far worse than none; better have none 
Than plural faith, which is too much by one: 
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend 1 

Pro. In love. 

Who respects friend? 

Sil. All men but Proteus. 

Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 
I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end; 
And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you. 

Sil. Oheavenl 

Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire. 

Val. RufBan, let go that rude uncivil touch; 
Thou friend of an ill-fashion! Pro. Valentine! 

Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or 
(For such is a friend now;) treacherous man! [love; 
Thou hast beguil'd my hopes: nought but mine eye 
Could have persuaded me: Now I dare not say 
I have one friend alive; thou would 'st disprove me. 
Who should be trusted when one's own right hand 
Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus, 
I am sorry I must never trust thee more. 
But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
The private wound is deepest: O time most ac- 

curs'd! 
Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst. 

Pro. My shame, and guilt, confounds me.— 
Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow 
Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
I render it here; I do as truly suffer 
As e'er I did commit. Val. Then I am paid; 

And once again I do receive thee honest:— 
Who by repentance Is not satisfied 
Is nor of heaven, nor earth; for these are pleas'd; 
By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd: — 
Ana, that my love may appear plain and free. 
All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee. 

Jul, O me, unhappy! [Faints-^ 

Pro. Look to the boy. 

Val. Why, boy! why, wag! how now? what's the 
matter? Look up; speak. 

Jul. O good sir, my master charged me to deliver 
a ring to madam Silvia; which, out of my neglect, 
was never done. 

Pro, Where is that ring, boy? 

Jul, Here 't is, this Is it. [Gives a ring. 

P'O, How! let me see; why this Is the ring I gave to 
Julia. 

Jul. O, cry your mercy, sir, I have mistook; 
This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 

[Shoics another ringL 

P-o. But, how cam'st thou by this ring? at my de- 
part, I gave this unto Julia. 

Jul. And Julia herself did give It me; 
And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 

P-o. How! Julia! 

Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths. 
And entertain'd them deeply in lier heart: 
How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root? 

Proteus, let this habit make thee blush! 
Be thouasham'd, that I have took upon me 
Such an immodest raiment; if shame live 
In a disguise of love: 

It is the lesser blot, modesty flnds, [minds-,. 

Women to change their shapes, than men their 

Pro. Than men their minds! 't Is true; O heaven! 
were man 
But constant, he were perfect: that one error 
Fills him with faults; makes him run through all 
Inconstancy falls off, ere It begins; [sins; 

What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? 

Val. Come, come; a hand from either: 
Let me be blest to make this happy close; 
'T were pity two such friends should be long foes. 

Pro. Bear witness. Heaven, I have my wish for 

Jul. And I mine. [ever. 

Enter Outlaws, with Duke and Thurlo. 

Out. A prize, a prize, a prize! [duke. 

Val. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the 
Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd. 
Banished Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine!. 

Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. 

Val. Thurlo, give back, or else embrace thy death; 
Come not within the measure of my wrath: 
Do not name Silvia thine: if once again, 
Milan shall not behold thee. Here she stands,. 
Take but possession of her with a touch;r— 

1 dare thee but to breathe upon my love. — 



10 



MEBliY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



I Act I. 



Tim. Sir Valentine. I care not for her, I; 
I hold him but a fixil, that will endanger 
His body for a girl that Wives him not: 
I elaiin her not, and tlierl'ore slie is thine. 

Duke. Tile more de^'eiierate and base art thou, 
To make sueh means for her as thou hast done, 
.\nd leave heron sueli slight eonditlons.- 
Mow. by the honour of my ancestry, 
I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 
And think thee worthy of an empress' love. 
Know then, I here forj^et all former griefs. 
Cancel all jrrudge, repeal thee home again.— 
Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit. 
To which I thus subscribe,— Sir Valentine, 
Thou art a gentleman, and \vell derlv'd; 



Take thou thv Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 

Val. I thanlc your grace; the gift hath made me 
happy. 
I now beseech ,vou, for your daughter's sake. 
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 

Dul'e. I [;r;iiu it for thine own, whate'er It be. 

Tol. These l>anisird nu'ii, that I have kept withal, 
Are men endued with worthy qualities; 
Forgive them what they have committed here, 
And let them be recall'd from their exile: 
They are reformed, civil, full of good. 
And fit for great emplo.vment, worthy lord. 

Duke. Thou hast prevail'd; I jjardon them, and 
thee; 
Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 



Come, let us go; we will Include all .lars 
With triumphs, mirth, and rare solenndty. 

Va!. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold 
With our discourse to make your grace to smile: 
What tliink you of this ijage. my lord? 

Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes. 

TVf/. I Avnrrnnt you, u^y Uird; more grace than boy. 

Dxike. Wli.-it menu you tiA- that saying? 

Vol. Please >'ou, I Ml tell you as we pass along. 
That you will wonder what hath fortuned.— 
Come, Proteus: 't is yom- penance, but to hear 
The story of your loves discovered: 
That done, our day of marriage shall he yours; 
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. 

[Exeunt. 



MERRY "WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



PEBSONS REPRESENTED. 



Sir John Falstaff. 

Fenton. 

Shallow, a country justice. 

Slender, cousin to Shallow. 



Mr. Ford, i 
Mr. Paoe, ! 



two gentlemen dwelling at 
Windsor. 



William Page, a boy, son to Mr. Page. 

Sir Hugh Evans, a Welch parson. 

Dr. Caius, a French physician. Host 

of the Garter Inn, 
Bardolph, ) 

Pistol, \ followers of Falastff. 

Nym. ) 



Robin, page to Falstaff. 
Simple, servant to Slender. 
Rugby, servant to Dr. Caius. 
Mrs. Ford. 



Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Anne Page, her daughter. 
Mrs. Quickly, servant to Dr. Caius. 
Servants to Page, Ford, <f-c. 



iCT I. 

Scene I.— Windsor, Garden front of Pace's House. 

Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir Hugh 
Ev.ans. 

Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a 
Star-chamber 'matter of it: if he were twenty sir 
John PalstafCs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, 
esquire. 

Sten. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, 
and coram. 

Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and Cust-alonivi. 

Slen. Ay, and ratolorum, too; and a gentleman 
born, master parson; who writes himself ai-migero: 
in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, arwu- 
gero. 

Shal. Ay, that I do; and have done any time these 
three hundred years. 

Sleyi. All his successors gone before him, have don't; 
and all his ancestors, that come after him, may : they 
may give the dozen white luces in their coat. 

Shal. It is an old coat. 

Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old coat 
well; it agrees well, passant: it is a familiar beast to 
man, and signifies love. 

Shal. The luce Is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an 
old coat. 

Slen. I may quarter, coz? 

Shal. You may, by marrying. 

Eva. It is marring, indeed, if he quarter It. 

Shal. Not a whit. 

Eva. Yes, py 'r-lady; if he has a quarter of your 
coat there is but three skirts for yourself, in my 
simple conjectures: but that is all one: If sir John 
Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, I 
am of the church, and will be glad to do my benevo- 
lence, to make atonements and compromises be- 
tween you., 

Shal. The Council shall hear It; It is a riot. 

Eva. It is not meet the Council hear a riot; there is 
no fear of Got in a riot: the Council, look you, shall 
desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a riot; 
take your vizaments In that. 

Shal. Ha! o' my life, if I were young again the 
sword should end it. 

Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end 
it : and there is also another device In my prain, 
which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with it: 
There is Anne Page, which is daughter to master 
George Page, which is pretty virginity. 

Slen. Mistress Anne Page? She lias brown hair, 
and speaks small like a woman. 

Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, as just 
as you will desire; and seven hundred pounds of 
monies, and gold, and sllver,is h er graudsire upon his 
•death'sbed, (Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!) 
give, when she is able to overtake seventeen years 
old: it were a goot motion if we leave our pribbles 
and prabbles, and desire a marriage between master 
Abraham and mistress Anne Page. 

Shal. Did her grandslre leave her seven hundred 
pounds? 

Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny. 

Shal. I know the young gentlewoman; she has good 
gifts. 

Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, Is 
goot gifts. 

Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page: Is Fal- 
staff there? 

Eva. Shall I tell you a He? I do despise a li.ir as 
I do despise one that is false; or as I despise one 
that is not true. The knight, sir John, is there; and, 
I beseech you, be ruled by your well-wlUers. I will 
peat the door [kixocks] for rriaster Page. What, hoa! 
Got pless your house here! 

Enter Page. 

Page. Who's there? 

Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and 
justice Sliallo w; and here young master Slender, that, 
peradventures, shall tell you another tale, if matters 
grow to your likings. 

Page. I am glad to see your worships well: I thank 
you for my venison, master Shallow. 

Shal. Master Page. I am glad to see you; Much good 
<lo it your good heart! 1 wished your venison better; 
It was ill killed:— How doth good mistress Page?— 
and I thank yon always with my heart, la; with my 
lieart. 

Pa^e. Sir; I thank you. 

Shal. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do. 

Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender: 



Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I 
heard say he was out-run on Cotsall, 

Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. 

Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. 

Shal. That he will not;— 't is your fault, 't is your 
fault:— 'T Is a good dog. 

Page. A cur, sir. 

Shal. Sir, he's agood dog, and a fair dog: Can there 
be more said? he Is good, and fair. Is sir Jo^n Fal- 
staff here? 

Page. Sir, he is within: and I would I could do a 
good office between you. 

Eva. It is spoke as a christians ought to speak. 

Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. 

Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 

Shal, It it be confess'd it is not redress'd; is not 
that so, master Page? He hath wrong'd me; indeed 
he hath;— at a word he hath;— believe me; Robert 
Shallow, esquire, saith he is wrong'd. 

Page, Here comes sir John. 
Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym, and 
Pistol. 

Fal. Now, master Shallow; you '11 complain of me 
to the king? 

Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my 
deer, and broke open my lodge. 

Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. 

Shal. Tut, a pin! this shall be answer'd. 

Fal.l will answer it straight;— I have done all 
this:— That is now answer'd. 

Shal. The Council shall know this. 

Fal. 'T were better for you if it were known in 
counsel; you '11 be laughed at. 

Eva. Pauca verba, sir John, goot worts. 

Fal. Good worts! good cabbage.— Slender, I broke 
your head: What matter have you against me? 

Slen. MaiTy, sir, I have matter in my head against 
you; and against your coney-catching rascals, Bar- 
dolph, Nym, and Pistol. [They carried me to the 
tavern and made me drunk, and afterwards piclced 
my pocket.] 

Bard. You Banbury cheese! 

Slen. Ay, It is no matter. 

Pist. How now, Mephostophilus? 

Slen. Ay, It is no matter. 

Nym. Slice, I say! pauca, pauca; slice! that's my 
humour. 

Slen. Where 's Simple, my man?— can you tell, 
cousin? 

Eva. Peace: I pray you! Now let us understand: 
There is three umpires in this matter, as I under- 
stand: that is— master Page, fldelicet, master Page; 
and there is myself, fldelicet, myself; and the thiee 
party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. 

Page. We three, to hear It and end it between 
them. 

Eva. Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in my 
note-book; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 

Fal. Pistol.— 

Fist. He hears with ears. 

Eva. The tevil and his tarn! what phrase Is this. 
He hears uHth ear? Why. it is affectations. 

Fal, Pistol, did you pick master Sleiider's purse? 

Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I 
might never come in mine own great chamber again 
else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two 
Edward shovel-boards, tha t cost me two shilling and 
two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. 

Fal. Is this true. Pistol? 

Eva. No; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 

Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner!— Sir John and 
master mine, 
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo: 
Word of denial in thy labras here; 
Word of denial: froth and scum, thou llest! 

Slen. By these gloves, then 't was he. , 

Nym. Be advis'd, sir, and pass good humours; I 
will say, mai~ry trap, with you, if you run the nut- 
hook's humour on me: that is the very note of it. 

Slen. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it: 
for though I cannot remember what I did when you 
made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 

Fal. What say you. Scarlet and John? 

Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman 
had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 

Eva. It is his five sen.ses: fie, what the ignorance Is! 

Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as tliey say, cash- 
and so conclusions passed the careers. [ler'd: 

Slen. Av, you spake in Latin then too; but 't is no 
matter: I '11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but 
ifi honest, civil, godly company, for this trick: if I 



be drunk, I '11 be drunk with those that have the 
fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. 

Eva, So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. 

Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentleman; 
you hear it. 

Enter Mistress Anne Page with wine; Mistress Ford 
and Mistress Page following. 

Page. Nav, daughter, carry the wine in, we'll drink 
within. [Exit Anne Page. 

Slen. O, heaven! this is mistress Anne Page. 

Page. How now, mistress Ford ? 

Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well 
met: by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing her. 

Page. 'Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome: Come 
we have a hot venison pasty to dinner; come, gentle- 
men, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness. 

[Exeunt all but Shal., Slender, and Evans. 

Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had ray 
book of Songs and Sonnets here:— 

Enter Simple. 

How now. Simple! Where have you been. I must 
wait on myself, must I? You have not the Book of 
Riddles about you, have you? 

Sim. Book of Riddles? why did you not lend it to 
Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas iast, a fortnight 
afore Michaelmas? 

Shal. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A 
word with you, coz: marry, this, coz; There is, as 
't were; a tender, a kind offender, made afar off by 
sir Hugh here:— Do you understand me? 

Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be 
so, I shall do that that is reason. 

Shal. Nay> but understand me. 

Slen. So I do, sir. 

Eva, Give ear to his motions, master Slender: I 
will description tlie matter to you, if you be capacity 
of it. 

Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin. Shallow says: I 
pray you, pardon me; he 's a justice of peace in his 
country, simple though I stand here. 

Eva. But th.at is not the question; the question Is 
concerning your marriage. 

Shal. Ay, there is the point, sir. 

Eva. Marry, is it; the very point of it; to mistress 
Anne Page. 

Slen. Why, if it be so I will marry her upon any 
reasonable demands. 

Eva. But can you affection the 'oman? Let us com- 
mand to know that of your mouth or of your lips; 
for divers philosophers hold that the lips is parcel of 
the mouth;— Therefore, precisely, can you cai-ry your 
good will to the maid? 

Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? 

Slen. I hope, sir,— I will do as it shall become one 
that would do reason. 

Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladle--, you must 
speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires 
towarcls her. 

Shal. That you must: Will you, upon good dowry, 
marrv her? 

Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your 
request, cousin, in any reason. 

Shot Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; 
what I do is to pleasure you, coz: Can you love the 
maid? 

Slen. Iwillmarr.v her, sir, at your request; but If 
there be no great love in the beginning, .yet heaven 
may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when we 
are married and have more occasion to know one 
another: I hope, upon familiarity ^vill grow more 
contempt: but if you say, iiiarri/ her, I will marry 
her. that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutel.v. 

Eva. It is a ferv discretion answer; save, the faul' 
is in the 'ort dissolutely: the 'ort is, according to our 
meaning, resolutely;— his meaning is good. 

STial. Ay, I think m.v cousin meant well. 

Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. 

Re-enter Anne Page. 

Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne:— Would I 
were voung for voursake, mistress Anne! 

Anne. The dinner is on the table; my father de- 
sires vour worship's company. 

Slidl. I w-lll Walton him. fair mistress Anne. 

Eva. Od's plessed will! I will not be absence at the 
grace. [Krc««* Shallow o?iff .Sir H. Evans. 

Anne. Will 't please vour worship to come in, sir? 

Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily; I am very 
well. 



iScENi: I.] 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



I 



Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 

Slen. I am not a-hungry, I thank you, forsooth. 
Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon 
my cousin. Shallow: [E.rit Simple.] A Justice of 
peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for 
a man:— I Iceep but three men and a boy yet, till my 
mother be dead: But what though? yet I live lilje 
a poor gentleman born. 

Anne. I may not go in without your worship; they 
will not sit till you come. 

Slen. V faith, I Ml eat nothing; I thank you as 
much as though I did. 

Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 

Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you; I 
bruised my shin the other day with playing at 
sword and dagger with a master of fence, three 
veneys for a dish of stewed prunes; and, by my 
troth, T cannot abide the smell of hot niea( since. 



Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome; 
you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. lE.rcunt. 

ScKNF. II.— The same. 
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' liouse, 
—which is the way: and there dwells one mistress 
Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or his 
dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, 
and liis wringer. 

Sim. Well, sir. 

Era. Nay, it Is petter yet:— give her this letter; for 
it is a 'oman that altogether 's acquaintance ivlth 
mistress Anne Page: and the letter is, to desire and 
require her to solicit your master's desires to mis- 
tiess Anne Page: I pray you, begone; I wiil make 
an end of my dinner; there's pippins and cheese to 
come. [Exeunt. 



conceited? [His mind is not heroic, and there 's the 
humour of ft.J 

Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box; 
his thefts were too open; his filching was like an un- 
skilful singer,— he kept not time. 

Ny»i. The good humour is to steal at a minute's 
rest. 

Fist. Convey, the wise it call: Steal! foh; a flco for 
the phrase. 

Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 

Pist. Why then let kibes ensue. 

Fal. There Is no remedy; I must coney-catch; I 
must shift. 

Pisf. Young ravens must have food. 

Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town? 

Pist. I ken the wight; he is of substance good. 

Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am 
about. 
Pist. Two yards, and more. 



I 
I 




[act I.— scene rv.] 



Caivs. diable diabk .' ■va.t is in my c\osetJ—Yi\\a,iny] larron ,' [PulliTig Simple out.] Rugby, my rapier. 



Why do your dogs bark so? be there bears I' the 
town? 

Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them talked 
of. 

Slen. I love the sport well; but I shall as soon 
quarrel at it, as any man in England:— Vou are 
afraid if you see the bear loose, are you not? 

Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 

Slen. That's meat and drink to me now: I have 
seen Sackerson loose twenty times; and have taken 
him by the chain: but, I warrant you, the women 
have so cried and shriek'd at it. that it pass'd:— 
but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em; they are 
very ill favoured rough things. 

Re-enter Page. 

Puge. Come, gentle master Slender, come; we stay 
tor you. 

Slen. I '11 eat nothing, I thank you, sir. 

Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir: 
come, come. 

Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 

Page. Come on, sir. 

Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 

Anne. Not I, sir; pray you, keep on. 

Slen. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la: I will not 
do you that wrong. 

Anne. I pray you, sir. 



Scene III.— X Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol, and 

Bobln. 

Fal. Mine host of the Garter.— 

Host. What says my bully-rook? Sptak scholarly 
and wisely. 

Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of 
my followers. 

Host. Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them 
wag; trot, trot. 

Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week. 

Host. Thou 'rt an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and 
Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, 
he shall tap: said I well, bully Hector? 

Fal. Do ^o, good mine host. 

Host. I have spoke; let him follow: Let me see 
thee troth and lime: I am at a w>jrd; follow. 

[Exit Host. 

Fal. Bardolph, follow him: a tapster is a good 
trade: an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a withered 
servingman a fresh tapster: Go; adieu. 

Bard. It is a life that I have desired; I will thrive. 

\_Exit Bard. 

Pist. O base Hungarian wight! wilt thou the spigot 
wield? 

Nym. He was gotten In drink: Is not the humour 



Fal. No quips now, Pistol: Indeed I am in the- 
waist two yards about; but I am now about no- 
waste; I am about thrift. Briefiy, I do mean to 
make love to Ford's wife; I spy entertainment in 
her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer 
of invitation: I can construe the action of her 
familiar style; and the hardest voice of her be- 
haviour, to be English'd rightly. Is, I am sir John 
Falstaff's. 

Pist. He hath studied her will, and translated her 
win, out of honesty into English. 

Nym. The anchor is deep: Will that humour pass? 

Fal. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of 
her husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels. 

Pist. As many devils entertain; and, ' To her boy,' 
say I. 

Nym. The humour rises; it Is good: humour me- 
the angels. 

Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her: and here- 
another to Page's wife; who even now gave m& 
good e.ves too; examin'd my parts with most judi- 
cious 'eyiiads; sometimes the beam of her view- 
gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. 

Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 

Nym. I thank thee for that humour. 

Fal. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with 
such a greedy Intention, that the appetite of her eye 
did seem to scorch me up like a burning glas-s.' 



IS 



MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act II. 



Here 's another letter to her; she bears the purse 
too; she is a region in Guiana, all Rolrt and bounty. 
I \\'\\\ be cheater to tlieni liolli, and they shall be 
exchequers to me; they shall be m.v E^ist and West 
Indies, an 1 I will trade to them both Go, bear 
thou tills letter to mistress Page; and thou this to 
mistress Ford: we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. 

nut. Sliall I sir Pandarus of Troy become, 
And by my side wear steel? then, Luclt'er take alll 

Kiim. I will run no base humour: here, take the 
humour letter; I will keep the 'havlor of reputation. 

Fnl. Hold, sirrah, \to Rob.] bear you these letters 
tightly; 
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. — 
Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hall-stones, go; 
Trudge, plod away 1' the hoof; seek shelter, pack! 
Falstaff will learn the humour of the- age, 
French thrift, you rogues; mvself. and skirted page. 
[Exeunt Falstaff (ind Robin. 

Fist. Let vultures gripe thy gutsi for gourd and 
fuUam holds, 
And high and low beguile the rich and poor; 
Tester I '11 have in pouch, when thou Shalt lack, 
Base Phrygian Turk! 

A'//i«. I have operations, which be humours of re- 
venge. 

Pist. Wilt thou revenge? 

Kym. By welkin, and her stars! 

Fist. With wit, or steel? 

Nym. With both the humours, I: 
1 will discuss the humour of this love to Ford. 

Pist. And I to Page shall eke unfold 
How Falstaff, varlet vile. 
His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
And his soft couch defile. 

Kym. My humour shall not cool; I VflU incense 
Ford to deal vi'lth poison; I will possess him with 
yellowness, for the revolt of mien Is dangerous: that 
Is my true humour. 

Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents; I second 
thee; troop on. [Exeunt. 

Scene TV.— A Room in Dr. Caius's Souse. 
Enter Mrs. Quickly, Simple, and Rugby. 

^icfc. What: John Rugby!— I pray thee, go to 
the casement, and see If you can see m.v master, 
master Doctor Calus, coming; If he do, i' faith, and 
find any body in the house, here will be an old 
abusing of God's patience and the king's English. 

Purj. I '11 go watch. [Bicii Rugby. 

Quick. Go; and we '11 have a posset for 't soon at 
niglit, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal Are. 
An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant fhall 
come in house withal; and, 1 warrant you, no tell- 
tale, nor no breed-bate: his worst fault is that he is 
given to prayer; he is something peevish that way; 
but nobody but has his fault;— but let that pass. 
Peter Simple you say your name is? 

Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 

Quick. And master Blender's your master? 

Sim. A,v, forsooth. 

Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like 
a glover's paring knife? 

Sim. No, forsooth: he hath but a little wee face, 
with a little yellow beard; a cane-coloured beard. 

Quick. A softl.v-sprighted man, is he not? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth: but he is as tall a man of his 
hands as any is between this and his head; he hath 
fought with a warrener. 

Quick. How say you?— O, T should remember him: 
Does he not hold up his head, as it were? and strut 
in his gait? 

Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 

Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse 
fortune! Tell master parson Evans I will do what I 
can for your master: Anne is a good girl, and I 
wish— 

Re-enter Rugby. 

JRu^. Out, alas! here comes my master. 

Quick. We shall all be shent: Run in here, good 
young man; go into this closet. [Sliuts Simple in the 
closet.] He will not stay long.— What, John Rugby! 
John, what John, I say! Go, John, go inquire for 
thy master; I doubt he be not well, that he comes 
not home: — and down, doivn, adoivn-a, &c. [Sings. 
Enter Doctor Calus. 

Catus. Vat is you sing? I do not like dese toys; 
Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitier 
vera; a box, a green-a box; Do intend vat I speak? 
a green-a box. 

Quick. Ay, forsooth, I '11 fetch it you. I am glad he 
went not in himself: if he had found the young man, 
he would have been horn-mad. [Aside. 

Caius. Fe, fefe.fe! mafoi, il fait fort chaud. 
Je m'en vais a la Cour, — la grande affaire. 

8uick. Is it this, sir? 
aius. Ouy; mette le au mon pocket; Depeche quick- 
ly:— Vere is dat knave Rugby? 

Quick. What, John Rugby! John! 

Rug. Here, sir. 

Catus. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
Rugby: Come, take-a your rapier, and come after 
my heel to de court. 

Rug. 'T is ready, sir, here in the porch. 

Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long;— Od's me! 
Qu'ay fouhlie? dere Is some simples in my closet dat 
I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. 

Quick. Ah, me! he '11 find the young man there, 
and be mad! 

Caius. O diable diable! vat is in my closet? — Vil- 
lainy! larron! [Pulling Simple out.] Rugby, my 
rapier. 

Quick. Good master, be content. 

Caitis. Verefore shall I be eontent-a? 

Quick. The young man is an honest man. 

Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet? 
dere Is no honest man dat shall come in ray closet. 

Quick. I beseech you, be not so flegmatick; hear 
the truth of it: He came of an errand to me from 
parson Hugh. 

Caius. Veil. 

^S'tin. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to— 

8uick. Peace, I pray you. 
aius. Peace-a your tongue!— Speak-a your tale. 

Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your 
maid, to speak a good word to Mrs. Anne Page for 
my master, in the way of marriage. 

Quick. This is all. Indeed, la; but I'll ne'er put my 
finger in the fire, and need not. 

Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you?— Rugby, baillez me 
.some paper: Tarry you a llttle-a while. [Writes. 

Quick. I am glad he Is so quiet; if he had been 



thoroughly moved you should have heard him so 
loud and so melancholy.- But notwithstanding, man, 
I'll do your master what good I can: and the very 
yea and the no is, the French doctor, my master,— I 
ma.y call him my master, look you, for I keep his 
house; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, dress 
meat and drink, make the beds, and do all my- 
self:- 

Sim. 'T is a great charge to come under one body's 
hand. 

Qitick. Are you avis'd o'that? you shall find it a 
great charge: and to be up early and down late;— 
but notwithstanding, (totell you in your ear; I would 
have no words of it;) my master himself is in love 
with mistress Anne Page: but notwithstanding that, 
I know Anne's mind, — that's neither here nor there. 

Caius. You jack'nape; give-a dis letter to sir Hugh; 
by gar, it is a challenge: I vill cut his troat in de 
park; and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape priest to 
meddle or make:— you may be gone; it is not good 
you tarry here:- by gar, I vill cut all his two stones; 
by gar, he shall not have a stone to trow at his dog. 

\Exit Simple. 

Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 

Caius. It is no matter-a for dat;— do not you tell-a 
me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself ?— by gar, 
I vill kill de Jack Priest; and I have appointed mine 
host of de Jarterre to measure our weapon: — by gar, 
I vill myself have Anne Page. 

Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
well: we must give folks leave to prate: What the 
good-.ier! 

Caius. Rugby, come to de court -vid me:— By gar, if 
I have not Anne Page. I shall turn your head out of 
my door:— Follow my lieels, Rugby. 

[Exeunt Caius and Rugby. 

Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your own. 
No, I know Anne's mind for that: never a woman in 
Windsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do: nor 
can do more than I do with her, I thank heaven. 

Fent. [Within.'] Who's within there? ho! 

Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, 
I pray yon. 

Enter Fenton. 

Fent. How now, good woman; how dost thou? 

Quick. The better that it pleases your good worship 
to ask. 

Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress Anne? 

Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, aAd honest, 
and gentle; and one that is your friend, I can tell you 
that by the way; I praise heaven for it. 

Fent. Shall I do any good, think'st thou? Shall I not 
lose my suit? 

Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above: but not- 
withstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a 
book, she loves you:— Have not your worship a wart 
above your eye? 

Fent. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? 

Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale;— good faith, it is 
such another Nan;— but I detest an honest maid as 
ever broke bread;— We had an hour's talk of that 
wart:— I shall never laugh but in that maid's com- 
pany! But, indeed, she is given too much to alli- 
choUy and musing: But for you— Well, go to. 

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day; Hold, there 's 
money for thee; let me have thy voice in my behalf: 
if thou seest her before me, commend me. 

Quick. Will I? i' faith, that we will; and I will tell 
your worship more of the wart, the next time we 
have confidence; and of other wooers. 

Fent. Well, farewell; I am in great haste now. 

[Exit. 

Quick. Farewell to your worship.— Truly, an honest 
gentleman; but Anne loves him not; for I know 
Anne's mind as well as another does; — Out upon 't! 
what have I forgot? [Exit. 

ACT II. 

Scene 1.— Before Page's Mouse. 

Enter Mistress Page, icith a Letter. 

Mrs. Page. What! have I 'scaped love-letters in the 
holy -day time of my beauty, and am I now a subject 
for them? Let me see: [Reads. 

'Ask me no reason why I love you; for though love 
use reason for his precisian, he admits him not for 
his counsellor: You are not young, no more am I; go 
to then, there's sympathy: you are merry, so am I; 
Ha! ha! then there's more sympathy: you love sack, 
and so do I; Would you desire better sympathy ? Let 
it suffice thee, mistress Page, (at the least, it the love 
of a soldier can suffice,) that I love thee. I will not 
say, pity me, 't is not a soldier-like phrase; but I say, 
love me. By me. 

Thine own true knight, 

By day or night. 

Or any kind of light. 

With all his might. 

For thee to fight, John Falstaff.' 

What a Herod of Jewry is this!— O wicked, wicked 
world! — one that is well nigh worn to pieces with 
age, to show himself a young gallant! What an un- 
welghed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard 
picked (with the devil's name) out of my conversa- 
tion, that he dares in this manner assay me? Why, 
he hath not been thrice in my company! — What 
should I say to him?— I was then frugal of my mirth: 
— heaven forgive me!— Why I'll exhibit a bill in the 

Farliament for the putting down of men. How shall 
be revenged on him? for revenged I will be, as sure 
as his guts are made of puddings. 

Enter Mistress Ford. 

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page! trust me, I was going to 
your house. 

Mrs. Page. And trust me, I was coming to you. You 
look very ill. 

ilfrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have to 
show to the contrary. 

Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind. 

Mrs. Ford. Well, I do, then; yet, I say, I could show 
you to the contrary: O, mistress Page, give me some 
counsel! 

Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman? 

Mrs. Ford. O woman, If it were not for one trifling 
respect, I could come to such honour! 

MIrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman; take the hon- 
our: What is it?— dispense with trifles;— what Is it? 

Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal 
moment, or so, I could be knighted. 

Mrs. Page. What? thou liest!— Sir Alice Ford! These 
knights will hack; and so thou shouldst not alter the 
article of thy gentry. 



Mrs. Ford. We burn day-light;— here, read, read:— 
perceive how I might be knighted.— I shall think the 
worse of fat men, as long as I have au eye to make 
difference of men's liking: And yet he would not 
swear; praised women's modest.v; and gave such 
orderly and well-behaved reproof to all uncomeli- 
ness,— that I would have sworn his disposition would 
have gone to the truth of his words: but they do no 
more adhere and keep place together than tlie hund- 
redth psalm to the tune of Green sleeves. What 
tempest, 1 trow, threw this whale with so many tuns 
of oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall I be 
revenged on him? I think the best way were to 
entertain him with hope, till the wicked Are of lust 
have melted him in his own grease.— Did you ever 
hear the like? 

Mrs. Page. Letter for letter; but that the name of 
Page and Ford differs!— To thy great comfort in this 
mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother of 
thy letter; but let thine inherit first; for, I protest, 
mine never shall. I warrant he hath a thousand of 
these letters, writ with blank space for different 
names, (sure more,) and these are of the second edi- 
tion: He will print them out of doubt; for he cares 
not what he puts into the press when he would put 
us two. I had rather be a giantess, and lie under 
mount Pelion. WeH, I will find you twenty lascivi- 
ous turtles, ere one chaste man. 

M7-S. Ford. Why, this is the very same; the very 
hand, the very words: What doth he think of us? 

Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not: It makes me almost 
ready to wrangle with mine own honesty . I'll enter- 
tain myself like one that I am not acquainted withal; 
for, sure, unless he know some strain in me, that 1 
know not myself, he would never have boarded me 
in this fury. 

Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it? I'll be sure to 
keep him above deck. 

Mrs. Page. So will I; if he come under ray hatches 
I'll never to sea again. Let's be reveng'd on him: let's 
appoint him a meeting; give him a show of comfort 
in nis suit; and lead him on with a fine baited de- 
lay, till he hath pawn'd his horses to mine host of 
the Garter. 

Jfrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy 
against him, that may not sully the chariness of our 
honesty. O, that my hufiband saw this letter! it 
would give eternal food to his jealousy. 

Mrs, Page. Why, look, where he comes; and my 
good man too; he's far from jealousy as I am from 
giving him cause; and that, 1 nope, is an unmeasur- 
able distance. 

Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 

Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against this 

greasy knight; Come hither. [They retire. 

Enter Ford, Pistol, Page, and Nym. 

Ford. Well, I hope it be not so. 

Pist. Hope is a curtail dog In some affairs: 
Sir John affects thy wife. 

Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. [poor, 

Pist. He woos both high and low, both rich and 
Both young and old, one with another. Ford: 
He loves thy galley-mawfry; Ford, perpend. 

Ford. Love my wife? 

Pist. With liver burninghot: Prevent, or go thou. 
Like sir Aetseon he, with Ringwood at thy heels: — 
O, odious is the name! 

Ford. What name, sir? 

Pi's*. The horn, I say: Farewell. [night: 

Take heed; have open eye; for thieves do foot by 
Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do 

sing.— 
Away, sir corporal Nyra.— 
Believe il, Page: he speaks sense. [Exit Pistol. 

Ford. 1 willbe patient; I will find out this. 

Nym. And this is true; [to Page] I like not the 
humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
humours: I should have borne the humoured letter 
to her; but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon my 
necessity. He loves your wife; there's the short and 
the long. My name is corporal Nym; I speak, and I 
avouch. 'T IS true:— my name is Nym, and Falstaff 
loves your wife.— Adieu! I love not the humour of 
bread and cheese. Adieu. [Exit Nym. 

Page. The hutnour of it, quoth 'a! here's a fellow 
frights humour out of his wits. 

Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. [rogue. 

Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting 

Ford. If I do find it, well. 

Page. I will not believe such a Catalan, though the 
priest o' the town commended him for a true man. 

Ford. 'T was a good sensible fellow: Well. 

Page. How now, Meg? 

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George?— Hark you. 

Mrs. Fbrd. How now, sweet Frank? why art thou 
melancholy ? 

Ford. 1 melancholy! I am not melancholy.— Get you , 
home, go. 

jlfrs. Ford. 'Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy 
head now.— Will you go, mistress Page? 

Mrs. Page. Have with you.— You'll come to 
dinner, George? XiOOk, who comes yonder: she 
shall be our messenger to this paltry knight. 

[Aside to Mrs. Ford. 
Enter Mrs. Quickley. 

Jlfrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her: she '11 fit it. 

JIfrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter 
Anne? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth. And I pray, how does good 
mistress Anne? 

Jlfrs. Page. Go in with us and see; we have an 
hour's talk with you. 
[Exeunt Mrs. Page, Jlfrs. Ford, and Mrs. Quickl.v. 

Page. How now, master Ford? 

Fbrd. You heard what this knave told me; did you 
not? 

Page. Yes. And you heard what the other told me? 

Ford. Do you think there is truth in them? 

Page. Hang 'em, slaves; I do not think the knight 
would offer it: but these that accuse him in his in- 
tent towards our wives are a yoke of his discarded 
men: very rogues, now they be out of service. 

J^ord. Were they his men? 

Page. Marry were they. 

Ford. I like it never the better for that.— Does he 
lie at the Garter ? 

Page. Ay, marr.y, does he. If he should intend 
this voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose 
to him; and what he gets more of her than sharp 
words, let it lie on my nead. 

J^brd. I do not misdoubt my wife; but I would be 
loth to turn them together: A man may be too con- 



SCENE II.l 



MERUY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



1» 



fldent: I would have nothing lie on my head; I can- 
not be thus satisfied. 

Page. Look, whore mv ranting host of the Garter 
comes: there is either liquor in his pate, or money 
In his purse, when he looks so merrily.— How now, 
mine host? 

Enter Host and Shallow. 

Host. How now, bully-rook! thou 'rt a gentleman: 
cavalerojustice, I say. 

Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow.— Good even, 
and twenty, good master Page! Jlaster Page, will 
you go with us? we have sport In hand. 

Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice; tell him, bully- 
rook. 

Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between 
sir Hugh the Welch priest, and Caius the French 
doctor. . ^ 

Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word with 

Host. What say'st thou, my bully -rook? [you. 

[They ijo aside. 

Shal. Will you [to PageJ go with us to behold it? 
My merry host hath had the measuring of then- 
weapons; and, I tliink, hath appointed them con- 
trary places; for, believe me, I hear the parson is no 
Jester. Hark, I will tell vou what our sport siiall be. 

Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my 
guest-cavalier? 

Ford. None, I protest: but '11 give you a pottle of 
burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him 
my name is Brook: only for a .iest. 

Host. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and 
regress; said I well? and thy name shall be Brook: 
It Is a merry knight. Will you go on, hearts? 

Shal. Have with you, mine host. 

Page. I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill 
in his rapier. 

Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more: In these 
times you stand on distance, your passes, stocca- 
does, and I know not what: 't is the heart, master 
Page; 't is here, 't is here. I have seen the time with 
my long sword I would have made you four tall fel- 
lows skip like rats. 

Host. Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag? 

Page. Have with you:— I had rather hear them 
scold than flght. [Exeunt Host, Shallow, and Page. 

Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so 
firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off my 
opinion so easily: She was in his company at Page's 
house; and, what they made there I know not. Well, 
I will look further into 't; and I have disguise to 
sound Falstaft: If I find her honest, I lose not my 
labour; if she be otherwise, 't is labour well bestow- 
ed. [Exit. 

Scene It.— ^ Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 

Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 

Pist. Why, then the world 's mine oyster, 
Which I with sword will open. 

Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
should lay my countenance to pawn: I have grated 
upon my good friends for three reprieves for you 
and your coach-fellow, Nym; or else you had looked 
through the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am 
damned in hell, for swearing to gentlem fi my 
friends you were good soldiers and tall fellows: and 
when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I 
took 't upon mine honour thou hadst it not. 

Pist. Didst not thou share? hadst thou not fifteen 
pence? 

Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason: Think'st thou I '11 
endanger my soul gratis/ At a word, haagino more 
about me, I am no gibbet for you:— go.— A short 
knife and a throng;— to your manor of Pickthatch, 
go.— You '11 not bear a letter for me, you rogue!— 
You stand upon your honour!- Why, thou uncon- 
flnable baseness, it is as much as I can do to keep 
the terms of |my honour precise. 1, I, I myself 
sometimes, leaving the fear of heaven on the left 
hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am 
fain to shuffle, to edge, and to lurch; and yet you, 
rogue, will ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mountain 
looks, your red lattice phrases, and your bold-beat- 
ing oaths, under the shelter of your honour! You 
will not do it, you? 

Pist. I do relent. What would thou more of man? 

Enter Robin. 

Rob. Sir, here 's a woman would speak with you. 

Fal. Let her approach. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Ouicfc. Give your worship geod-morrow. 

Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. 

Quick. Not so, an 't please your worship. 

Fal. Good maid, then. 

Quick. I '11 be sworn; as my mother was, the first 
hour I was born. 

Fal. I do believe the swearer: WTiat with me? 

Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or 
two? 

Fal. Two thousand, fair woman: and I '11 vouch- 
safe thee the hearing. 

Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir; — I pray, 
come a little nearer this ways:— I myself dwell \vitli 
master doctor Caius. 

Fal. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say, — 

Quick. Your worship says very true: I pray your 
worship, come a little nearer this ways. 

Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears;— mine own 
people, mine own people. 

Quick. Are they so? Heaven bless them, and make 
them his servants! 

Fal. Well: Jllstress Ford;— what of her? 

Quick. Why, sir, she 's a good creature. Lord, 
lord! your worship 's a wanton: Well, heaven for- 
give you, and all of us, I pray! 

Fat. Mistress Ford;— come, mistress Ford, — 

Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of it; 
you have brought her into such a canaries, as 't is 
wonderful. The best courtier of them all, when the 
court lay at Windsor, could never have brought her 
to such a canary. Yet there has been knights, and 
lords, and gentlemen, with their coaches; I warrant 
you, coach after coach, letter after letter, gift after 

rift; smelling so sweetly, (all musk) and so rushling, 
warrant you, in silk and gold; and in such alligaiit 
terms; and in such wine and sugar of the best, and 
the fairest, that would have won any woman's heart; 
and, I warrant you, they could never get an eye- 
wink of her.— I had myself twenty angels given me 
this morning; but I defy all angels, (in any such sort, 
as they say,) but In the way of honesty:— and, I 



warrant you, they could never get her so much as 
sip on a cup witli'tlic jiroudest of tliem all: and yet 
there has been carls, nay, which is more, pensioners; 
but, I warrant you. all is one with her. 

Fal. But wliat says she to me? be brief, my good 
slie Mercury. 

Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter; for 
the which she thanks you a thousand times: and she 
gives vou to notify, that her husband will be absence 
from his house between ten and eleven. 

Fal. Ten and eleven? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth; and then you may come and 
seethe picture, she sa.vs, that you wot of; master 
Ford, her husband, will be from lionie. Alas! the 
sweet woman leads an ill life with him; he 's a very 
jealousy man: she leads a very frampold life with 
him, good heart. 

Fal. Ten and eleven: Woman, commend me to 
her; I will not fail her. 

Quick. Why you say well: But I have another 
messenger to your worship: Mistress Page hath her 
hearty commendations to you too;— and let me tell 
you in your ear, she 's as f artuous a civil modest wife, 
and one (I tell you) that will not miss your morning 
nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be 
the other: and she bade me tell your worship that 
her husband is seldom from home; but, she hopes, 
there will come a time. I never knew a woman so 
dote upon a man; siu-ely, I think you have charms, 
la; yes, in truth. 

Fal. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of 
my good parts aside I have no other charms. 

Quick. Blessing on your heart for 't. 

Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's wife 
and Page's wife acquainted each other how they 
love me? 

Quick. That were a jest, indeed!— they have not so 
little grace, I hope:— that were a trick, indeed! But 
mistress Page would desire you to send her your 
little page, of all loves: her husband has a marvel- 
lous infection to the little page; and, truly, master 
Page is an honest man. Never a wife in Windsor 
leads a better life than she does: do what she will, 
say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when 
she list, rise when she list, all is as she will; and, 
truly, she deserves it: for if there be a kind woman 
in Windsor, she is one. You must send her your 
page; no remedy. 

Fal. Why, I will. 

Quick. Nay, but do so then: and, look j'ou, he may 
come and go between you both; and, m any case, 
have a nay- word, that you may know one another's 
mind, and the boy never need to understand any 
thing; for 't is not good that children should know 
any wickedness; old folks, you know, have discre- 
tion, as they say, and know the world. 

Fal. Fare thee well: commend me to them both: 
there 's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go 

along with this woman. This news distracts me. 

[Biceunt Quickly and Robin. 

Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers: — 
Clap on more sails; pursue, up with your fights; 
Give fire; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! 

[Exit Pistol. 

Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack? go thy ways; I '11 
make more of thy old body than I have done. Will 
they yet look after thee? Wilt thou, after the ex- 
pense of so much money, be now a gainer? Good 
body, I thank thee: Let them say, 't is grossly done; 
so it be fairly done no matter. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir John, there 's one master Brook below 
would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
you; and hath sent your worship a morning's draught 
of sack. 

J"'a!. Brook is his name? 

Bard. Ay, sir. 

Fal. Call him in; [Ex-it Bardolph.] Such Brooks 
are welcome to me that o'erflow such liquor. Ah! 
ha! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I encom- 
passed you? go to; via! 

Re-enter Bardolph, ivith Ford disguised. 

Ford. Bless you, sir. 

Fal. And you, sir: Would you speak with me? 

Ford. I make bold to press with so little prepar- 
ation upon you. 

Fal. You 're welcome. What 's your will? Give 
us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. 

Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent much; 
my name is Brook. 

Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaint- 
ance of .vou. 

Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours: not to charge 
you; for I must let you understand I think myself In 
better plight for a lender than you are: the which 
hath something emboldened me to this unseasoned 
Intrusion: for they say, if money go before all ways 
do lie open. 

Fal. Money Is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 

Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here 
troubles me: if you will help to bear it, sir John, 
take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. 

Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be your 
porter. [hearing. 

Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the 

Fal. Speak, good master Brook; I shall be glad to 
be your servant. 

Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar,— I will be brief 
with you,— and you have been a man long known to 
me, though I had never so good means, as desire,' 
to make myself acquainted with you. I shall dis- 
cover a thing to you, wherein I must very much lay 
open mine own Imperfection: but, good sir John, as 
you have one eye upon my follies, as you hear them 
unfolded, turn another into the register of your own; 
that I may pass with a reproof the easier, sitli you 
yourself know how easy It is to be such an offender. 

Fal. Yery well, sir; proceed. 

Ford. There Is a gentlewoman in this town, her 
husband's name is Ford. 

Fal. Well, sir. 

Ford. I have long loved her, and I protest to you, 
bestowed much on her;followed her with a doting 
observance; engrossed opportunities to meet her; 
fee'd every slight occasion that could but niggardly 
give me sight of her; not only bought many pre- 
sents to give her, but have given largely to many, to 
know what she would have given: briefly, I have 

Eursued her as love hath pursued me, which hath 
een on the wing of all occasions. But whatsoever 
I have merited, either In my mind, or in my means, 
meed, I am sure, I have received none; unless ex- 



perience be a jewel; that I have purchased at an In- 
finite rate; and that hath taught me to say this: 

Love like a shadow flies, when substance love 

pursues; 
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues. 

Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfaction 
at her hands? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Have you Importuned her to such a pm'pose? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Of what quality was your love then? 

Ford. Like a fair house built on another man's 
ground; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistaking 
the place where I erected it. [me? 

Fal. To what purpose liave you unfolded this to 

Ford. When I nave told you that 1 have told you 
all. Some say, that, though she appear honest to 
me, yet, In other places, she enlargeth her mirth so 
far that there is shrewd construction made of her. 
Now, sir John, here Is the heart of my purpose: You 
are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable 
diseours ', of great admittance, authentic In your 
place and person, generally allowed for your many 
war-like, court-like, and learned preparations. 

Fal. O, sir! 

Ford. Believcit, for you know it:— There is money: 
spend it, spend it; spend more; spend alll have; only 

five me so much of your time in exchange of It, as 
o lay an amiable siege to the honesty of this Ford's 
wife: use your art of wooing, win her to consent to 
you; If any man may you may as soon as any. 

Fal. Would It apply well to the vehemency of 
your affection, that I should win what you would 
enjoy? Methlnks, you prescribe to yourself very 
preposterously. 

Ford. Oh, understand my drift! she dwells so 
securely on the excellency of her honour, that the 
folly of my soul dares not present itself; she Is too 
bright to be looked against. Now, could I come to 
her with any detection In my hand, my desires had 
Instance arid argument to commend themselves: I 
could drive her then from the ward of her purity 
her reputation her marriage vow, and a thousand 
other her defences, which now are too too strongly 
embattled against me: What say you to 't, sir John ? 

Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with 
your money; next, give me your hand; and last, 
as I am a gentleman, you shall. If you wUl, enjoy 
Ford's vnie. 

Ford. O good sir! 

Fal. I say you shall. [none. 

Ford. Want no money, sir John, you shall want 

Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook, you 
shall 'want none. I shall be with her, (I may tell 
you,) by her own appointment; even as you came 
In to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from 
me: I say, I shall be with her between ten and 
eleven; for at that time the jealous rascally knave, 
her husband, wiU be forth. Come you to me at 
night; you shall know how I speed. 

Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you 
know Ford, sir? 

Fal. Hang him poor cuckoldly knave! I know 
him not:— yet X wrong him to call him poor; they 
say the Jealous T'ittolly knave hath masses of money; 
for the which his wife seems to me well-favoured. I 
will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's 
coffer; and there's my harvest-home. 

Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir; that you might 
avoid him If you saw him. 

Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue! I 
WiU stare him out of his wits; I will awe him with 
my cudgel: It shall hang like a meteor o'er the 
cuckold's horns: master Brook, thou shalt know I 
will predominate over the peasant, and thou shalt 
lie with his wife.— Come to me soon at night:— 
Ford's a knave, and I will aggravate his stile; thou, 
master Brook, shalt know him for a knave and cuck- 
old:— come to me soon at night. [Exit. 

Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal Is this!- 
My heart Is ready to crack with impatience.- Who 
says, this is Improvident Jealousy? My wife hath 
sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is made. 
Would any man have thought. this?— See the hell of 
having a false woman! My bed shall be abused, my 
coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn at; and I 
shall not only receive this villainous wrong,but stand 
under the adoption of abominable terms, and by him 
that does me this wrong. Terms! names!— Amaimon 
sounds well; Lucifer, well; Barbason, well; yet they 
are devils' additions, the names of fiends! but cuck- 
old! wlttol-cuckold! the devil himself hath not such 
a name. Page is an ass, a secure ass! he will trust 
his wife, he will not be jealous; I will rather trust a 
Fleming with my butter, parson Hugh the Welch- 
man with my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitae 
bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than 
my wife with herself: then she plots, then she 
ruminates, then she devises; and what they think 
in their hearts they may effect they will break their 
hearts but they will effect. Heaven be praised for 
my jealousy!— Eleven o'clock the hour.— I will pre- 
vent this, detect my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, 
and laugh at Page. I will about it; better three 
hours too soon than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie! 
cuckold! cuckold! cuckold! [Exit. 

Scene 111.— Field near Windsor. 
Enter Caius and Rugby. 

Caius. Jack Rugby! Rug. Sir. 

Caius. Vat Is de clock. Jack? 

Rug. "I is past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro- 
mised to meet. 

Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no 
come; he has pray his PIble veil, dat he is no come: 
by gar. Jack Rugby, he Is dead already if he be come. 

Rug. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship ^^■ould 
kill lilm if he came. 

Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead so as I vill kill 
him. Take your rapier, Jack; I vUl tell you how I 
vill kill him. 

Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 

Caius. Villainy, take j'our rapier. 

Rug. Forbear; here's company. 

Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page. 

Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor. 

Shal. Save you, master doctor Caius. 

Page. Now, good master doctor. 

Slen. Give .vou good-morrow, sir. 

Cains. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for? 

Host. To see thee flght, to see thee foln, to see theo 
traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there; to sc3 
thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy dls- 



2U 



ueuhy wives of winds on. 



LAOT III. 



tance, thy montaiit. Is lie dead, my Ethiopian? is 
he dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! What says my 
^scuhipius? my Galen? my heart of elder? ha! is 
lie dead, bully Stale? Is he dead? 

Caius. Byj?ar, he is de coward Jack priest of de 
vorld; lie Is not show his face. 

Host. Thou art a Cfstillan, king Urinal ! Hector of 
Greece, my boy ! 

Caius. I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay 
six or seven, two, tree liours for him, and he is no 
come. 

Slial. He is the wiser man, master doctor: he is a 
curer of souls and you a curer of bodies; if you 
should flKht, you go auainst the hair of jour profes- 
sions; is it not true, master Page? 

Page, master Shallow, you nave yourself been a 
great fighter, though now a man of peace. 

S'lal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be old, 
and of the peace, if 1 see a sword out my finger itch 
es to make one: though we are justices, and doctors, 
and churchmen, master Page, we have some salt of 
our youth in us: we are the sous of women, master 
Page. 

Page. 'T is true, master Shallow. 

Slial. It will be found so, master Page. Master 
doctor Calus, I am come to fetch you home. I am 
sworn of the peace; you have showed yourself a 
wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shown himself a 
wise and patient churchman: you must go with me, 
master doctor. 

Host. Pardon, guest justice:— ah, monsieur Mock- 
water. 

Cains. Mock-vater ! vat is dat? 

Host. Mock-water, In oui- English tongue, is valour, 
bully. 

Ca ins. By gar, then I have as much mock-vater as 
de Englishman:— Scurvy jack-dog priest! by gar, me 
vlll cut his ears. 

Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully. 

Cains. Clapper-deKjIaw ! vat is dat? 

Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 

Caius. By gar, me do look he shall clapper-de-claw 
me; for, by gar, me vlll have it. 

Host. And I will provoke him to 't, or let him wag. 

Caius. Me tank you for dat. 

Host. And moreover, bully, — But, first, master 
guest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender, 
go you through the town to Frogmore. 

[jiszd* to them. 

Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he? 

Host. He is there: see what humour he is in; and I 
will bring the doctor about by the fields; will It do 

Shal. We will do it. [well? 

Page, Shal, and Slen. Adieu, good master doctor. 
^Exeunt Page, Shallow and Slender. 

Caius. By gar, me vlll kill de priest; for he speak 
for a jiick-anape to Annie Page. 

Host. Let him die: sheath thy impatience; throw 
cold water on thy choler: go about tiie fields with 
me through Frogmore; I will bring thee where mis- 
tress Annie Page is, at a farm-house, afeasttng: and 
thou Shalt woo her: Cry'd game? said I well? 

Caixts. By gar, me tank you for dat: by gar, I love 
you; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, de 
earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients. 

Host. For the which I will be thy adversary toward 
Anne Page; said I well? 

Caitis. By gar, 't is good; veil said. 

Host. Let us wag then. 

Caius. Come at my heels. Jack Eugby. \Exeunt. 

ACT IIL 
Scene I. — A Field near Frogmore. 
Enter Sir Hugh Evans atid Simple. 

Eva. I pray you now, good master Slender's serv- 
ing-man, and friend Simple by your name, which 
way have you looked for master Calus, that calls 
himself Doctor of Physic? 

Sim. Marry, sir. the plttie-ward, the park-ward, 
every way; old Windsor way, and every way but 
the town way. 

Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also 
look that wav. 

Sim. 1 will," sir. 

Eva. Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, and 
tremplingof mind!— I shall be glad if he have de- 
ceived me:— how melancholies I am ! I will knog his 
urinals about his knave's costard, when I have good 
opportunities for the 'ork— pless my soul! ISings. 

To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals; 
There will we make our peds of roses. 
And a thousand fragrant posies. 
To shallow — 

Mercy on me ! I have a gi-eat dispositions to cry. 

Melodious birds sing madrigals: 
When as I sat in Pabylon,— 
And a thousand vagram posies. 
To shallow — 

Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh. 
Eva. He's welcome: 

To shallow rivers, to whose falls- 
Heaven prosper the right !— What weapons is lie? 

Sim. No weapons, sir: There comes my master, 
master Shallow, and another gentleman f roni Frog- 
more, over the stile, this way. 

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown; or else keep it 
in your arms. 

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Shal. How now. master parson? Good-morrow, 
good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and 
a good student from his book, and It Is wonderful. 

Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! 

Page. Save you, good sir Hugh ! 

Eva. Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 

Shal. What ! the sword and the word ! do you stu- 
dy them both, master parson? 

Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and hose, 
this raw rheumatic day? 

Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. 

Page. We are come to you to do a good office, mas- 
ter parson. 

Eva. Fery well: What is it? 

Page. Yonder Is a most reverend gentleman, who 
belike, having received wrong by some person, is at 
most odds with his own gravity and patience, that 
ever you saw. 

Shal. I have lived fourscore years and upward; I 



never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learn- 
ing, so wide of his own respect. 

Eva. What is he? 

Page. I think you know him; master doctor Caius, 
the renowned French Physician. 

Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my heart ! I had 
as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge. 

Page. Why? 

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hlbocrates and 
Galen,— and he is a knave besides; a cowardly knave, 
as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 

Page. I warrant you, lie 's the man should fight 
with liim. 

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page ! 

Slial. It appears so, by his weapons:— Keep them 
asunder;— here comes doctor Caius. 

Enter Host, Calus, and Rugby. 

Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your wea- 

.S7io;. So do you, good master doctor. [pon. 

Host. Disarm them, and let them question; let 
them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. 

Caius. I pray you let-a me speak a word vlt your 
ear; Vereiore vUl you not meet-a me? 

Eva. Pray you, use your patience: in good time. 

Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, 
John ape. 

Ei'a. Pr.ay you, let us not be laughing-stogs to oth- 
er men's humours; I desire you in friendship, and I 
will one way or other make you amends:— I will 
knog your urinal about your knave's cogscomb [for 
missing your meetings and appointment] . 

Caius. Diable ! — Jack Rugliy, — mine Host de Jar- 
terre, have I not stay for him, to kill him? have I not, 
at de place I did appoint? 

Eva. As I am a christians soul, now, look you, this 
is the place appointed; I '11 be judgment by mine 
host of the Garter. 

Host. Peace, I say; Guallla and Gaul; French and 
Welch; soul-curer and body-curer. 

Caius. Ay, dat Is very good ! excellent ! 

Host. Peace, I say, hear mine host of the Garter. 
Am I politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall 
I lose my doctor? no; he gives me the potions, and 
the motions. Shall I lose my parson? my priest? 
my sir Hugh? no: he gives me the proverbs and the 
no-verbs.— [Give me thy hand, terrestrial; so:]— 

Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I 

have deceived you both: I have directed^ you to 
wrong places; your hearts are mighty, your skins 
are ^vhole, and let burnt sack be the issue,— Come, 
lay their swords to pawn:— Follow me, lads of 
peace; follow, follow, follow. 

Shal. Trust me, a mad host: — Follow, gentlemen, 

Slen. O, sweet Anne Page! [follow. 

[Exeunt Shallow, Slender, Page, and Host. 

Caius. Ha! do I perceive dat? have you make a 
de sot of us? ha, ha! 

Eva. This is well; he has made us his vlouting- 
stog.— I desire you that we may be friends; and let 
us knog our prains together, to be revenged on this 
same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the host of 
the Garter. 

Caius. By gar, vlt all my heart; he promise to 
bring me vcre is Anne Page; by gar, he deceive me 
too. 

Eva. Well I will smite his noddles:— Pray vou 

follow. lExeunt, 

Scene 11.— The Street in Windsor. 

Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant; you 
were wont to be a follower, but now you are a lead- 
er: Whether had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye 
your master's heels? 

Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like a 
man, than follow him like a dwarf. 

Mrs. Page. O you are a flattering boy; now, I see, 
you 'l^be a courtier. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford. Well met mistress Page: Whither go you? 

ilfrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife; Is she at 
home? 

Ford. Ay; and as idle as she may hang together, 
for want of company. I think if your husbands 
were dead, you two would many. 

Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, — two other husbands. 

Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock? 

3Irs- Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his name 
is my husband had him of: What do you call your 
knight's name, sirrah? 

Rob. Sir John Falstaff. 

Ford. Sir John Falstaff! 

Mrs. Page. He, he; I can never hit on's name.— 
There is sucli a league between my good man and 
he!— Is your wife at liome, indeed? 

Ford. Indeed, she is. 

Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir:— I am sick, till I see 
her. [E.reunt Mrs. Page and Robin. 

Ford. Has Page any brains? hath he any eyes? 
hath he any thinking? Sure, they sleep; he hath no 
use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter 
twenty miles as easy as a cannon will shoot point- 
blank twelve score. He pieces out his wife's inclln- 
ati n; he gives her folly motion and advantage: 
and now she 's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy 
with her. A man may hear this shower sing in the 
wind!- and Falstaff's boy with her!— Good plots!- 
they are laid; and our revolted wives share damna- 
tion together. Well; I will take him, then torture 
my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty from 
the so seeming mistress Page, divulge Page hims If 
for a secure and wilful Actaeon; and to these viole it 
proceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim. Clock 
strikes.'\ The clock gives me my cue, and rhy as- 
surance bids me search; Tliere I shall find Falstaff: 
I shall 1,0 rather praised for this than mocked; for 
it is as positive as the earth is firm that Fal-ataft is 
there: I will go. 

Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh Evans 
Calus, OH(( Rugby. 

ShoL Page, &c. Well met, master Ford. 

Ford. Trust me, a good knot: I have good cheer at 
home; and, I pray you all go with me. 

Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. 

Slen. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to dine 
with mistress Anne, and I wovild not break with her 
for more mone.v than I'll speak of. 

Shal. We have lingered about a match between 
Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day we 
shall have our answer. 

.Slen. I hope I have your good will, father Page. 

Page. You have, master Slender; I stand wholly 



for you:— but mj' wife, master doctor, is for you alto- 
gether. 

Caiu«. Ay. by gar; and de maid Is love a me; my 
nursh a Quickly tell nie so mush. 

Host. What say you to young master Fenton? he 
capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes 
verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May: 
he will carry 't, he will carry 't; 't is pn his buttons: 
he will carr.v 't. 

Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The gen- 
tleman is of no having; he kept company with the 
wild Prince and Poins; he is of too high a region, he 
knows too much. No, he shall not knit a knot in 
his fortunes with the finger of my substance: If he 
take her, let him take her simply; the wealth I have 
waits on my consent, and my consent goes not that 
way. 

Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go home 
with me to dinner: besides your cheer, you shall have 
sport; I will show you a monster. — Master doctor, 
you shall go;— so shall you, master Page;— and you 
sir Hugh. 

Slial. Well, fare you well:— we shall have the freer 
wooing at master Page's. [Exeunt Shal. and Slen. 

Caius. Go home, Jolin Rugby; I come anon. 

lExit Rugby. 

Host. Farewell, my hearts: I will go to my honest 
knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him. [Exit. 

Ford. tAside.\I think I shall drink in pipe-wine 
first with him; I 'Aill make him dance. Will you go, 
gentles? 

All. Have with you, to see this monster. lExeunt 

Scene IIL— ^ Room in Ford's House. 
Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Ford. What, John! What, Robert! 

Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly. Is the buck-basket — 

Mrs. Ford. I warrant: — What, Robin, I say. 
Enter Servants, with a basket. 

Mrs. Page. Come, come come. 

Jlfrs. Ford. Here, set it down. [be brief. 

Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge; we must 

3Irs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John, and 
Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew house; and 
when I suddenly call you, come forth, and (without 
any pause oi' staggering), take this basket on your 
shoulders: that done, trudge with it in all haste, 
and carry it among the whitsters in Datchet mead, 
and there empty it in the muddy ditch, close by the 
Thames side. 

Mrs. Page. You will do it? 

Mrs Ford. I have told them over and over; they 
lack no direction: Be gone, and come when you are 
called. [Exeunt Servants. 

Jl/rs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 
Enter Robin. 

Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket? what news 
with you? 

Rob. My master, sir John, Is come In at your back- 
door, mistress Ford; and requests your company. 

Mrs. Page, You little Jaclc-a-lent, have you been 
true to us? 

Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn: My master knows not of 
your being here; and hath threatened to put me into 
everlasting llbei'ty if I tell you of it; for he swears, 
he'll turn me away. 

Jl/rs. Page. Thou 'rt a good boy; this secrecy of 
thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee a 
new doublet and hose. I'll go hide me. 

Mrs. Ford. Do so:— Go tell thy master, I am alone. 
Mistress Page, remember you your'cue. [Exit Rob, 

3Trs. Page. I warrant thee; if I do not act it, hiss 
me. [Exit Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Ford. Go to then; we'll use this unwholesome 
humidity, this gross watery pumpion We'll teach 
him to know turtles from jays. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Have I caught thee, my heavenly jewel? Why, 
now let me die, for I have lived long enough; this is 
the period of my ambition. O this blessed hour! 

Mrs. Ford. O sweet sir John! 

Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, 
mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I would 
tliy husband were dead. I'll speak it before the best 
lord, I would make thee my lady. 

Mrs. Ford. 1 your lady, sir John! alas, I should be a 
pitiful lady. 

Fal. Let the court of France show me such another. 

' I see how thine eye would emulate the diamond: 

Thou hast the right arched beauty of the brow, that 

becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any tire of 

Venetian admittance. 

Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John: my brows 
becoming nothing else; nor that well neither. 

Fal, Thou art a tyrant to say so: thou would'st 
make an absolute courtier; and the firm fixture of 
thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait, 
in a semicircled farthingale. I see what thou wert if 
Fortune thy foe were not; Nature thy friend: Come, 
thou canst not hide it. 

Mrs. Ford, Believe me, there's no such thing in me. 

Fal. What made me love thee? let that persuade 
thee there's something extraordinary in thee. 
Come, I cannot cog, and say thou art this and that, 
like a many of these lisping hawthorn buds, that 
come like women in men's apparel, and smell like 
Bucklesbury in simple-time: I cannot: but I love 
thee; none but thee; and thou deservest it. 

Mrj. Ford. Do not betray me, sir, I fear you love 
mistress Page. 

Fal. Thou might'st as well say I love to walk by 
the Counter-gate; which Is as hateful to me as the 
reek of a lime-kiln. 

Mrs. Ford. Well, heaven knows how I love you; 
and you shall one day find it. 

Fal. Keep in that mind; I '11 deserve it. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay I must tell you, so you do; or els 
I could not be in that mind. 

Rob. [Within.'] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford! here'. 
mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blowing, 
and looking wildly, and would needs speak with you 
presently. 

Fal. She shall not see me; I will ensconce me be- 
hind the arras. 

Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so: she's a ver.v tattling 
woman. [Fa\'itatt hides himself. 

Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 
What's the matter? how now? 

Mrs. Page. O mistress Ford, what have you done? 
You're shamed, you're overthrown, you're undone 
for ever. 



Scene iv.] 



MESRY WIVES OF WINDSOH. 



Mrs. Ford. What's the miittor, good mistress Page? 

Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, mistress FordI having an 
honest man to your liusbaud, to give him such cause 
of suspicion! 

Mrs. Font. What couse of suspicion? 

Mrs. Page, What cause of suspicion?— Out upon 
you! how am I mistooic In vou! 

Mrs. Ford. Whv, alas! what's the matter? 

Mrs. Page. Yoiir husband's coming hitlier, woman, 
with all tiie officers in Windsor, to search for a gen- 
tleman that, he says. Is here now In the liouse, by 
vour consent, to take an 111 advantage ot his absence: 
You are undone. 

Mrs. Ford. 'T is not so, I hope. 

Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you have 
such a man here: but It is most certain your hus- 
band's coming with half Windsor at his heels, to 
search for such a one. I come before to tell you. If 
you know yourself clear, why I am glad of lt4 but if 
you have a friend here convey, convey him out. Be 
hot amazed; call all vour senses to you; defend your 
reputation, or bid farewell to your good life for 
ever. 

Mrs. Ford. What shall I do?— There is a gentle- 
man, my deah- friend; and I fear not mine own shame 
so much as his peril: I had rather than a thousand 
pounds he were out of the house. 

Jlfrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had rather, 
aadyouhad rather; your husband's here at hand; 
bethink vou of some conveyance: In the house yon 
cannot hide him.— O, how have you deceived me!— 
Look, here is a basket; if he be of any reasonable 
stature, he may creep in here; and throw foul linen 
upon him, as if It were going to bucking: Or, it is 
whltlng-tirae, send him by your two men to Datchet 
mead. [I do? 

Jlfrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there: What shall 
Re enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Let me see 't, let me see 't! O let me see 't! 
I'll in, I'll in; follow votir friend's counsel; I'll In. 

Mrs. Page. What! Sir John Falstaff! Are these your 
letters, knight? 

Fal, 1 love thee. Help me away: let me creep in 
here; I'll never — 

[ffe goes into the basket; they cover him tvith foul 
linen.^ 

Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy: Call 
your men, mistress Ford:— You dissembling knight! 

ilfrs. Ford. What John, Robert, John! {Ea.-it Robin. 
Re-enter Servants.] Go take up these clothes here, 
quickly : Where's the covvl-stafE? look, how you 
drumlile; carry them to the laundress in Datchet 
mead; quickly, come. 

Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect without 
cause, whv then make sport at me, then let me be 
your Jest; I deserve It.— How now? whither bear you 
this? 

Sen; To the laundress, forsooth. 

ilfrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whitherthey 
bear it? You were best meddle with buck-wash- 
ing. 

Ford. Buck? I would I could wash myself of the 
bu;k! Buck, buck, buck? Ay, buck; I warrant you, 
buck; and of the season too. It shall appear. [_K.veunt 
Servants with the basket.'\ Grentlemen, I have dream- 
ed to-night; I'll tell you my dream. Here, here, here 
be my keys; ascend my chambers, search, seek, find 
out: I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox:— Let me 
stop this way first:— so, nowuncape. 

Page. Good master Ford, be contented: you wrong 
yourself too much. 

Ford. True, master Page.— Up, gentlemen; you 
shall see sport anon: follow me, gentlemen. (Fxit, 

Eva, This is fery fantastical humours and jealous- 
ies. 

Caius. By gar, 't is no de fashion of France: it is 
not jealous in France. 

Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen; see the issue of 
his search. [Exeunt Evans, Page, and Caius. 

jl/rs. Page, is there not a double excellency in this? 

Jlfrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, 
that my husband is deceived, or Sir John. 

Jlfrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when yoxir 
husband asked what was in the basket! 

Jlfrs. Ford I am half afraid he will have need of 
washing: so throwing him into the water will do him 
a benefit. 

Jlfrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal! I would 
all of the same strain were in the same distress. 

Jlfrs. Ford. I think my husband hath some special 
suspicion of FalstafE's being here; for I never saw 
him so gross in his jealousy till now. 

3Trs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that: And we will 
yet have more tricks with Falstaff: his dissolute 
disease will scarce obey this medicine. 

JKrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, mis- 
tress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into 
the water; and give him another hope, to betray him 
to another punishment? 

Mrs. Page. We will do it; let him be sent for to- 
morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. 
Reenter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. I cannot find him: may be the knave bragged 
of that he could not compass. 

Jlfrs. Page. Heard you that? 

Jlfrs. Ford. You use me well, master Ford, do you? 

Ford. Ay, I do so. 

Jlfrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your 

Ford. Amen. [thoughts! 

Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, master 

Ford. Ay, ay; I must bear it. [Ford. 

Eva. If there be anypody in the house, and In the 
chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, 
heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment! 

Caius. By gar, nor I too;dere is no bodies. 

Page. Fie, fle, master Ford! are you not ashamed? 
What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination? I 
would not have your distemper in this kind, for the 
wealth of Windsor Castle. 

Ford. 'T is my fault, master Page; I suffer for it. 

Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience; your wife is 
as honest a 'oman as I will desires among five thous- 
andjaad flvelhuud.e.i tuo. 

Cains. By gar, I see 't Is an honest woman. 

Ford. Well; — I promised you a dinner: — Come, come 
■walk in the park: I pray you pardon me; I will here- 
after make known to you why I have done this.— 
Come, wife; — come, mistress Page; Ipray you pardon 
me; pray heartily, pardon me. 

Page. Let's go In, gentlemen; but, trust me, we'll 



mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to 
m.v house to breakfast: after, we'll a blriliuK to- 
gether; 1 have a fine hawk for the bush: Shall it be 

Ford. .\ny thing. [so? 

Eva, If there is one, I shall make two in the com- 
pany. 

Caius, If there be one or two, I shall niake-a de- 

Ford, Pray you go, masterPage. [tird. 

Eva, I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on 
the lousy knave, mine host. 

Caius. Dat is good; by gar, vlt all my heart. 

Ei'a. A lousy knave; to have his gibes and his 
mockeries. lExeunt. 

Scene IV.— .1 Room in Page's Mouse. 

Enter Fenton and Mistress Anne Page. 

Fent. I see I cannot get thy father'slove; 
Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 

,'lime. Alas! how then? 

Fent. Why, thou must be thyself. 

He doth object, I am too great of birth; 
And that, mv state being gall'd with my expense, 
I seek to heal it only by his wealth: 
Besides these, other bars he lays before me,— 
My riots past, my wild societies; 
And tells me, 't is a thing impossible 
I should love thee, but as a property. 

Anne. May be, he tells you true. 

Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come! 
Albeit, I will confess thy father's wealth 
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne; 
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags; 
And 't is the very riches of thyself 
That now I aim at. 

Anne. Gentle master Fenton, 

Yet seek my father's love: still seek it, sir: 
If opportunity and humblest suit 
Cannot attain it, why then.— Hark you hither. 

[They converse apart. 
Ent^r Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. 

Shal. Break their talk, mistress Quickly; my kins- 
man shall speak for himself. 

Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on 't: slid, 't is but 

Shal. Be not dismay'd. [venturing. 

Slen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not for 
that,— but that I am afeard. 

^uick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a word 
with you. 

Anne. I come to him.— This Is my father's choice. 
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults 
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! 

[Aside. 

Quick. And how does good master Fenton? Pray 
you, a word with you. 

Shal. She's coming; to her, coz. O boy, thou hadst 
a father! 

Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne;— my uncle can 
tell you good jests of him:— Pray you, uncle, tell 
mistress Anne the jest how my father stole two 
geese out of a pen, good uncle. 

Shal, Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 

Slen, Ay, that I do; as well as I love any woman in 
Glostersliire. 

Shal, He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. 

Slen, Ay, that I will come cut and long-tail, under 
the degree of a squire. 

Sh a I. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds 
jointure. 

Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for him- 
self. 

Shal. Marry, I thank you for it; I thank you for 
that good comfort. She calls you, coz: I '11 leave you. 

Anne, Now, master Slender. 

Slen, Now, good mistress Anne. 

Anne. What is your will? 

Slen. My will? 'od's heartlings, that 's a pretty jest, 
indeed! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; 
lam not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. 

Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you 
with me? 

Slen, Truly, for mine own part, I would little or 
nothing with you: Your father, and my uncle, have 
made motions: if it be my luck, so: if not, happy 
man be his dole! They can tell you howihings go 
better than I can: You may ask your father; here 
he comes. 

Enter Page and Mistress Page. 

Page. Now, master Slender:- Love him, daughter 
Anne. — 
Why, how now! what does master Fenton here? 
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt m.y house: 
I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. 

Fent, Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 

Mrs, Page, Good master Fenton, come not to my 

Page, She Is no match for you. [child. 

Fent. Sir, will you hear me! 

Page, No, good master Fenton. 

Come, master Shallow; come .son Slender, in:— 
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. 
[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Quick, Speak to mistress Page. 

Pent, Good mistress Page, for that I love your 
In such a righteous fashion as I do, [daughter 

Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, 
I must advance the colours of my love. 
And not retire: Let me have your good will. 

Anne, Good mother, do not marry me to yond' 
fool. [husband. 

Jlfrs. Page, I mean it not; I seek you a better 

Quick, That 's my master, master doctor. 

Anne, Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth, 
And bowl'd to death with turnips. 

Jlfrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself: Good mas- 
ter Fenton, 
I will not be your friend, nor enemy: 
M.v daughter will I question how she loves you, 
And as I find her. so am I affected; 
'Till then, farewell, sir:-She must needs go in; 
Her father will be angry. 

[Exeunt Mrs. Fage and Anne, 

Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell. Nan. 

Quick. This is my doing now.— Nay said I, will 
you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician? 
Look on master Fenton: this is my doing. 

Fent. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to-night 
Give my sweet Nan this ring; Tliere 's for thy 
pains. [Ex'it. 

Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune! A 
kind heart he hath: a woman would run through fire 
and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I ivould 



my master had mistress Anne; or I would master 
Slender had her: or, insootli, I would master Fenton 
had her: I will do what lean for them all three; for 
so I have promised, and I 'II be as gootl as my word; 
but speciously for master Fenton. Well, I must or 
anotlier errand to sir John Falstaff from my two 
mistresses. What a beast am I to slack It? [Exit. 

Scene V.— .-1 Room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal Bardolph, I say,— 

Bard. Here, sir. 

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast In 
't. [Exit Bard.'i Have I lived to be carried in a 
basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal; and to be 
thrown in the Thames? Well, if I be served such 
another trick, I '11 have my brains ta'en out, and 
butter'd, and give them to a dog for a new year's 
gift. The rogues slighted me into the river with as 
tittle remorse as they would have drowned a bitch's 
blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter: and you may 
know by my size that I have a kind of alacrity in 
sinking; if tlie bottom were as deep as hell 1 should 
down. I had been drowned but that the shore was 
shelvy and shallow,— a death that I abhor; for the 
water swells a man; and what a thing should I have 
been when I had been swelled! I should have been 
a mountain of mummy. 

Re-enter Bardolph with the wine. 

Bard. Here 's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with 
you. 

Fal. Come let me pour in some sack to the 
Thames water; for my belly 's as cold as if I had 
swallow'd snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. 
Call her in. 

Bard. Come in, woman. 

Enter Mrs. Quickly. 

Quick. By your leave; I cry you mercy: Give your 
worship good-morrow. 

Fal, Take away these chalices: Go, brew me a 
pottle of sack finely. 

Bard. With eggs, sir? 

Fal. Simple of itself; I '11 no pullet-sperm in my 
brewage.— [.Ejjtt Bardolph.]— How now? 

Quick, Marry, sir, I came to your worship from 
mistress Ford. 

Fal, Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough: I 
was thrown Into the ford: I have my belly full of 
ford. 

Quick, Alas the day! good heart, that was not her 
fault: she does so take on with her men; they mis- 
took their erection. [promise. 

Fal, So did I mine, to build upon a foolish woman's 

Quick, Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this 
morning a birding: she desires you once more to 
come to her between eight and nine. I must carry 
her word quickly: she '11 make you amends, I war- 
rant you. 

Fal, Well, I will visit her: Tell her so; and bid 
her think what a man is: let her consider his frailty, 
and then judge of my merit. 

Qiiick, I will tell her. 

Fal, Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou? 

Qiuck, Eight and nine, sir. 

Fal, Well, be gone: I will not miss her. 

Quick, Peace be with you, sir. [Exit, 

Fal. I marvel I hear not of master Brook; he sent 
me word to stay within: I like his money well. O 
here he comes. 

Enter Ford. 

Ford, Bless you, sir! 

Fal, Now, master Brook? you come to know what 
hath passed betxveen me and Ford's wife. 

Ford, that. Indeed, sir John, is my business. 

Fal, Master Brook, I will not lie to you: I was at 
her house the hour she appointed me. 

-Ford. And sped you, sir? 

Fal, Very II If a vouredly, master Brook. [ation? 

Ford. How so, sir? Did she change her determin- 

Fal. No, master Brook; but the peaking cornuto 
her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continual 
'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our en- 
counter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested, 
and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy; 
and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thither 
provoked and instigated by his distemper, and for- 
sooth, to search his house for his wife's love. 

Ford. What, while you wero there? 

Fal. While I was there. [find you? 

Ford. And did he search for yon and could not 

Fal. \ou shall hear. As good luck would have it 
comes in one mistress Page; gives intelligence of 
Ford's approach; and, in her invention and Ford's 
wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck- 

Ford. A buck-basket ? [basket. 

Fal. Yes, a buck-basket; rammed me in with foul 
shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, greasy 
napkins; that, master Brook, there was the rankest 
compound of villainous smell that ever offended 

Ford. And how long lay you there? [nostril. 

Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I 
have suffere to bring this woman to evil for your 
good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple 
of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth Iby 
their mistress, to carry me in the name of foul 
clothes to Datchet-Iane: they took me on their 
shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in 
the door; who asked them once or twice what they 
had in their basket: I qu iked for fear lest the 
lunatic knave would have searched it; but fate, or- 
daining he should be a cuckold, held his hand. Well: 
on went he for a search, and away went I for foul 
clothes. But mark the sequel, master Brook: I 
suffered the pangs of three several deaths: first, 
an intolerable fright, to be detected with a jealous 
rotten bell-wether: next, to be compassed, like a 
good bilbo, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to 
point, heel to head: and then, to be stopped in, 
like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes that 
fretted in their own grease: think of that,— a man 
of my kidney,- think of that; that am as subject to 
heat, as butter; a man of continual dissolution and 
thaw; it was a miracle to 'scape suffocation. And 
in the height of this bath, when I was more than 
half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be 
thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing hot, 
in that surge, like a Iiorseshoe; think of that,— 
hissing hot,— think of that, master Brook. 

Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my 
sake you have suffered all this. My suit then is 
desperate; you '11 undertake her no more. 



MEBRY -WIVES OF WINDSOB. 



[Act rv. 



Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown Into Etna as 
I have been thrown into Thames, ere I will leave 
her thus. Her husVtand Is tliis morning jrone a bird- 
Ing: I have received from her anothor embassy of 
meeting; 'twixt eiRht and nine is the hour, master 

Ford. 'T Is past eight already, sir. [Brook. 

Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my appoint- 
ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and 
you shall know how I speed; and tlie conclusion 
shall be crowned with jour enjoying !ier: Adieu. 
You shall have her, master Brook; master Brook, 
you shall cuckold Ford. lE.cit. 

Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream? 
do I sleep? Master Ford, awake; awake, master 
Ford; there 's a hole made in your best coat, mas- 
ter Ford. This 't is to be married! this 't is to have 
linen and buck baskets!— \Vell, I will proclaim my- 
self what I am- I will now take the lecher; he is at 
ray house: he cannot 'scape me; 't is impossible he 
should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny purse, 
nor into a pepper-box; but, lest tlie devit that 
guides him should aid him, I will search impossible 
places. Thougli wliat I am I cannot avoid, yet 
to be what I would not shall not make me tame- 
If I have horns to make me mad, let the proverb go 
with me, I '11 be horn mad. lF,.x:it. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I.— The Street. 

Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Quickly, and William. 

Mrs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, thlnk'st 
thou? 

Quick. Sure he is by this; or will be presently: 
but truly he is very courageous mad, about his 
throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires 
you to come suddenly. 

Mrs. Page. I '11 be with her by-and-by; I '11 but 
bring my young man here to school. Look, where 
his master comes; 't is a playing day, I see. 

Enter ir Hugh Evans. 
How now, sir Hugh? no school to-day? [play 

Eva. No; master Slender is let the boys leave to 

Quick. Blessing of his heart! 

Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband saj's my son 
profits nothing in the world at his book. I pray you, 
ask him some questions in his accidence. 

Eva. Come hither, William; hold up your head; 
come. 

Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah: hold up your head; 
answer your master, be not afraid. 

Eva. William, how many numbers Is in nouns? 

Will. Two. 

Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one number 
more; because they say od's nouns. 

Eva. Peace your tattlings. What Is fair, William? 

Will. Pulcher. 

Quick. Poulcats! there are fairer things than poul- 
cats, sure. 

Eva. You are very simplicity 'oman; I pray you, 
peace. What Is lapis, William? 

Will. A stone. 

Eva. And what Is a stone, WUliam? 

Will. A pebble. [prain. 

Eva. No, it is lapis; I pray you remember in your 

Will. Lapis. 

Eva. that is a good William. What is he, William, 
that does lend articles? 

Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun ; and 
be thus declined, Singulariter, nominativo, hie, hoec, 
hoc. 

Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, Tiog,-— pray you, mark: 
genitivo, hujus: Well, what is your accusative 
case? 

Will. Aceusativo, hinc. 

Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child; 
Accusatiix), hing, hang. hog. 

Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant you. 

Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the 
focative case, William? 

Will. O — vocativo, O. 

Eva. Remember, William, focative is, caret. 

Quick. And that's a good root. 

Eva. 'Oman, forbear. 

Mrs. Page. Peace. 

Eva. What is your genitive case plural, William? 

Will. Genitive case? 

Eva. Ay. 

Will. Genitive,— horum, hanim, hoimm. 

Quick. 'Vengeance of Jenny's case! fle on her !— 
never name her, child, if she be a whore. 

Eva. For shame, 'oman. 

Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words: 
he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll do 
fast enough of themselves, and to call horum;— fle 
upon you! 

Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no under- 
standings for thy cases, and the numbers of the 
genders? Thou art as foolish christian creatures as I 
would desires. 

Mrs. Page. Prithee, hold thy peace. 

Eva. Show me now, WiUiam, some declensions of 
your pronouns. 

Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 

Eva. It is qui, quce, quod; if you forget your quies, 
your quces, and your quods, you must be preeches. 
Go your ways, and play, go. 

Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought he 
was. 

Eva. He Is a good sprag memory. Farewell mis- 
tress Page. 

Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. lExit Sir 

Hugh.] GJet you home, boy.— Come, we stay too long. 

lExeunt. 
Scene IL—A Room in Ford's House. 
Enter 'alstatZ and Mrs. Ford. 

Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up my 
sufferance: I see you are obsequious in your love, 
and I profess requital to a hair's breadth; not only, 
mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all 
the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony of it. 
But are you sure of your husband now? 

ilfrs. Ford. He's a blrding, sweet sir John. 

Mrs. Page. [ Within.'\ What hoa, gossip Ford! what 
hoa! 

Mrs. Ford. Step Into the chamber, sir John. 

[Exit FalstafC 
Enter Mrs. Page. 

Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart? who 's at home 
beside yourself? 

Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 



Mrs. Page. Indeed? 

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly;— Speak louder. [Aside. 

Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody 

Jlfrs. Ford. Why? [here. 

Mrs. Page. Wliy, woman, your husband is ni his 
old lunes again: he so takes on yonder with my hus- 
band; so rails against all married mankind; so curses 
all Eve's daughters, of what comiilexion soever; and 
so buffets himself on the foreliead, crying Peerovt, 
peer-out! tliat any madness I ever yet beheld seemed 
but tamenoss, ivility, and patience, to this his dis- 
temper he is in now;"! am glad the fat knight is not 
here. 

Mrs. Ford. Why does he talk of him? 

3Irs. Page. Of none but him; and swears he was 
carried out, the last time he searched for him. in a 
basket: protests to my husband he Is now here; and 
hath drawn him and the rest of their company from 
their sport, to make another experiment of his sus- 
picion; but I am glad tl>e knight is not here: now he 
shall see his own foolery. 

3[rs. Ford. How near Is he, mistress Page? 

Mrs. Page. Hard by; at street end; he will be here 
anon. 

3Irs. Ford. I am undone!— the knight is here. 

3Irs. Page. Why then you are utterly ashamed, and 
he's but a dead man. What a woman are you? — 
Away with him, away witli him; better shame than 
murder. 

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how should 
I bestow him ? Shall I put him into the basket 
again? 

Re-enter FalstafC. 

Fal. No, I'll come no more 1' the basket: May I not 
go out ere he come? 

Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers 
watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue 
out; otherwlselyou might slip away ere he canie. But 
what make you here? [ney. 

Fal. What shall I do?— I'll creep up into the chim- 

Mrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge 
their blrding pieces: Creep into the kiln hole. 

Fal. Where is it? 

Mrs. Ford. He will seek there, on my word. Neither 
press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he hath 
an abstract for the rememlorance of such places, and 
goes to them by his note: There is no hiding you in 
the house. 

Fal. I'll go out then. * 

Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own semblance, 
you die, sir John. Unless you go out disguised, — 

Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him? 

Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There is 
no woman's gown big enough for him; otherwise he 
might put on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchief and so 
escape. 

Fal. Good hearts, devise something; any extremity, 
rather tlian a mischief- 

Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of 
Brentford, has a gown above. 

Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him; she is as 
big as he is: and there 's her thrum 'd hat, and her 
muffler too: Run up, sir John. 

Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John: mistress Page 
and I will look some linen for your head. 

Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you 
straight: put on tlie gown the while. iE.vit Falstaff. 

Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet him in 
this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brent- 
ford; he swears she's a witch; forbade her my house, 
and hath threatened to beat her. 

Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
cudgel; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards! 

JIfrs. Ford. But is my husband coming? 

Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he: and talks 
of the basket too, howsoever he hath had intelli- 
gence. 

Mrs. Ford. We 'II try that; for I'll appoint my men 
to carry the basket again, to meet him at the door 
with it, as they did last time. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, but he '11 be here presently: let 's 
go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 

Mrs. Ford. I '11 first direct my men what they .shall 
do with the basket. Go up, I '11 bring linen for him 
straight. lE.mt. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest yarlet! we cannot 
misuse him enough. 

We '11 leave a proof, by that which we will do 
Wives may be merry and yet honest too: 
AVe do not act that often jest and laugh; 
'T is old but true. StUl swine eat all the draff. 

[Exit. 
Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with tivo Servants. 

3Trs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on j-our 
shoulders; your master is hard at door; if he bid you 
set it down, obey him: quickly, dispatch. lExit. 

1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 

2 Sei-v. Pray heaven it be not full of knight again. 
1 Serv. I hope not; I had as lief bear so much lead. 

Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir 
Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have 
you any way then to unfool me again?— Set down 
the basket, villain:— Somebody call my wife:— Youth 
in a basket!— O, you panderly rascals! there 's a 
knot, a glng, a pack, a conspiracy against me: Now 
shall the devil be ashamed. What! wife, I say! — 
Come, come forth. Behold what honest clothes you 
send forth to bleaching. 

Page. Why, this passesi Master Ford, you are not 
to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned, [dog! 

Eva. Wliy, this Is lunatics! this is mad as a mad 

Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well; indeed. 
Enter Jl/rs. Ford. 

Ford. So say I too sir.— Come hither, mistress 
Ford; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest 
wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous 
fool to her husband!— I suspect without cause, mis- 
tress, do I? 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness you do, if you 
suspect me of any dislionesty. 

Ford. Well said, lirazen-face; hold it out.— Come 
forth, sirrah. [Pulls the clothes out of the basket. 

Page. This passes? [alone. 

Jl/rs Ford. Are you not ashamed? let the clothes 

Ford. I shall find you anon. 

Eva. 'T is unreasonable! Will you take up your 
wife's clothes? Come away. 

Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 

3lrs. Ford. Why, man, why, — 

Ford, Master Page, as I am a man, there was one 



conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket: 
Why may not he be there again? In my house I am 
sure he Is: my intelllgen^'e is true; my jealousy is 
reasonable: Pluck me out all the linen. 

3Trs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a 
flea's death. 

Page. Here 's no man. 

Slial. By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford; 
this wrongs you. 

Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow 
the imaginations of your own heart; this is jealousies. 

Ford, well, he 's not here I seek for. 

Page. No, nor no where else, but In your brain. 

Ford. Help to search my house this one time: If I 
find not what I seek, show no colour for my ex- 
tremity, let me for ever be ycur table-sport; let 
them say of me, As jealous as Ford, tliat searched a 
hollow walnut for his wife's Ionian. Satisfy me 
once more; once more searcli with me. 

Sirs. Ford. What hoa, mistress Page! come you 
and the old woman, down; my husband will come 
into the chamber. 

Ford. Old woman! What old woman 's that? 

Jlii-s. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford. 

Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! 
Have I not forbid her my house? She comes of er- 
rands, docs she? We are simple men; we do not 
know what 's brought to pass under the profession 
of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, 
by the figure, and such daubery as this is; beyond 
our element- we know nothing.— Come down, you 
witch, you hag you; come down, I say. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband;— good gen- 
tlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 
Enter FalstafC in women's clothes, led by Mrs. Page. 

3Irs. Page. Come, mother Prat, come, give me your 
hand. 

Ford. I '11 prai her: Out of my door, you witch: 

[beats him,'] you rag, you baggage, you polecat, you 
ronyon! out! out! I '11 conjure you, I '11 fortune-tell 
you. [Exit Falstaff. 

3Irs. Page. Are you not ashamed? I think you 
have killed the poor "woman. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, he v.'ill do it:- 'T is a goodly credit 
for you. ford. Hang her, witch! 

Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch 
indeed: I like not when a 'oman has a great peard; 
I spy a great peard under her muffler. 

lord. Will you follow, gentlemen? I beseech you, 
follow; see but the issue of my jealousy: if I cry 
out thus upon no trail, never trust me when I open 
again. 

Page. Let 's obey his humour a little further: 
Come, gentlemen. 

[Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans. 

Jlfrs. Page. Trust me, ne beat him most pitifully. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he 
beat him most unpltif ully, methought. 

3Irs. Page. I' U have the cudgel hallowed and 
hung o'er the altar; it hath done meritorious ser- 
vice. 

3Irs. Ford. What think you? May we, with the 
warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good 
conscience, pursue him with any further revenge? 

3Irs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared 
out of him; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, 
with fine and recovery, he will never, 1 think, in the 
way of waste, attempt us again. 

31rs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we 
have served him? 

Jl/rs. Page. Yes, by all means; if it be but to scrape 
the figures out of your husband's brains. If they 
can find in their hearts the poor unvirtuous fat 
knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will 
still be the ministers. 

Jlfrs. Ford. I'll warrant they '11 have him publicly 
shamed: and, methinks, there would be no period to 
the jest, should he not be publicly shamed. 

Jl/)-s. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape 
it: I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— J. Boom in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of 
your horses: the duke himself will be to-morrow at 
court, and they are going to meet him. 

Ilost. What duke should that be comes so secretly? 
I hear not of him in the court: Let me speak with 
the gentleman: they speak English? 

Bard. Ay, sir; I '11 call them to you. 

Host. They shall have my horses; but I '11 make 

them pay, I '11 sauce them: Ihey have had my 

hoxise a week at command; I have turned away my 

other guests: they must come off; I '11 sauce them: 

Come. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV — A Room in Ford's House. 

Enter Page, Ford, Jl/rs. Page, 3Irs. Ford, and 

Sir Hugh Evans. 

Eva. 'T is one of the pest discretions of a 'oman as 
ever I did look upon. 

Page. And did he send you both these letters at an 
Instaut? 

Jl/rs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. [wilt; 

Ford. Pardon me, wife: Henceforth do w^hat thou 
1 rather will suspect the sun with cold 
Thau thee with wantonness: now doth thy honour 
In liihr that was of late an heretic, [stand. 

As firm as faith. 

Page. 'T is well, 't is well; no more: 

Be not as extreme in submission 
As in offence; 

But let our plot go forward: let our wives 
Yet once again, to make us public sport. 
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow. 
Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. 

Ford. There Is no better way than that they spoke 
of. 

Page. How! to send him word they'll meet him in 
the park at midnight; fie, fle; he'll never come. 

Eva, You say, he has .been thrown In the rivers: 
and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman; 
methinks, there should be terrors in him that he 
should not come; methinks, his flesh is punished, he 
shall nave no desires Page. So think I too. 

J)/rs. Ford. Devlsebut how you'll use him when he 
And let us two devise to bring him thither, [comes, 

Jl/rs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme the 
hunter. 
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest. 
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight. 
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns; 
And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle; 



Scene iv.] 



MERBY WIVES OF yVTNDSOIi. 



And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a 
In a most hideous and dreadful manner: fcliain 

You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know, 
The superstitious idle-headed eld 
Received, and did deliver to our age, 
This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 

Page. Why, yet there want not many that do fear 
ludeep of night to walk by this Heme's oak: 
But what of tliis? 

BIrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device; 
That Falstaffl at that oak shall meet with us, 
P)isguised like Heme, with huge horns on his head.] 

Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come. 
And in this shape: When you have brought him 

thither. 
What shall be done with him? what is your plot? 

Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon; 
and thus: 
Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, • 
And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress 
Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and white. 
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 
And rattles in their hands; upoh a sudden, 
As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met, 
Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once 
With some diffused song; upon their sight, 
We two in great amap.edness will fly: 
Then let them all encircle him about. 
And fairv-like, to pinch the unclean knight; 
And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel, 
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread, 
In shape profane. 

Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 

Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, 
And burn mm with their tapers. 

3Irs. Page. The truth being known, 

We'll all present ourselves; dishorn the spirit. 
And mock him home to Windsor. 

Ford. The children must 

Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do 't. 

Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours; and 
1 will be like a Jackanapes also, to burn the knight 
with my taber. [ards. 

Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them viz- 

Jlfrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the 
Finely attired in a robe of white. [fairies. 

Page. That silk will I go buy!— and in that time 
Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, {Aside. 
And marry her at Eton.— Go send to Falstaff 
straight. 

Ford. Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Brook; 
He'il tell me all his purpose: Sure, he'll come. 

Mrs. Page. Fear not you that: Go, get us proper- 
And tricking for our fairies. [ties, 

Eva. Let us about it: It is admirable pleasures, 
and fery honest knaveries. 

{Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Go mistress Ford, 
Send quickly to sir John, to know his mind. 

[Exit Mrs. Ford. 
I'll to the doctor; he hath my good will. 
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot; 
And he my husband best of all affects: 
The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her. 
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave 
her. [Exeunt. 

Scene y.—A Room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Simple. 

Host. What would'st thou have, boor? what, thick- 
skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short, quick, 
snap. 

Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John 
Falstaff from master Slender. 

Host. There 's his chamber, his house, his castle, 
his standing-bed, and truckle-bed; 't is painted 
about with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new: 
Go, knock and call: he '11 speak like an Antliropo- 
phaginian unto thee: Knock, I say. 

Sim. There 's an old woman, a fat woman, gone 
up Into his chamber: I '11 be so bold as stay, sir, till 
she come down; I come to speak with her. Indeed. 

Host. Ha! a fat woman! the knight may be 
robbed: I '11 call.— Bully knight! Bully sir John! 
speak from thy lungs military: Art thou there? it Is 
thine host, thine Epheslan, calls. 

Fal. lAbove.^ How now, mine host? 

Host. Here 's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the 
coming down of thy fut woman. Let her descend, 
bully, let her descend;-my chambers are honour- 
able: Fye! privacy? fye! 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman even 
now with me; but she 's gone. [Brentford? 

Sim. Pray you, sir, was 't not the wise woman of 

Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell: What would 
you with her? 

Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to 
her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, 
sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a 
chain, had the chain, or no. 

Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 

Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir? 

Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man that 
beguiled master Slender of his chain cozened him 
of it. 

Sim. I would I could have spoken with the woman 
herself: I had other things to have spoken with her 
too from him. 

J^. What are they? let us know. 

Host. Ay, come; quick. 

Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. 

Host. Conceal them, or thou diest. 

Sim. Why, sir, they "were nothing but about mis- 
tress Anne Page; to know if it were my master's 
fortune to have her, or no. 

Fal. 'T is, 't is his fortune. 

Sim. What, sir? [told me so. 

Fal. To have her,— or no: Go; say, the woman 

Sim. May I be bold to say so, sir? 

Fal. Ay, sir Tike; who more bold? 

Sim. I thank your worship: I shall make my mas- 
ter glad with these tidings. [Exit Simple. 

Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, sir John: 
Was there a wi-e woman with thee? 

Fal, Ay, that there was, mine host; one that hath 
taught me more wit than ever I learned before in 
my life; and I paid nothing for it neither, but was 
paid for my lea'tiing. 



Enter Bardolph. 

Sard. Out, alas, sir! cozenage! mere cozenage. 

Host. Where be my horses? speak well of them, 
varletto. 

Bard. Run away with the cozeners: for so soon as 
I came beyond Eton, they tlii'ew me off, from be- 
hind one of them, in a slough of mire; and set spurs 
and away, like three German devils, three Doctor 
Faustuses. 

Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, villain: 
do not say they be fled; Germans are lionest men. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 

Eva. Where Is mine host? 

Host. What Is the matter, sir? 

^fii. Have a care of your entertainments: there 
is a friend of mine come to town, tells me there is 
three couzin germans, that has cozened all the hosts 
of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, of horses 
and money. I tell you for good-will, look you: you 
are wise, and full of gibes and vlouting-stogs: and 
't Is not convenient you should be cozened: Fare 
you well. {Exit. 

Enter Dr. Cains. 

Caitts. Vere is mine Host de Jarierre? 

Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and 
doubtful dilemma. 

Caius. I cannot tell vot is dat: But it Is tell-a me, 
dat j'ou make grand preparation for a duke de Jer- 
many: by my trot, dere is no duke dat de court Is 
know to come: I tell you for good vill: adieu. [Exit. 

Host. Hue and cry, villain, go:— assist me, knight; 
I am undone: fly, mn, hue and cry, villain! I am un- 
done! [Exeunt Host and Bardolph. 

Fal. I would all the world might be cozened; for I 
have been cozened and beaten too. If It should 
come to the ear of the court, how I have been trans- 
formed, 'and how my transformation hath been 
washed and cudgelled, they would melt me out of 
my fat, drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's boots 
with me. I warrant, they would whip me with their 
fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a dried pear. 
I never prospered since I fore-swore myself at 
primero. Well, If my wind were but long enough to 
say my prayers, I would repent.— 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Now! whence come you? 

Quick. Froni the two parties, forsooth. 

Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the 
other, and so they shall be both bestowed! I have 
suffered more for their sakes, more, than the villain- 
ous Inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. 

Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I war- 
rant; speciously one of them; mistress Ford, good 
heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see 
a white spot about her. 

Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? I 
was beaten myself into all the colours of the rain- 
bow; and I was like to be apprehended for the witch 
of Brentford; but that my admirable dexerlty of 
wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old woman, 
dellver'd me, the knave constable had set me i' the 
stocks, r the common stocks, for a witch. 

Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your chamber; 
you shall hear how things go; and, I warrant, to 
your content. Here Is a letter will say somewhat. 
Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together! 
Sure, one of you does not serve heaven well that you 
are so crossed. 

Fal. Come up Into my chamber. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI. — Another Room in the Garter Inn, 
Enter Fenton and Host. 

Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me; my mind is 
heavy, I will give over all. 

Fent. Yet hear me speak: Assist me in my pur- 
And, as I am a gentleman, I '11 give thee [pose, 

A hundred pounds In gold, more than your loss. 

Host. I will hear you, master Fenton; and I will, 
at the least, keep your counsel. 

Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page; 
Who, mutually, hath answered my affection 
(So far forth as herself might be her chooser,) 
Even to my wish: I have a letter from her 
Of such contents as you will wonder at; 
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter. 
That neither, singly, can be manifested. 
Without the show of both,— wherein fat Falstaff 
Hath a great scene: the Image of the jest 
I '11 show you here at large. Hark, good mine host: 
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one. 
Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen: 
The purpose why, Is here; In which disguise. 
While other jests are something rank on foot. 
Her father hath commjindcd her to slip 
Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 
Immediately to marry: she hath consented: 
Now, sir. 

Her mother, even strong against that match, 
And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed 
That he shall likewise shuffle her away. 
While other sports are tasking of their minds. 
And at the deanery, where a priest attends. 
Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot 
She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
Made promise to the doctor.— Now thus it rests; 
Her father means she shall be all in white; 
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
To take her by the hand, and bid her go. 
She shall go with him: her mother hath Intended, 
The better to denote her to the doctor, 
(For they must all be mask'd and vizarded,) 
That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'd. 
With ribbands pendant, flaring 'bout her head; 
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token. 
The maid hath given consent to go with him. 

Host. Which means she to deceive? father or 
mother? 

Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me: 
And here it rests,— that you '11 procure the vicar 
To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one. 
And, In the lawful name of marrying. 
To give our hearts united ceremony. 

Host. 'Well, husband your device; I '11 to the vicar: 
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 

Fent. So shall I ever more be bound to thee; 
, Besides, I 'il make a present recompense. [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. 

Fal. Prithee, no more prattling:— go. I '11 hold: 
This Is the third time; I hope, good luck lies In odd 
numbers. Away, go; they say there Is divinity In 
odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or death.— 
Away. 

Quick. I '11 provide you a chain: and I '11 do what I 
can to get you a pair of horns. 

Fal. Away, I say; time wears: hold up your head, 
and mince. [Exit Mrs. Quickly. 

Enter Ford. 
How now, master Brook? Master Brook, the matter 
will be known to-night, or never. Be you In the 
Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you shall 
see wonders. 

Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you 
told me you had appointed? 

Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, like 
a poor old man: but I came from her, master Brook, 
like a poor old woman. That same knave. Ford 
her husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy In 
him, master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will 
tell you: — He beat me grievously. In the shape of a 
woman; for in the shape of man, master Brook, I 
fear not Gollah with a weaver's beam; because I 
know also, life is a shuttle. I am in haste; go along 
with me; I '11 tell you all, master Brook. Since I 
pluck'd geese, play'd truant, and whipp'd top, I 
knew not what it was to be beaten, till lately. Pol- 
low me: I '11 tell you strange things of this knave 
Ford: on whom to-night I will be revenged, and I 
win deliver his wife into your hand.— Follow: Strange 
things in hand, master Brook! follow. [Exeunt. 

ScEi'E II.— Windsor Park. 
Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Page. Come, come: we '11 couch i' the eastle-dltch, 
till we see the light of our fairies.— Remember, son 
Slender, my daughter. 

Slen. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we 
have a nay -word, how to know one another. I come 
to her In white, and cry, mum; she cries budget; and 
by that we know one another. 

Shal. That 's good too: but what needs either your 
mum or her budget? the white will decipher her well 
enough.— It hath struck ten o'clock. 

Page. The night Is dark; light and spirits will be- 
come it well. Heaven prosper our sport! No man 
means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by 
his horns. Let 's away; follow me. [Exefunt. 

Scene III.— :r7ie Street in Windsor. 
Enter Mrs. Page, Jlfrs. Ford, and Br. Caius. 

Mrs. Page. Master Doctor, my daughter is In 
green: when you see your time, take Tier by the 
hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch 
it quickly: Go before into the park; we two must go 
together. 

Caius. I know vat I have to do; Adieu. 

Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius.J My 
husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse of 
Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying 
my daughter: but 't is no matter; better a lUtle 
chiding than a great deal of heart-break. 

Mrs. Ford. Where Is Nan now, and her troop of 
fairies? and the Welch devil, Hugh? 

Mrs. Page. They are all couched In a pit hard by 
Heme's oak, with obscured lights; which, at the 
very Instant of Falstaif's and our meeting, they will 
at once display to the night. 

Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 

Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked; 
If he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. 

Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. 

Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their lech 
Those that betray them do no treachery. [ery, 

Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on. To the oak. to the 

oak! [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— Windsor Park. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. 

Eva. Trib, trlb, fairies; come; and remember your 

parts: be pold, I pray you; follow me into the pit; 

and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pld you; 

Come, come; trlb, trib. [Exeunt, 

Scene V. — Another part of the Park. 

Enter Falstaff, disguised ivith a buck's head on. 

Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the 
minute draws on: Now, the hot-blooded gods assist 
me:— Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy 
Europa; love set on thy horns. O powerful love! 
that. In some respects, makes a beast a man; in some 
other, a man a beast. You were also, Jupiter, a 
swan, for the love of Leda:— O, omnipotent love! 
how near the god drew to the complexion of a 
goose?— A fault done first in the form of a beast;— 

Jove, a beastly fault! and then another fault in 
the semblance of a fowl; think on 't, Jove; a foul 
fault. When gods have hot backs, what shall poor 
men do? For me, I am here, a Windsor stag; and 
the fattest, I think, i' the forest: Send me a cool 
rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss my tal- 
low? Who^comes here? my doe? 

Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page. 

Mrs.Ford. Sir John? art thou there, my deer? my 
male deer? 

Fal. My doe with the black scut?— Let the sky 
rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green 
sleeves; hail klsslng-comflts, and snow erlngoes; 
let there come a tempest of provocation I will shel- 
ter me here. [Embracing her. 

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come vrith me, sweet- 
heart. 

Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch: 

1 will keep my sides to myself, my shouBers for the 
fellow of this walk, and my horns 1 bequeath your 
husbands. Am I a woodman? ha! Speak I like 
Heme the hunter?— Why, now is Cupid a child of 
conscience; he makes restitution. As 1 am a true 
spirit, welcome! [Noise within. 

Mrs. Page. Alas! what noise! 
Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins! 
Fal. What should this be? 
Mrs. Ford. ) 

\ Away, away. [They nm off. 

Mrs. Page. ) 
Fal. I think the devil will not have me damned. 



84 



MEASVRE FOR MEASUBE. 



[Act I. 



lest the oil that is In me should set hell on fire; he 
would never else cross me thus. 

Enter .Sir Hugh Evans Uke a sati/r; Mrs. Quickly, and 
Pistol; Anne PnEe, ns the Fairy Queen, attended bu 
her brother and others, dressed like fairies, with 
waxen tapers on their heads. 

Q\tick. Fairies, black, prrcy, preen, and white, 
You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, 
You orphan-heirs of fixed destiny. 
Attend your olflce and your quality 
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes. 

Pist. Elves list your names; silence, you airy toys. 
Cricket, to Windsor chlmnies shalt thou leap: 
Where tiros thou flnd'st unrak'd, and hearths un- 
There piucli tlie maids as blue as bill>erry: [swept, 
Our radiant queen hates sluts and slutlery. [die: 

Fal. They are fairies; he that spealcs to them .snail 
I'll wink and couch: no man their works must eye. 
ILies down upon his face. 

Eva. Where's Pede?— Go you, and where you find a 
maid. 
That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said. 
Raise up the organs of her fantasy. 
Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; 
But those as sleep and think not on their sins. 
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and 

Anne. About, about; [shins. 

Search Windsor castle, elves, within and out: 
Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room; 
That it may stand till the perpetual doom. 
In state as wholesome, as in state 't is fit; 
Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
The several chairs of order look you scour 
With juice of balm, and every precious flower: 
Each fair instalment, coat and several crest. 
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest! 
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sing, 
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring: 
The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see; 
And Boat soit qui mat y pense, write. 
In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white: 
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery. 
Buckled below fair knight hood's bending knee: 
Fairies use flowers for their charactery. 
Away; disperse: But till 't is one o'clock. 
Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. [order set: 

Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves in 
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be. 
To guide our measure round about the tree. 
But, stay: I smell a man of middle earth. 

Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welch fairy! 
Lest he transform me to a piece of cheese! [birth. 

Pist. Vile worm, thou wast overlook'd even in thy 

Anne. With trlal-flre touch me his finger-end. 
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend 
And turn him to no pain; but if he start, 
It Is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 

Pist. A trial, come. 

Eva. Come, will this wood take fire? 

IThey burn him with their tapers. 

Fal. Oh, oh, oh! 

Anne. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted In desire! 
About him fairies; sing a scornful rhyme; 
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 

SONG. 

Fye on sinful fantasy! 

lye on lust and luxury! 

Lust is but a bloody Are, 

Handled with unchaste desire. 

Fed in heart; whose flames aspire, 

As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. 

Pinch him, fairies, mutually; 

Pinch him for his villainy; 
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about; 
Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be out. 



During this song, the fairies pinch Falstaff. Doctor 
Caius comes one troy, and steals ntroy a fairy in 
green; Slender another trai/, anil takes off a fairy 
in white; and Fenton comes, and .•steals fiivay Mrs. 
Anne Page. A noise of hunting is made within. 
All the Jaries run away. Falstaff pulls off his 
buck's head, and rises. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. 
They lay hold on him. 

Page. Nay, do not fly; I tlilnk, we have w^atch'd 
you now: 
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn? 

Mrs. Page. I pray you, come; hold up the Jest no 
higher: 
Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives? 
See you these, husband?do not these fair yokes 
Become the forest better than the town? 

Ford. Now, sir, who 's a cuckold now?— Master 
Brook, Faistaff's a knave, a cuckoldly knave; here 
are his horns, master Brook: And, master Brook, he 
hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, 
his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money, which 
must be paid to master Brook; his horses are arrest- 
ed for it, master Brook. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we could 
never meet. I will never take you for my love again, 
but I will always count you my deer. 

Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. 

Ford. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are extant. 

Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three or four 
times in the thouglit that they were not fairies; and 
yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprize of 
my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a 
received belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme 
and reason, that they were fairies. See now, how wit 
may be made a Jack-a-lent, when 't is upon HI em- 
ployment. 

Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Gfot, and leave your 
desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 

Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 

Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. 

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till thou 
art able to woo her in good English. 

Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it, 
that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-reach- 
Ing as this? Am I ridden with a Welch goat too? 
Shall I have a coxcomb of frize? 'T Is time I were 
choked with a piece of toasted cheese. ' 

Eva. Seese Is not good to give putter; your pelly Is 
all putter. 

Fal. Seese and putter! have I lived to stand at the 
tauntsof one that makes fritters of Englisli? This is 
enough to be the decay of lust and late-walking 
through the realm. 

Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though we 
would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the 
head and shoulders, and have given ourselves ivith- 
out scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have 
made you our delight? 

Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? 

Mrs. Page. A puffed man? [trails? 

Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable en- 

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? 

Page. And as poor as Job? 

Ford. And as wicked as his wife? 

Eva. And given to fornications, and to tavefns, and 
sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drinkings, 
and swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles? 

Fal. Well, I am your theme: you have tne start of 
me; I am dejected; I am not able to answer the Welch 
flannel: ignorance Itself Is a plummet o'er me; use 
me as you will. 

Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor to one 
master Brook, that you have cozened of money, to 
whom you should have been a pander: over and 
above that you have sufTered, I think, to repay that 
money will be a biting affliction. 

Page. Yet, be cheerful, knight: thou shalt eat a 
posset to-night at my house; where I will desire thee 



to laugh at my wife that now laughs at thee: Tell 
her master Slender hath married lier daughter. 

Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that; If Anne Page be my 
daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife. 

lAsidc. 
Enter Slender. 

Slen. Whoo, ho! ho! father Page! 

Page. Son! how now? how now, son? have you des- 
patched? 

Slen. Despatched!— I'll make the best in Glocester- 
shire know on 't;, would I were hanged, la, else. 

Page. Of what, fon? 

Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress 
Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had 
not been 1' the church. 1 would have swinged him, or 
he should have swinged me. If I did not think It had 
been Anne Page would I might never stir, and 't is a 
post-master's boy. 

Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong. 

Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so, when 
L took a boy for a girl; it I had been married to him. 
for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not have 
had him. 

Page. Why, this Is your own folly. Did not I tell you 
how you should know my daughter by her garments? 

Slen. I went to her in white, and cry'd mum, and 
she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed; and 
yet it was not Anne, but a post master's boy. 

Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry; I knew of 
your purpose; turned my daughter into green; and, 
indeed, she Is now witii the doctor at the deanery, 
and there married. 

Enter Caius. 

Caius. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am cozen- 
ed; I ha* married un garcon, a boy; un paisan, by 
gar, a boy; It is not Anne Page: by gar, I am coz- 
ened. 

Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green? 

Cnius. Ay, be gar, and 't is a boy; be gar, I'll raise 
all Windsor. JiExit Caius. 

Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right 
Anne? [Fenton. 

Page. My heart misgives me: Here comes master 

Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 

How now, master Fenton? [pardon- 

Anne. Pardon, good father! good, my mother. 

Page. Now, mistress? how chance you went not 
with master Slender? [maid? 

Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor, 

Fent. You do amaze her: Hear the truth of It. 
You would have married her most shamefully. 
Where there was no proportion held In love. 
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, 
Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve us. 
The offence is holy that she hath committed: 
And tills deceit loses the name of craft, 
Of disobedience, or unduteous title; 
Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
A thousand irreligious cursed hours. [her. 

Which forced marriage would have brought upon 

Ford. Stand not amaz'd: here is no remedy: 
In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state; 
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 

Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
stand tcr strike at m<», that yr>urarrs«»-hatli£l<uwed. 

Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give 
thee joy! 
What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd. 

Fal. When night-dogs run all sorts of deer are 
- chas'd. ' [Fenton, 

Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further: master 
Heaven give you many, many merry days! 
Good husband, let us every one go home. 
And laugh this sport o'er by a country flre; 
Sir John and all. Ford. Let it be so:— Sir John, 

To master Brook you yet shall hold your word; 
For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford. 

{Exeunt. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



VlNCENTlo. the Duke. 

Anoelo, the deputy [in the Duke's ab- 
sence.] 

EscALUS, an ancient lord UotTied with 
Angelo in the deputation^] 

CulXWIO, a young gentleman. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Lucio, a fantastic. 

Two other like gentlemen. 

Provost. 



Thomas, } 
Peter, S 
A Justice. 



two friars. 



SCENE.- 



Elbow, a simple constable. 

Froth, a foolish gentleman. 

Clown. 

Abhorson, an executioner. 

Barnardine, a dissolute pTnsoner. 

Mariana, betrothed to Angelo, 

Vienna. 



Juliet, beloved of Claudlo. 
ISABELLA, sister to Claudio. 
Fr ANCiscA, a nun. 
Mistress Overdone, a bawd. 
Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers and 
other Attendants. 



ACT I. 
Scene L—An Avartment in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Escalus, Lord's and Attendants. 

Duke. Escalus,— Escal. My lord. 

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, 
Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse; 
Since I am put to know, that your own science 
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
My strength can give you: Then, no more remains: 
But that, to your sufficiency as your worth, is able; 
And let them work. The nature of our people. 
Our city's institution's, and the terms 
For common Justice, you are as pregnant In, 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
That we remember: There is our commission. 
From which we would not have you warp.— Call 
I say, bid come before us Angelo.— [hither, 

[Exit an Attendant. 
What figure of us think you he will bear? 
For you must know, we have with special soul 
Elected him our absence to supply; 
Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love; 



And given his deputation all the organs 
Of our own power: What think you of It? 

Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
To undergo such ample grace and honour. 
It Is lord Angelo. 

Enter Angelo. 

Duke, Look, where he comes. 

Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I come to know your pleasure. Duke. Angelo, 

There is a kind of character in thy life. 
That, to the observer, doth thy history 
Fully unfold: Thyself and thy belongings 
Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. 
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do; 
Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues 
Did not go forth of us, 't were ill alike 
As if we nad them not. Spiritsare not finely touch'd 
But to find Issues: nor nature never lends 
The smallest scruple of her excellence. 
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
Herself the glory of a creditor. 
Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 



To one that can my part in him advertise. 

Hold, therefore, Angelo; 

In our remove, be thou at full ourself : 

Mortality and mercy In Vienna 

Live In thy tongue and heart: Old Escalus, 

Though first in question, is thy secondary: 

Take thy commission. Ang. Now, good my lord. 

Let there be some more test made of my metal. 

Before so noble and so great a figure 

Be stamp'd upon it. Duke. No more evasion: 

We have with a leaven'd and prepared clioice 

Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. 

Our haste from hence Is of so quick condition. 

That it prefers Itself, and leaves unquestion'd 

Matters of needful value. We shall write to you. 

As time and our concernings shall Importune, 

How it goes with us; and do look to know 

What doth befall you here. So, fare you well: 

To the hopeful e.xccution do I leave you 

Of your commissions. 

Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord, 

That we may bring you something on the way. 

Dufce. My haste may not admit It; 



Scene j.] 



MEASUBE FOR MEASUJtE. 



»5 



Nor need you, on mine honour, Iiave to do 

With any scruple: your scope is as mine own; 

So to enforce or quality tlie laws 

As to your soul seems good. Give me your liand; 

I'll privily away: I love the people, 

But do not like to stage me to their eyes: 

Though it do well, I do not relish well 

Their loud applause, and ores vehement: 

Nor do I thinic the man of sate discretion 

That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 

Ana- The heavens give safety to your purposes! 

ICscal. Lead forth, and bring you back in happi- 
ness. 

Dulce. I thank you: Fare you well. [Exit. 

Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
To have free speech with you; and it concerns me 
To look into the bottom of my place: 
A power I have; but of what strength and nature 
I am not yet Instructed. 



Zuclo, In any proportion, or In any language. 

1 Gint. I think, or in any religion. 

Lucio. Ay! why not? grace is grace, despite of all 
controversy: As for example: Thou thyself art a 
wicked villain, despite of all grace. 

1 Gent. Well, there went but a pairof shears be- 
tween us. 

Lucio. I grant; as there may between the lists and 
the velvet: Thou art the list. 

1 Gen*. And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; 
thou art a tlnee-pilcd piece, I warrant thee: I had as 
lief be a list of an English kersey, as be piled, as 
thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak feel- 
ingly now? 

Lucio. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most 
painful feeling of Ihy speech: I will, out of thine 
own confession, learn to begin thy health; but whilst 
I live, forget to drink after thee. [not? 

1 Gent. I think I have done myself wrong; have I 



Jlnml. I am too sure of it; and it is for getting 
madam Julietta with child. 

Luciu. Believe me, this may be: he promised to 
meet me two hours since; and he wasever precise in 
proniisc-kfei)iiig. 

2 Uent. HcMdes you know, it draws something 
near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 

1 Gent. But most of all, agreeing with the procla- 
mation. *^ 

Lucio. Away; let's go learn the truth of it. 

_ , „, , [E:veuHt Lucio and Gentlemen. 

Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the 
sweat, what with the gallows, and what with 
poverty, lam custom -shrunk. How now? what's 
Che news with you? 

Enter Clown, 

Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison. 
Bau<d. Well; what has he done? 




[act in. — SCENE I.] 



Isab. Take my defiance; die; perish! might but my bending down reprieve thee from thy fate, it might proceed. 



Ang. 'T is so with me;— Let us withdraw together, 
and we may soon our satisfaction have 
Touching that point. 

Escal. I '11 wait upon your honour. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II.— ^ Street. 

Enter. Lucio and two Gentlemen. 

Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come not 

to composition with the king of Hungary, why, then 

all the dukes tall upon the king. 

1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the 
king of Hungary's 2 Gcnf.— Amen. 

Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious 
pirate, that went to sea with the ten command- 
ments, but scraped one out of the table. 

2 Gent. Tliou shalt not steal? 
Lucio. Ay. that he razed. 

1 Gent. Whv, 'twas a commandment to command 
the captain and all the rest from their functions; 
they put forth to steal: There 's not a soldier of us 
all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish 
the petition well that pra.vs for peace. 

2. Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 
Lucio. I believe thee; for I think thou never wast 
where grace was said. 

2 Gent. No? a dozen times at least. 
1 Gent. What? in metre? 



2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast; whether thou art 
tainted, or free. 

Lucto. Behold, behold, where madam Mitigation 
comes! I have purchased as many diseases under 
her roof as come to— 

2 Gent To what, I pray? Lucio. Judge. 

2 Gent. To three thousand dollars a-year. 

1 Gent. Ay, and more. 

Lucio. A French crown niore. 

1 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases in me: 
but thou art full of error; I am sound. 

Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so 
sound as things that are hollow: thv bones are hol- 
low: impiety has made a feast of thee. 

Enter Bawd. 

1 Gent. How now? 'Which of your hips has the 
most profound sciatica? 

Bawd. Well, well: there's one yonder arrested, and 
carried to prison, was worth Ave thousand of you 

2 Gent. Who 's that. I pray thee? [all. 
Ban-d. Marry, sir, that 's Claudio, signlor Claudio. 
1 Gent. Claudio to prison ! 't is not so. 

Bawd. Nay, but I know 't is so: I saw him arrest- 
ed; saw him carried away; and, which is more, 
within these three days his head's to be chopped oft. 

Lucio. But after all this fooling, I would not have 
it so: Art thou sure of this? 



do. A woman. 

Bawd. But what 's his offence. 

Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. 

Bawd, what, is there a maid with child by him? 

Clo. No; but there 's a woman with maid by him: 
You have not heard of the proclamation, have you? 

Bawd. What proclamation, man? 

Clo. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be 
plucked down. 

Bawd. And what shall become of those in thecity? 

Clo. They shall stand for seed: they had gone down 
too, but that a wise bui-gher put in tor them. 

Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the 
suburbs be pulled down? 

Clo. To the ground, mistress. 

Bawd. Why, here 's a change, indeed, in the com- 
monwealth! What shall become of me? 

Clo. Come; fear not you: good counsellors lack no 
clients: though you change your place, you need not 
change vour trade; I '11 be your tapster still. Courage; 
there will be pity taken on you: you that have worn 
your eyes almost out in the service, you will be con- 
sidered. 

Baxrd. What 's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's 
withdraw. 

Clo. Here comes signlor Claudio, led by the provost 
to prison: and there's madam Juliet. [Exeunt. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[act II 



Scene III.— TTie seme. 

Enter Provost, Claudlo, Juliet, and Officers; Lucio 

<xnd two Gentlemen. 

Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to th^ 
Bear me to prison, where I am committed, [world? 

Prov. I do it not in evil dispo.sition. 
But from lord Aiigelo by special charge. 

Claud. Thus can the deml-Rod, Authority, 
Make us pay down for our oftence by weight,— 
The words of heaven;— on whom it will. It will; 
On whoiii it ■will not, so; yet still 't Is Just. 

Lucio. Why, how now Claudlo? whence comes this 
restraint? 

Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty: 
As surfeit Is the father of much fast. 
So every scope, by the immoderate use. 
Turns to restraint: Our natures do pursue 
(Like rats that raven down their proper bane) 
A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die. 

Xuci'o. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, 
I would send for certain of my creditors: And yet to 
say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of 
freedom as the morality of Imprisonment.— What 's 
the offence, Claudio? 

Claud. ^VTiat but to speak of would offend again. 

Lucio. What! is 't murder? Claud. No. 

iucio. Lechery? CTaud. Call it so. 

Pre. Away, sir; you must go. 

ClavAi. One word, good friend: Lucio, a word with 
you. [Takes him aside. 

Lucio. A hundred. If they 'lido you any good.— 
Is lechery so look'd after? 

Claud. Thus stands it with me:— Upon a tnie con- 
I got possession of Julietta's bed; [tract. 

You know the lady; she is fast my wife. 
Save that we do the denunciation lack 
Of outward order: this we came not to, 
Only for pi-opagation of a dower 
Remialnlng lu the coffer of her friends; 
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love. 
Till time hath made them for us. But it chances. 
The stealth of our most mutual entertainment. 
With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. 

Lucio. With child, perhaps? 

Claud. Unhappily, even so. 
And the new deputy now for the duke, — 
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness; 
Or whether that the body public be 
A horse whereon the governor doth ride. 
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur; 
Whether the tyranny be in his place, 
Or In his eminence that flils It up, 
I stagger in:— But this new governor 
Awakes me all the enrolled penalties, [wall 

Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the 
So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, 
And none of them been worn; and, for a name, 
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
Freshly on me:— 't is surely for a name. 

Lucio. I warrant. It is: and thy head stands so 
tickle on thy shoulders, that a milkmaid, if she be in 
love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and ap- 
peal to him. 

Claud. I have done so, but he 's not to be found. 
I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service; 
This day my sister should the cloister enter. 
And there receive her approbation: 
Acquaint her with the danger of my state; 
Implore her in my voice, that she make friends 
To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him; 
I have great hope in that: for in her youth 
There is a prone and speechless dialect. 
Such as moves men; beside, she hath prosperous art 
When she will play with reason and discourse. 
And well she can persuade. 

Xucio. I pray, she may: as well for the encourage- 
ment of the like, which else would stand under 
grievous Imposition; as for the enjoying of thy life, 
who I would be sorry should be thus foolislily lost 
at a game of tick-tack. I '11 to her. 

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 

Lucio. WItliln two hours. 

Claud. Come, officer, away. [E.veunt. 

Scene IV.— ^ 3Io>iaste)-y. 
Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 

Duke. No, holy father; throw away that thought; 
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love 
Can pierce a complete bosom: why I desire thee 
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose 
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
Of burning youth. 

Fri. May your grace speak of it? 

Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
How I have ever lov'd the life removed; 
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, 
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 
t have deliver'd to lord Angelo 
(A man of stricture and firm abstinence) 
My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland; 
For so I have strew'd It in the common ear, 
And so it Is receiv'd: Now, pious sir. 
You win demand of me why I do this? 

J'Vt. Gladly, my lord. 

Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws, 
(The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds,) 
Which for this fourteen years we have let slip; 
Even like an o'ergrown Hon In a cave. 
That goes not out to prey: Now, as fond fathers 
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch. 
Only to stick it in their children's sight. 
For terror, not to use. In time the rod 

i Becomes] more mock'd than fear'd: so our decrees, 
)ead to Inlllction, to themselves are dead; 
And liberty plucks Justice hy the nose; 
The baby beats tlie nurse, and quite athwart 
Goes all decorum. Fri. It rested in your grace 

To unloose this tied-up Justice, when you pleas'd: 
And It In you more dreadful would have seem'd 
Than In lord Angelo. 

„ Duke. I do fear, too dreadful: 

Slth 't was my fault to give the people scope, 
'T would be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
For what 1 bid them do: For we bid this be done. 
When evil deeds have their permissive pass. 
And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my 
I have on Angelo impos'd the office; [father, 

AV ho may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, 
And yet my nature never in the fight. 
To do in slander: And to behold his sway, 
I will, as 'twere a bro;her of your order, 



Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee. 

Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 

How 1 may formally in person bear 

Like a true Iriar. More reasons for this action 

At our more leisure shall I render you; 

Only this one:— Lord Angelo is precise; 

Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses 

That his blood flows, or that his appetite 

Is more to bread than stone: Hence shall we see, 

If power change purpose, what ourseeniers be. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene V.— .1 Nunnery. 
Enter Isabella and Francisca. 

Isab. And have you nuns no further privileges? 

J'Van. Are not these large enough? 

Isab. Yes, truly: I speak not as desiring more; 
But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
Upon tlie sisterhood, the votarists of saint Clare. 

iut'to. Ho! Peace be in this place! [Within. 

Isab. Wlio 's that whicli calls? 

Fran. It is a man's voice: Gentle Isabella, 
Turn you the key, and know his business of him; 
You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn: 
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men. 
But in the presence of the prioress: 
Then, if you speak, you must not show your face; 
Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. 
He calls again; I pray you answer him. [Exit Fra. 

Isab. Peace and prosperity! Whois 't that calls? 
Enter Lucio. 

Lucio. Hall, virgin, if you be; as those cheek-roses 
Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me. 
As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
A novice of this place, and the fair sister 
To her unhappy brother Claudlo? 

Isab. Why her unhappy brother? let me ask; 
The rather, for I now must make you know 
I am that Isabella, and his sister. 

Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets 
Not to be weary with you, he 's in prison. [j'ou; 

Isab. Woe me! For what? 

Lucio. For that.whlch If myself might be his Judge, 
He should receive his punisliment in thanks: 
He hath got his friend with child. 

Isab. Sir, make me not your story. [familiar sin 

Lucio. 'T is true. I would not— though 't is my 
With maids to seem the lapwing, and to J^st, 
Tongue far from heart,— play with all virgins so: 
I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted; 
By your renouncement, an immortal spirit; 
And to be talk'd with in sincerity. 
As with a saint. 

Isab. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me. 

Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 't is 
Your brother and his lover have embrac'd: [thus: 
As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time, 
That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 
To teeming foison; even so her plenteous womb 
Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. 

Isab. Some one with child by him?— My cousin Ju- 

Lucio. Is she your cousin? [llet? 

Isab. Adoptedly; as schoolmalds change their 
By vain though apt affection. [names, 

Lucio. She it is. 

Isab. O, let him marry her! 

Lucio. This Is the point. 

The duke has very strangely gone from hence; 
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one. 
In hand, and hope of action: but we do learn 
By those that know the very nerves of state. 
His givlngs out were of an infinite distance 
From his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
And with full line of his authonty. 
Governs lord Angelo: a man whose blood 
Is very snow-broth; one who never feels 
The wanton stings and motions of the sense; 
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
With profits of tl;e mind, study and fast. 
He (to give fear to use and liberty. 
Which have, for long, run by the hideous law, 
As mice by lions) hath pick'd out an act. 
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it; 
And follows close the rigour of the statute. 
To make him an example; all hope is gone. 
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
To soften Angelo: And that's my pitl-. of business 
'Twixt you and your poor brother. 

Isab. Doth he so 

Seek his life? Lucio. Hath censured him already. 
And, as I hear, the provost hath a warrant 
For his execution. Isab. Alas ! what poor 

Abillt.v 's in me to do him good? 

Lucio. Assay the power you have. 

Isab. My power? Alas ! I doubt— 

Lucio. Our doubts are traitors. 
And make us lose the good we oft might win. 
By fearing the attempt: Go to lord Angelo, 
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue 
Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel. 
All their petitions are as freely theirs 
As they themselves would owe tliem. 

Isab. I '11 see what I can do. 

Lucio. But speedily. 

Isab. I will about it straight; 
No longer staying but to give the mother 
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:< 
Commend me to my brother: soon at night 
I '11 send him certain word of mj' success. 

Lucio. 1 take my leave of you. 

Isab. Good sir, adieu. {E.ceunt. 

ACT IL 

Scene I.— A Hall in Argelo's House. 

Enter Angelo, Escalus, a Justice, Provost, 

Officers, atul other Attendants. 

Ang. We must not make a scarecrow of the law, 
Setting It up to fear the birds of prey. 
And let it keep one shape, till custoiu make it 
Tiielr perch, and not their terror. 

Escal. Av, but yet 

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little 
Than fall, and bruise to death: Alas ! this gentleman, 
Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
Let but your honour know, 
(Whom I believe to be most straight in virtue,) 
That, In the working of your own atTections, 
Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing. 
Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
Could have attaln'd the effect of your own purpose. 
Whether you had not sometime In your life 



Err'd in this point which now you censure him, 
And pull'd the law upon you. 

Anh. 'T is one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
Another thing to fall. I do not deny. 
The Jury, passing on the prisoner's life. 
May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
Guiltier than him they try: What 's open made 
To Justice, that Justice seizes. What know the laws. 
That thieves do pass on thieves? "T is very preg- 
The Jewel that we find we stoop and take It, [nant. 
Because we see it; but what we do not see 
We tread upon, and never think of it. 
You may not so extenuate his offence. 
For I have had such faults; but rather tell me, 
When I, that censure him, do so offend. 
Let mine own judgment pattern out my death. 
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 

Escal. Be It as your wisdom will. 

Ang. Where Is the provost? 

Prov. Here, If It like your honour. 
„ Ang. See that Claudlo 

Be executed by nine to morrow morning: 
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd; 
For that 's the utmost of his pilgrimage. [Exit Pro. 

Escal. Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us 
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall: [all! 

Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none; 
And some condemned for a fault alone. 

Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, <&c. 

Elb. Come, bring them away: if these be good peo- 
ple In a commonweal that do nothing but use their 
abuses in common houses, I know no law; bring 
them away. 

Ang. How now, sir! What 's your name? and 
what 's the matter? 

Elb. If It please your honour, I am the poor duke's 
constable, and my name is Elbow; I do lean upon 
Justice, sir, and do bring in here before vour good 
honour two notorious benefactors. 

Ang. Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are 
they? are they not malefactors? 

Elb. If It please your honour, I know not well 
what they are: but precise villains they are, that I 
am sure of; and void of all profanation in the world, 
that good Christians ought to have. 

Escal. This comes off well; here 's a wise olTlcer. 

Ang. Go to: What quality are they of? Elbow is 
your name? Why dost thou not speak. Elbow? 

Clo. He cannot, sir; he 's out at elbow. 

Ang. What are you, sir? 

Elb. He, sir? a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that 
serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as they 
say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she 
professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill 
house too. 

Escal. How know you that? 

Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and 
your honour,— 

Escal. H»w! thy wife? [woman,- 

Elb. Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven. Is an honest 

Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore? 

Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as 
she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is 
pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. 

Escal. How dost thou know that, constable? 

Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been 
a woman cardinally given, might have been accused 
in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanllness there. 

Escal. By the woman's means? 

Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Overdone's means: but as 
she spit in his face, so she defied Jiim. 

Cfy. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. 

Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou hon- 
ourable man, prove It. 

Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces? [To Ang. 

Clo. Sir, she came in great with child; and longing 
(saving your honour's reverence) for stewed prunes; 
sir, we had but two In the house, which at that very 
distant time stood, as it were, in a frult-dlsh, a 
dish of some three-pence; your honours have seen 
such dishes; they are not Chma dishes, but very 
good dishes. 

Escal. Go to, go to; no matter for the dish, sir. 

Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein 
in the right: but, to the point: As I say, this mis- 
tress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being 
great bellied, and longing, as I said, for prunes; and 
having but two in the dish, as I said, master Froth 
here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, 
and, as I say, paying for them very honestly;- for, 
as you know, master Froth, I could not give you 
three-pence again. Froth. No, Indeed. 

Clo. Very well: you being then, if you be remem- 
bered, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes. 

Froth. Ay, so I did. Indeed. 

Clo. Why, very well: I telling you then. If you be 
remembered, that such a one, and such a one, were 
past-cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept 
very good diet, as I told you. 

Froth. All this Is true. 

Clo. Why, very well then. 

Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool: to the pur- 
pose.— What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath 
cause to complain of? Come we to what was done 
to her. 

Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 

Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 

Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's 
leave: And, I beseech you, look Into master Froth 
here, sir; a man of fourscore pound a-year; whose 
father died at Hallowmas:- Was 't not at Hallow- 
mas, master Froth? Froth. All-hallow eve. 

Clo. Why, very well; I hope here be truths: He, 
sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir;^'t was in 
the Bunch of Grapes, where. Indeed, you have a de- 
lighi to sit: Have you not? 

Froth. I have so; because It is an open room, and 
good for winter. 

Clo. Why, very well then;— I hope here be truths. 

.408'. This will last out a night In Russia, 
When nights are longest there: I '11 take my leave. 
And leave you to the hearing of the cause; 
Hoping you 11 find good cause to whip them all. 

Escal. I think no less: Good-morrow to your lord- 
ship. [E.rit Angelo. 
Now, sir, come on: What was done to Elbow's wile, 
once more? [once. 

Civ. Once, sir? there was nothing done to her 

Elb. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did 
to my wife. 

Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me. 

Escal. Well, sir: what did this gentleman to her? 

Clo. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's 
face:— Good master Froth, look upon nls honour; 



Scene i. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



•srr 



't Is for a good purpose: Doth your honour mark 
his face? Kscal. Ay, sir, very well. 

Cto. Nav, I beseech you, mark it well. 

Kscal. Well. I do so. 

do. Doth your honour see any harm In his face? 

Bscal. Why, no. 

Cto. I '11 be supposed upon a book, his face is the 
worst thing about him: Good then; if his face be 
the worst thing about him, how could master Froth 
do the constable's wife any harm? I would know- 
that of your honour. [to it? 

Kscal. He 's in the right: Constable, what say you 

Klb. First, an it like you, the house is a respected 
house: nexr, this is a respected fellow; and his mis- 
tress is a respected woman. 

Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected 
person than any of us all. 

Klb. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet: 
the time Is yet to come that she was ever respected, 
with man, woman, or child. 

Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before he 
married with her. 

KscaL Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Ini- 
quity?— Is this true? 

Elb. O thou caitiltl O thou varlet! O thou wicked 
Hannibal! I respected with her, before I was mar- 
ried to her! If ever I was respected with her, or she 
with rae, let not your worship think me the poor 
duke's ofBcer:— Prove th s, thou wicked Hannibal, or 
I '11 have mine action of b.xttery on thee. 

Kscal. If he took you a box o' th" ear, you might 
have your action of slander too. 

Klb. Marry, I thank your good worship for It: 
What Is 't your worship's pleasure I should do with 
this wicked caitiff? 

Kscal. Truly, ofBcer, because he hath some offences 
In him that tliou wouldst discover If thou couldst, let 
him continue in his courses, till thou know'st what 
they are. 

Klb. Marry, I thank your worship for it:— Thou 
eeest, thou wicked varlet now, what 's come upon 
thee; thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou art 
to continue. 

Escal. Where were you born, friend? [To Froth. 

Froth. Here in Vienna, sir. 

Kscal. Are you of fourscore pounds a-year? 

Froth. Yes, an 't please you, sir. 

Kscal. So.— What trade are you of, sir? [To Clo. 

Clo. A tapster; a poor widow's tapster. 

Kscal. Your mistress's name? 

Clo. Mistress Overdone. 

Bscal. Hath she had any more than one husband? 

Clo. Nine, sir; Over-done by the last. 

Kscal. Nine! Come hither to me, master Froth. 
Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted 
with tapsters: they will draw you, master Froth, and 
you will hang them: Get you gone, and let me hear 
no more ot you. 

Froth. I thank your worship: For mine own part, I 
never come Into any room In a taphouse, but I am 
drawn In. 

Escal. Well; no more of It, master Froth: farewell. 
[K:nt Froth.]— Come you hither to me, master tap- 
ster; what 's your name, master tapster? 

Clo. Fompey. Kscal. What else? 

Clo. Bum, sir. 

Kscal. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing 
about you; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are 
Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, 
Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. 
Are you not? come, tell me true; it shall be the bet- 
ter for you. 

Cto. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. 

Kscal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a 
bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? Is 
It a lawful trade? 

Cto. If the law would allow It, sir. 

Kscal. But the law \vlll not allow it, Pompey: nor 
it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 

Cto. Does your worship mean to geld and spay all 
the youth of the city? Kscal. No, Pompey. 

Cto. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to 't 
then: If your worship will take order for the drabs 
and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. 

Kscal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell 
you: It is but heacline and hanging. 

Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that way 
but for ten year together, you '11 be glad to give out 
a commission for more heads. If this law hold in 
Vienna ten year, I '11 rent the fairest house in it af- 
ter three-pence a day: If yoU live to see this come to 
pass, say, Pompey told you so. 

Escal. Thank you, good Pompey: and, in requital 
of your prophecy, hark you,— I advise you, let me 
not find you before me again upon any complaint 
whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you do; if I 
do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove 
a shrewd Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I 
shall have you whipp'd: so for this time, Pompey, 
fare you welL 

Cto. I thank your worship for your good counsel; 
but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall 
better determine. 

Whip me? No no; let carman whip his jade; 
The valiant heart 's not whipp'd out ot his trade. 

[Kxit. 

Kscal. Come hither to me, master Ell)Ow; come 
hither, master Constable. How long have you been 
in this place of constable? 

Klb. Seven year and a half, sir. 

Kscal. I thought, by your readiness in the ofHce, 
you had continued in it some time: You sav, seven 
years together? Klb. And a half, sir. " 

Kscal. Alas ! it hath been great pains to you ! They 
do you wrong to put you so oft upon 't: Are there 
not men in your ward suffleient to serve it? 

Klb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters: as 
they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; 
I do it for some piece of money, and go through with 
ail. 

Kscal. Look, you bring me in the names of some 
six or seven the most sufficient of your parish. 

Klb. I'o your worship's house, sir? 

Escal. To my house: Fare you well. [£arf( Elbow.] 
What 's o'clock, think you? 

Just. Eleven, sir. 

Kscal. I pray you home to dinner with me. 

Just. I humbly thank you. 

Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; But 
there 's no remedy. 

Jitat. Lord Angelo is severe. 

.Escal. It Is but needful; 

Mercy is not Itself, that oft looks so; 
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe: 



But yet,— Poor Claudio ! There Is no remedy. 
Come, sir. [Exeunt, 

Scene TI.— Another Room in the same. 
Enter Provost and a Servant. 

Serv. He 's hearing of a cause; he will come straight. 
I '11 tell him of you. 

Prov. Pray you do. [K.rit Servant.] I '11 know 
Hls pleasure; may be, he will relent: Alas, 
He hath offended but as in a dream! 
All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he 
To die for 't— 

Knier Angelo. 

Attg. Now, what's the matter, provost? 

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow? 

Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea? hadst thou not order? 
Why dost thou ask again? 

Prov. Lest I might be too rash: 

Under your good correction, I have seen. 
When, after execution. Judgment hath 
Repented o'er liis doom. 

Ang. Go to; let that be mine: 

Do you your office, or give up your place. 
And you shall well be spar'd. 

Prov. I crave your honour's pardon. — 

What shall be done, sir, with thegroaning Juliet? 
She's very near her hour. 

Ang, Dispose of her 

To some more fitter place; and that with speed. 
Reenter Servant. 

Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd, 
Desires access to you. 

Ang. Hath he a sister? 

Prov. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid. 
And to he shortly of a sisterhood. 
If not already. Ang. Well, let her be admitted. 

[Kxit Servant. 
See you, the fornicatress be remov'd; 
Let her have needful, but not lavish means; 
There shall be order for it. 

Enter Lucio and Isabella. 

Prov. Save your honour! [Offering to retire- 

Ang. Stay a little while.— [ro Isabr] You are wel" 
come: What's your will? 

Isab. I am a woful suitor to your honour, 
Please but your honour hear me. 

Ang. Well; what's your suit? 

Isah. There is a vice that most I do abhor. 
And most desire should meet the blow of justice; 
For which I would not plead, but that I must; 
For which I must not plead, but that I am 
At war, 'twixt will, and will not. 

Ana. Well; the matter? 

Isab. I have a brother is condemned to die: 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault. 
And not my brother. 

Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces! 

Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it? 
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done: 
Mine were the very cipher of a function, 
To fine the fault whose fine stands in record 
And let go by the actor. 

Isab. O just, but severe law! 

I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honour! 

[Retiring. 

Lucio. [To Isab.] Give 't not o'er so: to him again, 
intreat him; 
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; 
You are too cold : if you should need a pin. 
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it: 
To him, I say. 

I.^ab. Must he needs die? 

Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him. 
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 

Ang, I will not do 't. 

Isab. But can you, if you would? 

Ang. Look, what I will not that I cannot do. 

Isab. But might you do 't, and do the world no 
wrong. 
If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
As mine is to him? 

Ang. He's sentenced; 'tis too late. 

Lucio. You are too cold [To Isab. 

Isab. Too late? why, nojl, that do speak a word. 
May call it back again: Well believe this. 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. 
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword. 
The marshal's truncneon, nor the judge's robe. 
Become them with one half so good a grace 
As mercy does. If he had been as you. 
And you as he, you would have slipp'd like him; 
But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 

Ang. Pray you, begone. 

Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency. 
And you were Isabel! should It then be thus? 
No; I would tell what 't were to be a judge, 
And what a prisoner. 

Lucio. Ay, touch him: there 's the vein. [Aside. 

Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
And you but waste your words. 

Isab. Alas! alas! 

Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once; 
And He that might the vantage best have took 
Found out the remedy: How would you be. 
If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are? O, think on that; 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
Like man new made. 

Ang. Be you content, fairmaid; 

It is the law, not I, condemns your brother: 
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son. 
It should be thus with him;— lie must die to-morrow. 
; Isab. To-morrow? O, that's sudden! Spare him, 
spare him: [chens 

He 's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kit- 
I We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven 
With less respect than we do minister 
To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink 
, Who is it that hath died for this offence? fyou: 

j There's many have committed it. 

Lucio. Ay, well said. 

I An^. The law hath not been dead, though it hath 
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, [slept: 
If the first that did the edict infringe 
Had answer'd for his deed; now, 't is awake; 
Takes note ot what is done; and like a prophet. 
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils 
(Either now, or by remissness new-concelv'd, 
! An:i so in progress to be hatch'd and born,) 

Are now to have no successive degrees; 
I But, ere they live, to end. 



Isab. Yet show some pity. 

Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; 
For then I pity those I do not know. 
Which a dismlss'd offence would after gall; 
And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong. 
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; 
Your brother dies to-morrow: be content. 

Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sen- 
And he, that suffers: O, it Is excellent [tence; 

To have a giant's strength: but it Is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. Lucio. 'That 's well said. 

1 Isnb. Could great men thunder 
I As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet. 
For every pelting, petty officer 

[ Would use his lieaven for thunder: nothing but 
I Merciful heaven! [thunder. 

I Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
Splitt'.st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak. 
Than the soft myrtle: But man, proud man! 
Dress'd in a little brief authority; 
Most Ignorant of what he 's most assur'd, 
His glassy essence,— like an angry ape. 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven. 
As make the angels weep: who, with our spleens. 
Would all themselves laugh mortal. 

Z^cto. O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent; 
He 's coming, I perceive 't. 

Prov. Pray heaven, she win him! 

Isab We cannot weigh our brother with ourself : 
Great men may jest with saints: 't is wit in them; 
But, in the less, foul profanation. 

Lucio. Thou 'rt in the right, girl; more o'that. 

Isab. That in the captain 's but a choleric word, 
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 

Lucio. Art advis'd o' that? more on 't. 

Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? 

Isab. Because authority, though it err like otliers. 
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself. 
That skins the vice o' the top: Go to your bosom; 
Knock there; and ask your heart, what it doth know 
That 's like my brother's fault: if it confess 
A natural guiltiness, such as is his. 
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
Against my brother's life. 

Ang. She speaks, and 't is 

Such sense that my sense breeds with it.— Fare you 

Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. fwelL 

Ang. I will bethink me:— Come again to-morrow. 

Isab. Hark, how I '11 bribe you: Good my lord, 

Ang. How! bribe me? [turn back. 

Isab. Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share 

Lucio. You had marr'd all else. [with you. 

Isab. Not with fond shekels of the testedf gold. 
Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor. 
As fancy values them; but with true prayers. 
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there. 
Ere sunrise: prayers from preserved souls, 
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temporal. Ang. Well: come to me 
To-morrow. 

Lucio. Go to: it is well; away. [Aside to Isab. 

Isqb. Heaven keep your honour safe! 

Ang. Amen! 

For I am that way going to temptation, [Aside, 

Where prayers cross. 

Isab. At what hour to-morrow 

Shall I attend your lordship? 

Ang. At any time 'fore noon. 

Isah, Save your honour! 

[Exeunt Lucio, Isab., and Provost. 

Ang. From the^ even from thy virtue!— 

What 's this? what 's this? Is this her fault, or mine ? 
The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! 
Not she; uor doth she tempt: but it is I, 
That lying by the violet, in the sun. 
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower. 
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be. 
That modesty may more betray our sense 
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground 
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, [enough. 

And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fle, fle! 
What dost thou? or what art thou, Angelo? 
Dost thou desire her foully, for those things 
That make her good? O, let her brother live: 
Thieves for their robbery have authority. 
When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her. 
That I desire to hear her speak again. 
And feast upon her eyes? What is 't I dream on? 

cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint. 

With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous 
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on 
To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet, 
With all her double vigour, art, and nature. 
Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid 
Subdues me quite:— Ever till now. 
When men were fond, I smil'd and wonder'd how^. 

[Kxit. 
Scene III.— 4 Room in a Prison, 
Knter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. 
Duke. Hail to you, provost! so I think you are. 
Prov. I am the provost: What 's your will, good 

friar? 
Luke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, 

1 come to visit the afflicted spirits 

Here in the prison: do me the common right 
To let me see them; and to make me know 
The nature of their crimes, tliat I may minister 
To them accordingly. (needfuL 

Prov. I would do more than that if more were 
Enter Juliet. 
Look, here comes one; a gentlewoman of mine. 
Who, falling in the flaws ot her own youth. 
Hath biister'd her report: She is with child; 
And he that got it, sentenc'd: a young man 
More fit to do another such offence. 
Than die for this. Duke. When must he die? 

Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. — 
I have provided for you; stay awhile. 
And you shall be conducted. [To Juliet. 

Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? 

Juliet. I cio; and bear the shame most patiently. 

Duke. I 'li teach you how you shall arraign you* 
conscience. 
And try your penitence, if it be sound, 
Or hollowly put on. Juliet. I '11 gladly learn. 

Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you? 

Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. 

Duke. So then, it seems, your most offencerulact 
Was mutually committed? Juliet. Mutually. 

Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. 

Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 

Duke. 'T is meet so, daughter: but lest you do re- 
pent. 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



CAcT III. 



As that the sin hath brouRht you to this shame,— 
Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, uot hea- 
ven; 
Showing, we would not spare heaven, as we love it, 
But as we stand in fear,— 

Juliet. I do repent nie, as It is an evil; 
And taico the sliame with joy. Duke. There rest. 

Your partner, as I hear, niu-t die to-morrow. 
And I am going with Instruction to him.— 
Grace go with voul Bcnedicite! [Exit. 

Juliet. Must d"ie to-morrow! O, Injurious law. 
That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
Is still a dying horror! 

Prov. 'T is pity of him. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— ^ Room in Angelo's Souse. 
Enter Angelo 

Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and 
pray 
To several subjects; heaven hatli ray empty words: 
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, 
Anchors on Isabel; Heaven In my mouth, 
As if I did but only chew his name; 
And in mv heart, the strong and swelling evil 
Of my conception; The state whereon I studied 
Is like a good thing, being often read, 
Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity, 
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride. 
Could I, with boot, change for an Idle plume. 
Which the air beats for vain. O place! O form! 
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, 
Wrei.ch awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls 
To thy false seeming? Blood, thou art biood: 
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
'T is not the devil's crest. 

Enter Servant. 
How now, who's there? 

Sen: One Isabel, a sister. 

Desires access to you. 

^nflr. Teach her the way. O heavens! [Exit Serv. 
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart. 
Making both it unable for itself. 
And dispossessing all my other parts 
Of necessary fitness? 

So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; 
Come all to help him, ana so stop the air 
By which he should revive; and even so 
The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, 
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 
Must needs appear offence. 

Enter Isabella. 
How now, fair maid? 

Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. 

Ang. That you might know it would much better 
please me. 
Than to demand what 't is. Your brother cannot live. 

Isab. Even so.— Heaven keep your honour! 

[Retiring. 

Ang. Yet may he live a while; and It may be. 
As long as you, or '; yet he must die. 

Isab. Under your sentence? Ang. Yea. 

Isab. When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve. 
Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted, 
That his soul sicken not. 

Ang. Ha! Fie, these filthy vices! It were as good 
To pardon him that hath from nature stolen 
A man already made, as to remit 
Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image 
In stamps that are forbid; 't is all as easy 
Falsely to take away a life true made, 
lAs to put mettle In restrained means, 
To make a false one. 

Isab. 'T Is set down so In heaven, but not in earth. 

Ang. Say you so? then I shall poze you quickly. 
Which had you rather. That the most Just law 
Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him. 
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness. 
As she that he hath stain'd? 

Isab. Sir, believe this, 

I had rather give my body than my soul. 

Ang. I talk not of your soul; Our compell'd sins 
Stand more for number than for accompt. 

Isab. How say you? 

Ang. Nay, I '11 not warrant that; for I can speak 
Against the thing I say. Answer to this;— 
I, now the voice of the recorded law. 
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life; 
Might there not be a charity in sin. 
To save this brother's life? 

Isab. Please you to do 'c, 

I '11 take it as a peril to my soul, 
It Is no sin at all, but charity. 

Ang. Pleas'd you to do it, at peril of your soul. 
Were eqiial poise of sin and charity. 

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin. 
Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit. 
If that be sin, I '11 make it my morn prayer 
To have it added to the faults of mine. 
And nothing of your answer. 

Ang. Nay, but hear me; 

Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant. 
Or seem so, craftily; and that 's not good. 

Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, 
But graciously to know I am no better. 

Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright. 
When it doth tax itself; as these black masks 
Proclaim an enshleld beamy ten times louder 
Than beauty could, displayed.— But mark me; 
To be received plain, I '11 speak more gross; 
Your brother is to die. Isab. So. 

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears 
Accountant to the law upon that pain. 

Isab. True. 

Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, 
(As 1 subscribe not that, nor any other. 
But in the loss of question.) that you, his sister, 
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person. 
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place. 
Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
Of the all-binding law; and that there were 
No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
You must lay down the treasures of your body 
To this supposed, or else to let him suffer; 
What would you do? 

Isnb. As much for my poor brother as myself: 
That is. Were I under the terms of death. 
The Impression of keen whips I 'd wear as rubies, 
And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
That longing I 've been sick for, eie I 'd yield 
My body up to shame. 
Ang. Then must your brother die. 

Isab. And 't were the cheaper way: 



Better It were a brother died at once. 
Than that a sister, by redeeming him. 
Should die for ever. 

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence 
That you have slander'd so? 

Isab. Ignominy in ransom, and free pardon, 
Are of two houses; lawful mercy 
Is nothing kin to foul redemption. 

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; 
And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother 
A merriment, tlian a vice. 

Isab. O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls ovit. 
To have what we would have, we speak not what we 
1 sometiiing do excuse the thing I hate, [mean: 

For his advantage that I dearly love. 

Ana. We are all frail. 

Isab. Else let my brother die. 

If not a feodary, but only he 
Owe, and succeed thy weakness. 

Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 

Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view them- 
selves; 
Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 
Women!— Help heaven! men their creation mar 
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; 
For we are soft as our complexions are, 
And credulous to false prints. 

Ang. I think it well: 

.ind from this testimony of your own sex, 
(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger 
Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold; — 
I do arrest your words: Be that you are. 
That is, a woman; If you be more, you 're none; 
If you be one, (as you are well express'd 
By all external warrants,) show it now. 
By putting on the destin'd livery. 

Isab. I have no tongue but one; gentle my lord. 
Let me entreat you speak the former language. 

Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 

Isab. My brother did love Juliet; and you tell me 
That he shall die for it. 

Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. 

Isab. I know, your virtue hath allcence in 't. 
Which seems a little fouler than it is. 
To pluck on others. 

Ang. Believe me, on mine honour. 

My words express my purpose. 

Isab. Ha! little honour to be much believ'd. 
And most pernicious purpose!— Seeming, seeming!— 
I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for 't; 
Sign me a present pardon for my brother. 
Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I '11 tell the world 
Aloud, what man thou art. 

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel? 

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life. 
My vouch against you, and my place i' the state 
Will so your accusation overweigh. 
That you shall stifle in your own report. 
And smell of calumny. I have begun; 
And now I give my sensual race the rein; , 
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; 
Lay by all nicety, and prollxlous blushes. 
That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother 
By yielding up thy body to my will; 
Or else he muse not only die the death. 
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
To lingering sufferance; answer me to-morrow, 
Or, by the affection that now guides me most, 
I '11 prove a tyrant to him; As for you. 
Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. 

[E.vit. 

Isab. To whom should I complain? Did I tell this. 
Who would believe me? O perilous mouths. 
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue. 
Either of condemnati6n or approof ! 
Bidding the law make court'sy to their will; 
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite. 
To follow as it draws! I '11 to my brother: 
Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood. 
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour, 
That had he twent.v heads to tender down 
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up. 
Before his sister should her body stoop 
To such abhorr'd pollution. 
Tlien Isabel, live cnaste, and, brother, die; 
More than our brother is our chastity. 
I '11 him yet of Angelo's request. 
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. 

ACT in. 
Scene I.— ^ Room in the Prison. 
Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost. 

Ihilce. So, then you hope of pardon from lord 
Angelo? 

Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, 
But only hope; 
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 

Duke. Be absolute for death; either death, or life. 
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with Life: 
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
That none but fools would keep; a breath thou art. 
Servile to all the skley influences. 
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st. 
Hourly afBiet; merely, thou art death's fool; 
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun. 
And yet runn'st toward him still; Thou art not noble; 
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st. 
Are nurs'd b.y baseness; Thou art by no means 
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork [valiant; 
Of a poor worm: Thy best of rest is sleep. 
And that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st 
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
That issue out of dust: Happy thou art not; 
For what thou hast not still thou striv'st to get, 
And what thou hast, forge tt'st; Thou art not certain; 
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 
After the moon: If thou art rich, thou art poor; 
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, 
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journe.v; 
And death unloads tliee; Friend hast thou none; 
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, 
The mere effusion of thy proper loins. 
Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum. 
For ending thee no sooner: Thou hast nor youth, nor 
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, [age; 

Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth 
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, 
"Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty. 
To make thy riches pleasant. What 's yet in this. 
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life 
Lie hid more thousand deaths; yet death we fear. 
That makes those odds all even. 



Claud. I humbly thank you. 

To sue to live, I find Iseek to die; 
And seeking death find life: Let it come on. 
Enter Isabella. 

Isab. What, ho! Peace here; grace and good com- 
pany! [welcome. 

Prov. who Is there? come in: the wish deserves a 

Duke. Dear sir, ere long I '11 visit you again. 

Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 

Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 

Pi-ov. And very welcome. Look, slgnior, here 's 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. [your sister. 

Prov. As many as you please. 

Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where I may 
be conceal'd. [Exeuyit Duke and Provost. 

Claud. Now, sister, what 's the comfort? 

Isab. Why, as all comforts are; most good, most 
good indeed; 
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven. 
Intends you for his swift ambassador. 
Where you shall be an everlasting leiger: 
Therefore your best appointment make with speed; 
To-morrow you set on. 

Claud. Is there no remedy? 

Isab. None, but such remedy as, to save a head. 
To cleave a heart in twain. 

Clattd. But is there any? 

Isab. Yes, brother, you may live; 
There is a devilish mercy in the judge. 
If you '11 Implore it, that will free your life, 
But fetter you till death. 

Claud. Perpetual durance? 

Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance; a restraint. 
Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
To a determin'd scope. 

Claud. But in what nature? 

Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to 't) 
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear. 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point. 

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, 
Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain. 
And six or seven winters more respect 
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die? 
The sense of death is most in apprehension; 
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon. 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
As when a giant dies. 

Claud. Why give you me this shame? 

Think you I can a resolution fetch 
From flowery tenderness? If I must die, 
I will encounter darkness as a bride. 
And hug it in mine arms. [grave 

Isab. There spake my brother; there my father's 
Did utter forth a voice! Yes, thou must die; 
Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,— 
Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
Nips .youth 1' the head, and follies doth eramew. 
As falcon doth the fowl,— is yet a devil; 
His filth within being cast, he would appear 
A pond as deep as hell. 

Claud. The precise Angelo? 

Isab. O, 't is the cunning livery of hell 
The damned'st body to invest and cover 
In precise guards! Dost thou think, Claudio, 
If I would yield him my virginity. 
Thou mightst be freed? 

Claud. O, heavens! it cannot be. 

Isab. Yes, he would give 't thee, from this rank of 
So to offend him still: This nigjit 's the time [fence. 
That I should do what I abhor to name. 
Or else thou diest to-morrow. 

Claud. Thou shalt not do 't. 

Isab. O, were it but my life, 
I 'd throw It down for your deliverance 
As frankly as a pin. Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 

Claud. Yes.— Has he affections in him, 
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose. 
When he would force it? Sure it is no sin; 
Or of the deadly seven it Is the least. 

Isab. Which is the least? 

Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise, 
Why would he for the momentary trick 
Be perdurably fin'd?— O Isabel! 

Isab. What says my brother? 

Claud. Death Is a fearful thing. 

Isab. And shamed life a hateful. 

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; 
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery fioods, or to reside 
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; 
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds. 
And bK)wn with restless violence round about 
The pendent world; or to be worse than worst 
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
Imagine howling!— 't is too horrible! 
"The weariest and most loathed worldly life, 
That age, ach. penury, and imprisonment 
Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
To what we fear of death. Isab. Alas! Alas! 

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live: 

What sin you do to save a brother's life. 
Nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
That it becomes a virtue. Isab. O, you beast.' 

O, faithless coward! O, dishonest wretch! 
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? 
Is 't not a kind of incest, to take life [think? 

From thine own sister's shame? What should I 
Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair! 
For such a warped slip of wilderness 
Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance; 
Die; perish! might but my bending down 
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed: 
I '11 pray a thousand prayers for thy death. 
No word to save thee. 

Claud. Nay, hear riie, Isabel. 

Isab. O, fie, fie, fie! 

Thy sin 's not accidental, but a trade; 
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd; 
'T is best that thou diest quickly. [Going. 

Claud. O hear me, Isabella. 

Re-enter Duke. 

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one 

Isab. What is your win? [word. 

Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I 
would by and by have some speech with you; the 
satisfaction I would require is likewise your owTi 
benefit. 

Isab. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must 



Scene i.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



29 



be stolen out o£ other affairs; but I will attend you a 
while. 

Duke. [To Claudio, aside.'] Son, I have overheard 
what hath passed between you and your sister. 
Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only 
he hath made an assay of her virtue, to practise his 
judgment with the disposition oi; natures; she, 
having the trutli ot honour in her, hath made him 
that gracious denial which he is most glad to re- 
ceive: I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to 
be true; therefore prepare yourself to death: Do 
not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fal- 
lible: to-morrow you must die; go to your knees and 
make read}'. 

Claud. Let me ask ray sister pardon. I am so out 
ot love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it:. 

Duke. Hold you there: farewell. iExit Claudio. 
Ee-enter Provost. 
Provost, a word with you. 

Prov. What 's your will, father? 

Duke. That now you are c )me' you will be gone: 
Leave me awhile with the maid; my mind promises 
with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company. 

Prov. In good time. lE.vit Provost. 

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair hath made 
you good: the goodness that is cheap in beauty 
makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being 
the soul of your complexion, should keep the body 
of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made 
toyou, fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; 
and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I 
should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to con- 
tent this substitute, and to save your brother? 

Isab. I am now going to resolve him: I had rather 
my brother die by the law, than my son shoidd be 
unlawfully born. But O, how much is the good duke 
deceived in Angelo! If ever he return, and I can 
speak to him, I will open my lips In vain, or discover 
his government. 

Duke. That shall not be much amiss: Yet, as the 
matter now stands, he will avoid yovir accusation; 
he made trial of you only.— Therefore, fasten your 
ear on ray advisings; to the love I have in doing 
good. A remedy presents Itself. I do make myself 
believe that you may most uprighteously do a poor 
wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother 
from the angry law; do no stain to your own 
gracious person; and mtich please the absent duke, 
if, peradventure, he shall ever i-eturn to have hear- 
ing of this business. 

Isab. Let me hear you speak further; I have spirit 
to do anything that appears not foul in the trutn of 
my spirit. 

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. 
Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of 
Frederick, the great soldier, who miscarried at 
sea? 

Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words 
went with her name. 

Duke. She should this Angelo have married; was 
affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: 
between which time of the contract and limit of the 
solemnity, her brother Frederick was wracked at 
sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his 
sister. But mark, how heavily this befel to the poor 
gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned 
brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and 
natural; with him the portion and sinew of her for- 
tune, her marriage -do \vry; with both, her combmate 
husband, this well-seemiiig Angelo. 

Isab. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her? 

Duke. Left her In her tears, and dried not one of 
them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole 
pretending, in her, discoveries of dishonour; in few, 
bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she 
yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her 
tears, is washed with them, but relents not. 

Isab. What a merit were It in death, to take this 
poor maid from the world! What corruption in this 
life, that it will let this man live!— But how out of 
this can she avail? 

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal; and 
the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps 
you from dishonour in doing it. 

Isab. Show me how, good father. 

Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the 
continuance of her first affection: his unjust un- 
kin Iness, tnat in all reasons should have quenched 
her love, hath like an impediment in the current, 
made It more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; 
answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; 
agree %vith his demands to the point: only refer 
yourself to this advantage,— first, that your stay 
with him may not be long; that the time may have 
all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer 
tolconvenience: this being granted in course, now 
follows all:— we shall advise this wronged maid to 
stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the 
encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may 
compel him to her recompense: and here, by this, 
is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the 
poor Slariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy 
scaled. The maid will I frame, and make fit for his 
attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may 
the doublenessof the benefit defends the deceit from 
reproof. What think you of it? 

Isab. The image of it gives me content already; 
and, I trust, It will grow to a most prosperous per- 
fection. ^ ^ ^ 

Duke. It lies much in your holding up: Haste you 
speedily to Angelo; if for this night he entreat you 
to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will 
presently to St. Luke's; there, at the moated grange, 
resides this delected Mariana: At that place call 
upon me; and despatch with Angelo, that it may be 
quickly. 

Isab. I thank you for this comfort: Fare you well 
good father. [Exeunt severally 

Scene It— The Street before the Prison. 
Enter Duke, as a Friar; to him Elbow, Clown, 
and Officers. 
Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that 
you will needs buy and sell men and women like 
beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and 
white bastard. 
Duke. O, heavens! what stuff is here? 
Clo. 'T was never merry world, since,of two usu- 
ries, the merriest was put down, and the worser al- 
lowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him 
warm; and furred with fox and lambskins too, to 
signify that craft, being richer than innocency, 
stands for the facing. 



Elb. Come your way, sir:Bless you, good father friar. 

Duke. And you, good brother father: What otf ence 
hath this man made you, sir? 

Elb. Marry, sir, he hath ottended the law; and, sir, 
we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found 
upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we have 
sent to the deputy. 

Duke. Fie, sirrah; a bawd, a wicked bawd! 
The evil that thou causest to be done. 
That is thy means to live: Do thou but think 
What 't is to cram a maw, or clothe a back, 
From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, — 
From their abominable and beastly touches 
I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. 
Canst thou believe thy living is a life. 
So stinkingly depending? Go, mend, go, mend. 

Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, 
sir, I would prove— [sin, 

Duke. Nay, If the devil have given thee proofs for 
Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer. 
Correction and instruction must both work. 
Ere this rude beast >vill profit. 

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has given 
him warning: the deputy cannot abide a whore-mas- 
ter: if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, 
he were as good go a mile on his errand. 

Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be. 
From oiu- faults, as faidtsfrom seeming, free! 

Enter Lucio. 

Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir. 

Clo. I spy comfort; I cry, bail: Here's a gentleman, 
and a friend of mine. 

Lucio. How now, noble Pompey? AVhat, at the 
wheels of Ciiesar? Art thou led in triumph? What, 
is there none of Pygmalion's images, newlj- made 
woman, to be had now, foi- putting the hand in the 
pocket an(} extracting it clutched? What reply? Ha? 
What sayest thou to this tune, matter, and method? 
Is 't not drowned 1' the last rain? Ha? What sayest 
thou, trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is 
the way? Is it sad, and few words? Or how? The 
trick of it? 

Duke. Still thus, and thus! still worse! 

Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? 
Procures she still? Ha? 

Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and 
she is herself in the tub. 

Lucio. Why 't is good; it is the right of it: it must 
be so: Ever your fresh whore, and your powdered 
bawd: An unshunned consequence; it must be so: 
Art going to prison, Pompey? 

Clo. Yes, faith, sir. 

Lucio. Why 't is not amiss, Pompey: Farewell: 
Go; say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? Or 
how .' 

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 

Lucio. Well, then imprison him: tf imprisonment 
be the due of a bawd, why, 't is his right: Bawd is 
he, doubtless, and of antiquity too: bawd-born. 
Farewell, good Pompey: Commend me to the pri- 
son, Pompey: You will turn good husband noW, 
Pompey: you will keep the house. 

Clo. I hope, sir, your good "worship will be my bail. 

LuGio.'No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the 
wear. I will pray. Pompey, to increase your bond- 
age: if you taKe it not patiently, why, your m 'tie 
IS the more: Adieu, trusty Pompey. — Bless you, 
friar. 

Duke. And you. 

Lucio. Does Bridget paint stUI, Pompey? Ha? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir; conie. 

Clo. You will not bail me then, sir? 

Lucio. Then, Pompey,— nor now. — ^What news 
abroad, friar? What news? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. 

Lucio. Go,— to kennel , Pompey. go: 

[Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Offlcers. 
What news, friar, of the duke? 

Duke. I know none: Can you tell me of any? 

Lucio. Some say he is with the emperor of Kussia; 
other some, he is in Rome: But where is he, think 
you? [him well. 

Duke. I know not where: But wheresoever, I wish. 

Ducio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him. to 
steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was 
never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his ab- 
sence; heputs transgression to 't. 

Duke. He does well in 't. 

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery "would do no 
harm in him: something too crabbed that way, friar. 

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 
cure it. 

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great 
kindred; it is well allied: but it is impossible to ex- 
tirp it quite, friar, tUl eating and drinking be put 
down. They say, this Angelo was not made by man 
and woman, after this downright way of creation: 
Is it true, think you? 

Duke. How should he be made then? 

Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawned hrni:- 
Some, that he was begot between two stockfishes:- 
But it is certain, that when he makes water, his 
urine is congealed ice; that I know to be true: and he 
is a motion generative, that's infallible. 

Duke. You are pleasant, sir; and speak apace. 

Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, 
for the rebellion of a cod-piece to take away the life 
of a man! Would the duke, that is absent, have done 
this? Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting 
a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the 
nursing a thousand: He bad some feeling of the 
sport; he knew the service, and that instructed him 
to mercy. 

Duke. I never heard the absent duke much detect- 
ed for women; he was not inclined that way. 

Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. 

Duke. 'T is not possible. 

Lucio. Who? not the duke: yes, your beggar of 
fifty;- and his use was, to put a ducat in her clack- 
dish: the duke had crotchets in him: He would be 
drunk too; that let me inform you. 

Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 

Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his: A shy fellow 
was the duke: and, I believe, I know the cause of his 
withdrawing. 

Duke. What, I prithee might be the cause? 

Lucio. No,— pardon;— 't is a secret must be locked 
within the teeth and the lips: but this I can let you 
understand,— The greater file of the subject held the 
duke to be wise. 
Duke. Wise? why, no question but he was. 
Lucio. A very superficial, Ignorant, unweighlng 
fellow. 



Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis- 
taking; the very stream of his life, and the business 
he hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give 
him a better proclamation. Let him be but testl- 
monied in his own bringings forth, and he shall 
appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and 
a soldier: Therefore, you speak unskilfully; or. If 
your knowledge be more, it is much darkened in. 
your malice. 

Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 

Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, audi 
knowledge with dearer love. 

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 

Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you knovsr 
not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, 
(as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you tO' 
make your answer before him: If it bo honest you 
have spoke, you have courage to maintain it: I am 
bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your 
name. [duke. 

Imcw. Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the 

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live 
to report you. Lucio. 1 fear you not. 

Xhtke. O, you hope the duke will return no more: 
or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, 
indeed, I can do you little harm:. you 'U forswear 
this agaih. 

Lucio. I '11 be hanged first: thou art deceived in 
me, friar. But no more of this: Canst thou tell if 
Claudio die to-morrow, or no? 

Duke. Why should he die, sir? 

Duclo. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. 
I would the duke, we talk of, were returned again- 
this ungenitured agent will unpeople the province 
with continency; sparrows must not build in his 
house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The 
duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; 
he would never bring them to light: would he were 
returned! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for 
untrussing. Farewell, good friar; I prithee, pray 
for me. The duke, I say to thee again, woulcl eat 
mutton on Fridays. He 's now past it; yet, and I 
say to thee, he would mouth wjth a beggar, though 
she smelt brown bread and garlic: say, that I said 
so. Farewell. [Exit. 

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
Can censure 'scape; back-Avounding calumny 
The whitest virtue strikes: What king so strong, 
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue! 
But who comes here? 

Enter Escalus, Provost, Bawd, and Officers. 

Escal. Go, away with her to prison. 

Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me; your honour 
is accounted a merciful man: good my lord. 

Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still for- 
feit in the same kind? This would make mercy 
swear, and play the tyrant. 

Prov. A bawd of eleven years'continuance, may it 
please your honour. 

Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's informatiom 
against me: mistress Kate Keep-down was wttli 
child by him in the duke's time; he promised her 
marriage; his child is a year and a quarter old,, 
come Philip and Jacob: I have kept it myself; and 
see how he goes about to abuse me. 

Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much licence: — 
let him be call'd before us.— Away witli her to pri- 
son: Go to; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and 
Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be 
altered, Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be 
furnished with divines, and have all charitable pre- 
paration: if my brother wrought by my pity, it 
should not be so with him. 

Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, 
and advised him tor the entertainment of death. 

Escal. Good even, good father. 

Duke. Bliss and goodness on you! 

Escal. Of whence are you? 

Duke. Not of this country, though my chance is. 
To use it for my time: I am a brother [now 

Of gracious order, late come from the see. 
In special business from his holiness. 

Escal. What news abroad 1' the world? 

Duke. None, but that there is a so great a fever on 
goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: 
novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to 
be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be 
constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth 
enough alive to make societies secure; but security 
enough to make fellowships accursed: much upon 
this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This 
news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I 
pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke? 

Escal. One, that, above all other strifes, contend- 
ed especially to know himself. 

Duke. What pleasure was he given to? 

Escal. Bather rejoicing to see another merry, than 
merry at anything which professed to make him re- 
joice: a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we 
him to his events, with a prayer they may prove 
prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find 
Claudio prepared. I am made to understand that 
you have lent him visitation. 

Duke. He professes to have received no sinister - 
measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles 
himself to the determination of justice: yet had he 
framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, 
many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my 
good leisure, have discredited to him, and now he is 
resolved to die. 

Escal. You have paid the heavens your function, 
and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I 
have laboured for the poor gentleman to the ex- 
tremest shore of my modesty; but my brother jus- 
tice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me 
to tell him, he is indeed— justice. 

Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his 
proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if lie 
chance to fail he hath sentenced himself. 

Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner: Fare you 
well. Duke. Peace be with you! 

[Exeunt Escalus and Provost. . 

He who the sword of heaven will bear 
Should be as holy as severe; 
Pattern in himself, to know, 
Grace to stand, and virtue go; 
More nor less toothers paying. 
Than by self-offences weighing. 
Shame to him, whose cruel striking 
Kills for faults of his own liking! 
Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
To weed my vice, and let his grow! 
O, what may man within him hide. 



so 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act IV. 



ThouRh aiiRel on the outward side! 
How may likeness, made in crimes, 
Making practice on the times. 
To draw with idle spiders' strings 
Most pond'rous and substantial things: 
Craft against vice I must apply: 
With Angelo to-nighc shall lie 
His old betrothed, but despised; 
So disguise shall, by tlie disguised. 
Pay with falsehoo(l false exacting, 
And perform an old contracting. 



[Exit. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I.— A Room in Mariana's House. 

Mariana discovered sitting; a Boy singing. 

SONG. 

Take, oh, take tliose lips away, 

That sosweetl.v were forsworn; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn; 
But my kisses bring again. 

bring again, 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 

seal'd In vain. 
3Iari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick 
Here comes a man of comfort, whoso advice [away: 
Hath often still'd ray brawling discontent. [E.v. Boy 

Enter Duke. 
I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish 
You had not found me here so musical: 
Let me excuse me, and believe me so, — 
My mirth it much displeased, but pleas'd my woe. 

Duke. 'T Is good: though music oft hath such a 
charm. 
To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. 
I pray you, tell me, hath anybody Inquired for me 
here to-day? much upon this time have I promised 
here to meet. 

Mart. You have not been Inquired after: I have sat 
here all day. 

Enter Isabella. 

Duke. I do constantly believe you:— The time is 
come, even now. t shall crave your forbearance a 
little; may be, I will call upon you anon, for some 
advantage to yourself. 

Mart. I am always bound to you. [Exit. 

Duke. Very well met, and welcome. 
What Is the news from this good deputy? 

Isab. He hath a garden clrcummur'd with brick. 
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; 
And to that vineyard is a planched gate. 
That makes his opening with this bigger key: 
This other doth command a little door. 
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads; 
There have I made my promise upon the heavy 
Middle of the night to call upon him. 

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this 
way7 

Isab. 1 have ta'en a due and warv note upon 't: 
With whispering and most guilty diligence, 
In action all of precept, he did show me 
The way twice o'er. 

Duke. Are there no other tokens 

Between you 'greed, concerning her observance? 

IsaS. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark; 
And that I have possess'd him, my most stay 
Can be but brief: for 1 have made him know, 
I have a servant comes with me along. 
That stays upon me; whose persuasion is 
I come about my brother. 

Duke. 'T is well borne up. 

I have not yet made known to Mariana 
A word of this:— What, ho! within! come forth! 

Re-enter Mariana. 
I j)ray you be acquainted with this maid; 
Sne comes to do you good. 

Isa^. I do desire the like. 

Duke. Do you persuade yourself, that I respect 
you? [found it. 

Xari. Good friar, I know you do; and have 

Duke. Take then this your companion by the 
Who hath a story ready for your ear: [hand, 

I shall attend your leisure; but make haste; 
The vaporous night approaches. 

Mari. Will 't please you walk aside? 

[Exeunt Mariana and Isabella. 

Duke. O place and greatness, millions of false eyes 
Are stuck upon thee! volumes of report 
Run with these false and most contrarious quests 
Upon thy doings! thousand escapes of wit 
Make thee the father of their idle dream, [agreed? 
And wrack thee in their fancies'— Welcome! How 

Re-enter Mariana and Isabella. 
Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father. 
If you advise it. Duke. It is not my consent. 

But my entreaty loo. 

Isab. Little have you to say, 

When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 
'Remember now my brother.' 
Mari. Fear me not. 

Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all: 
He is your husband on a pre-contract: 
To bring you thus together, 't is no sin; 
SIth that the Justice of your title to him 
Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go; 
Our com *s to reap, for yet our tithe 's to sow. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene H.—A Room in the Prison. 
Enter Provost and Clown. 

JVoti. Come hither, sirrah: Can you cut off a man's 
head? 

Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can: but if he 
be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I can 
never cut oft a woman's head. 

Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield 
me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die 
Claudioand Barnardlne: Here is in our prison a com- 
mon < xecutloner, who in his offlce lacks a helper: if 
you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem 
you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full 
time of Imprisonment, and your deliverance with an 
nnpltied whipping; for you have been a notorious 
bawd. 

Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out 
of mind; but .vet I will be content to be a lawful 
hangman. I would be glad to receive some Instruc- 
tion from my fellow partner, [there? 

/Vol). Wliat ho, Abhorsonl Where's Abnorson 



Enter Abhorson. 

^B7ior. Do you call, sir? 

Prov. SIrran, here's a fellow will help you to-mor- 
row in your execution: If you think it meet, com- 
pound with him by the year, and let him abide here 
with you; if not, use him for the present, and dismiss 
him: He cannot plead his estimation with you; he 
hath been a bawd. 

Abhor. A bawd, sir? Fie upon him, he will dis- 
credit our mystery. 

Prov. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will 
turn the scale. [Exit. 

Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely, 
sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a 
hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a 
mystery? Abhor. Ay, sir; a mystery. 

Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; 
and your wliores, sir, being members of my occupa- 
tion, using painting, do prove my occupation a 
mystery: but what mystery there should be in hang- 
ing, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine. 

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. Clo. Proof? 

Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief— 

Clo. If It be too little for your thief, your true man 
thinks it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, 
your thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's 
apparel fits your thief. 

Re enter Provost. 

Prov. Are you agreed? 

Clo. Sir, I will serve him: for I do find your hang- 
man is a more penitent trade than your bawd; he 
doth oftener ask forgiveness. 

Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your 
axe, to-morrow four o'clock. 

Abhor. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my 
trade; follow. 

Clo. I do desire to learn, sir; and, I hope, if you 
have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall 
find me yare; for, truly, sir, for your kindness I owe 
you a good turn. 

Prov. Call hither Barnardlne and Claudlo: 

[Exeunt Clown and Abhorson. 
One has my pity; not a jot the other, 
Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 

Enter Claudlo. 
Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death: 
'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow 
Thou must be made Immortal. Where's Barnar- 
dlne? 
Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as eulltless labour 
When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones: 
He will not wake. 

Prov. Who can do good on him? 

Well, go, prepare yourself. But hark, what noise? 

[Knocking within. 
Heaven give your spirits comfort! [Exit Claudio, 

By and by: — 
I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve. 
For the most gentle Claudio.— Welcome, father. 

Enter Duke. 

Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the night 
Envelop you, good provost! Who called he)-e of late? 

Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 

Duke. Not Isabel? 

Prov. No. Duke. They will then, ere it be long. 

Prov. What comfort is for Claudlo? 

Duke. There's some in hope. 

Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 

Duke. Not so, not so; nis life is parallel'd 
Even with the stroke and line of his great justice; 
He doth with holy abstinence subdue 
That in himself, which he spurs on his power 
To qualify in others: were he meal'd 
With that which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; 
But this being so, he's just.— Now are they come.— 

[Knocking within. — Provost goes out. 
This is a gentle provost: Seldom, when 
The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. 
How now? What noise? That spirit 's possess'd with 
haste, [strokes. 

That wounds the unsisting postern witn these 
Provost returns, speaking to one at the door. 

Pi-ov. There he must stay, until the officer 
Arise to let him In; he is call'd up. 

Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudlo yet. 
But he must die to-morrow? 

Prov. None, sir, none. 

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is. 
You shall hear more ere mornmg. Prov. Haply 

You something know; yet, I believe, there comes 
No countermand; no such example have we: 
Besides, upon the very siege of justice. 
Lord Angelo hath to tne public ear 
Profess'd the contrary. 

Enter a Messenger. 

This is his lordship's man. 

Duke. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 

Mess. My lord hath sent you this note; and by me 
this further charge, that you swerve not from the 
smallest article of It, neither in time, matter, or other 
circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I take it. It is 
almost day. 

Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. 

Duke. This is his pardon purchas'd by such sin, 

[Aside. 
For which the pardoner himself is In: 
Hence hath offence his quick celerity, 
When it is bom in high authority : 
When vice makes mercy, mercy 's so extended. 
That for the fault's love is the offender friended.— 
Now, sir, what news? 

Prov. I told you: Lord Angelo, belike, thinking 
me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un- 
wonted putting on: methinks, strangely; for he hath 
not used it before. 

Duke. Pray you, let 's hear. 

Prov. [Reaxls.] " Whatsoever you may hear to the 
contrary, let Claudio be excuted by four of the 
clock; and, In the afternoon, Barnardlne: for my 
better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's head sent 
me by five. Let this be duly performed; with a 
thought, that more depends on it than we must yet 
deliver. Thus fail not to do your office, as you will 
answer it at your peril." 
What say you to this, sir? 

Duke. What is that Barnardlne, who Is to be ex- 
ecuted In the afternoon? 

Prov. A Bohemian born; but here nursed up and 
bred: one that Is a prisoner nine years old. 

Luke. How came It, that the absent duke had not. 



cither delivered him to his liberty, or executed him? 
I have heard it was ever his manner to do so. 

Proi\ His friends still wrought reprieves for him: 
And, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of 
lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. 

Duke. Is It now apparent? 

Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. 

I>uke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison? 
How seems he to be touched? 

Prov. A man that apprehends death no more 
dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep; careless, reck- 
less, and fearless of what 's past, present, or to come; 
insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. 

Duke. He wants advice. 

Prov. He will hear none; he hath evermore had 
the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape 
hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if 
not many days entirely drunk. We have very often 
awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and 
showed him a seeming warrant for it: it hath not 
moved him at all. 

Duke. More of him anon. There is written in your 
brow, provost, honesty and constancy: If I read It 
not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but in the 
boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard. 
Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, 
is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who 
hath sentenced him: To make you understand this 
in a manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite: 
for the which you are to do me both a present and a 
dangerous courtesy. 

Prov. Pray, sir, in what. 

Duke. In the delaying death. 

Proi\ Alack! how may I do it? having the hour 
limited; and an express command, under penalty, to 
deliver his head In the view of Angelo? I may make 
my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest. 

Duke. By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if 
my instructions may be your guide. Let this Bar- 
nardlne be this morning executed, and his head 
borne to Angelo. [the favour. 

Proi'. Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover 

Duke. O, death 's a great disguiser: and you may 
add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard; and 
say. It was the desire of the penitent to be so bared 
before his death: You know the course is common. 
If anything fall to you upon this, more than thanks 
and good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will 
plead against It with my lite. [oath. 

Pi-ov Pardon me, good father: it is agairst my 

Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the dep- 
uty? Prov. To him, and to his substitutes. 

Duke. You will think you have made no offence, If 
the duke avouch the justice of your dealing? 

Prov. But what likelihood is in that? 

Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet 
since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integ- 
rity, nor persuasion, can with ease attempt you, I 
will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out 
of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of 
the duke. You know the character, I doubt not; and 
the signet is not strange to you. 

Prov. I know them both. 

Duke. The contents of this is the return of the 
duke; you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure: 
where you shall find, within these two days he will 
be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not:for 
he this very day receives letters of strange tenor: 
perchance, of the duke's death; perchance, entering 
into some monastery ; but, by chance, nothing of what 
is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the shep- 
herd. Put not yourself into amazement, how these 
things should be: all difficulties are but easy when 
they are known. Call your executioner, and off 
with Bamardlne's head: I will give him a present 
shrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet you 
are amazed: but this shall absolutely resolve yoH. 
Come away; it is almost clear dawn. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Another Room in the same. 
Enter Clown. 
Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was In our 
house of profession: one would think It were mis- 
tress Overdone 's own house, for here be many of her 
old customers. First, here 's young master Kash;he 
's in for a commodity of brown paper and old gin- 
ger, ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he 
made five marks, ready money: marry, then, ginger 
was not much In request, for the old women were 
all dead. Then Is there here one master Caper, at 
the suit of master Three -pile the mercer, for some 
four suits of peach-coloured satin, which now 

S caches him a beggar. Then have we here young 
izy, and young master Deep- vow, and master Cop- 
per-spur, and master Starve lackey the rapier and 
dagger-man, and young Drop-heir that killed lusty 
Pudding, 9nd master Forthright thetllter,and brave 
master Slioe-tie the great traveller, and wild Half- 
can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more; all 
great doers in our trade, and are now for the Lord's 
sake. 

Enter Abhorson. 

Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardlne hither. 

Clo. Master Barnardlne! you must rise and be hang- 
ed, master Barnardlne! 

Abhor. What, ho, Barnardlne! 

Barnar. {Within.'] A pox o' your throat! Who 
makes that noise there? What are you? 

Clo. Your friends, sir; the hangman: You must be 
so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 

Barnar. [Within.^ Away, you rogue, away; I am 
sleepy. [too. 

Abhor. Tell him he must awake, and that quickly 

Clo. Pray, master Barnardlne, awake till you are 
executed, and sleep afterwards. 

Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. 

Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his 
straw rustle. 

Enter Barnardlne. 

Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? 

Clo. Very ready, sir. 

Barnar. How now, Abhorson? what 's the news 
with you? 

Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into 
your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come. 

Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all night, 
I am not fitted for 't. 

Clo. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, 
and Is hanged betimes In the morning, may sleep 
the sounder all the next day. 

Enter Duke. 

Abhor. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly 
father. Do we jest now, think you? 



;i<:nb III.] 



UEASVRE FOR MEASUllE. 



31 



Duke. Sir, Induced by my charity, and hearing how 
hastily you are to depart. I am come to advise you, 
comfort you. and priiy with you. 

Bamar. Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all 
nlRht, and I will have more time to prepare me, or 
they shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not 
consent to die this day, that's certain. 

Duke. O, sir, you must; and therefore, I beseech 
Look forward on the journey you shall go. [you, 

Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any 
man's persuasion. Duke. But hear you,— 

Barnar. Not a word; if you have anything to say 
to me, come to my ward; for thence will not I to- 
day. \_Exit. 
Enter Provost. 

Duke. Unfit to live, or die: O, gravel heart!— 
After him, fellows; briiig Hm to the block., 

[Xi^unt Abhorson and Clown. 

Pmv. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner? 

Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death; 
And to transport hlin In the mind he is 
Were damnable. 

Prov. Here in the prison, father, 

There died this morn ng of a cruel fever 
One Ragozlne, a most notorious pirate, 
A man of Claudio's years; his beard, and head. 
Just of his colour: What If we do omit 
This reprobate, till he were well Inclined; 
And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
Of Ragozlne, more like to Claudio? 

Duke. O, 't Is an accident tliat heaven provides! 
Despatch it presently; the hour draws on 
Preflx'd by Augelo: See this be done. 
And sent according to command; whiles I 
Persuade this rudo wretch willingly to die. 

Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. 
But Barnardine must die this afternoon; 
And how shall we continue Claudio, 
To save me from the danger that might come, 
If he were known alive? 

Duke. Let this be done:— [Claudio. 

Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and 
Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting 
To yonder generation, you shall find 
Your safety manifested. 

Prov. I am your free dependant. 

Duke. Quick, despatch, 

And send the head to Angelo. \_Exit Provost. 

Now win I write letters to Angelo, — 
The provost, he shall bear them,— whose contents 
Shall witness to him I am near at home; 
And that, by great injunctions I am bound 
To enter publicly; him I'll desire 
To meet me at the consecrated fount, 
A league below the city; and from thence. 
By cold gradation and weal-balanced form, 
We shall proceed with Angelo. 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Here Is the head; I'll carry it myself. 

Duke. Convenient is It; make a swift return; 
For I would commune with you of such things 
That want no ear out yours. 

Prov. I'll make all speed. [Exit. 

Isab. [Within.'^ Peace, ho, be here! 

Duke. The tongue of Isabel:— She's come to know 
If yet her brother's pardon be come hither: 
But I will keep her ignorant of her good, 
To make her heavenly comforts of despair 
When it is least expected. 

Enter Isabella. 

laab. Ho, by your leave. [daughter. 

Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 

Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? 

Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, fronithe world; 
His head Is off, and sent to Angelo. 

Isab. Nay, but it is not so. Duke. It is no other: 
Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience. 

Isab. O, I will to hlni, and pluck out his eyes. 

Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. 

Isab. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel! 
Injurious world! Most damned Angelo! 

Duke. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot; 
Forbear It therefore; give your cause to heaven. 
Mark what I say; which you shall find 
By every syllable, a faithful verity: 
The duke comes home to-morrow;— nay, dry your 
One of our convent, and his confessor, [eyes; 

Gives me this Instance: already he hath carried 
Notice to Escalus and Angelo; 

Who do prepare to meet nim at the gates, [wisdom 
There to give up their power. If you can, pace your 
In that good path that I would wish it go; 
And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, 
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart. 
And general honour. Isab. I am directed by you. 

Duke. This letter then to Friar Peter give; 
'T Is that he sent me of the duke'o return: 
Say, by this token, I desii-e his company 
At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours, 
I'll perfect him withal: and he shall bring you 
Before the duke; and to the head of Angelo 
Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self, 
I am combined by a sacred vow. 
And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter. 
Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
With a light heart; trust not my holy order. 
If I pervert your course.— Who's here.' 
Enter Luclo. 

Lucio. Good even! 

Friar, where Is the provost? Duke. Not within, sir. 

Lucio. O, pretty Isabellaj I am pale at mine heart, 
to see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient: I am 
fain to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not 
for my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would 
set me to 't: But they say the duke will be here to- 
morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother: 
If the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been 
at home, he had lived. [E-vit Isabella. 

Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden to 
your reports; but the best Is, he lives not In them. 

Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as 
I do: he's a better woodman than thou takest him 
for. [well. 

Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye 

Lucio. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; I can tell 
thee pretty tales of the duke. 

Duke. You have told me too many of him already, 
sir. If they be true; if not true, 'none were enough. 

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a nench 

Duke. Did you such a thing? [with child. 

Imcio. Yes marry, did I: bu^..T was fain to forswear 



it; tliey would else have married me to the rotten 
medlar. [you well. 

Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest: Rest 
Lucio. By my troth, I II go with thee to the lane's 
end: If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little 
of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr, I shall stick. 

[Exeunt. 
ScENi! IV.— ^ Room in Angelo's House. 
Enter Angelo and Escalus. 

Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched 
other. 

Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. His 
actions show much like to madness: pray heaven, his 
wisdom be not tainted! And why meet him at the 
gates, and redeliver our authorities there? 

Escal. I guess not. 

Ano. And why should we proclalni it in an hour 
before his entering, that, if any crave redress of In- 
justice, they should exhibit their petitions In the 
street? 

Escal. He shows his reason for that: to have a de- 
spatch of complaints; and to deliver us from devices 
hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand 
against us. 

Ang. Well, I beseech you, let It be proclalm'd: 
Betimes 1' the morn, I 'II call you at your house: 
Give notice to sucli men of son and suit, 
As are to meet him. 

Escal. Ishall, sir: fare you well. [Exit. 

Ang. Good night.— 
This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant, 
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid! 
And by an eminent body, thatenforc'd 
The law against it!— But that her tender shame 
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss. 
How might she tongue me? Yet reason dares her 
For my, authority bears of a credent bulk, [No: 

That no particular scandal once can touch. 
But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd. 
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, 
Slight, In the times to come, have ta'en revenge, 
By so receiving a dishonour'd lite. 
With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had 
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, [llv'd! 
Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. 

[Exit. 
Scene v.— Fields without the Town. 
Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter. 

Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. 

[Giving letters. 
The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. 
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction. 
And hold you ever to our special drift; 
Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, 
As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavins' house, 
And tell him where I stay: give the like notice 
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; 
But send me Flavlus first, 

F. Peter It shall be speeded well. 

[Exit Friar. 
Enter Varrius. 

Duke. I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good 

haste: 

Come, we will walk: There 's other c f our friends 

Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeu-)^,t. 

Scene YI.— Street near the City Gate. 

Enter Isabella and Mariana. 

Isab. To speak so indirectly I am loth; 
I would say the truth; but to accuse him so. 
That Is your part: yet I am advls'd to do It; 
He says, to veil full purpose. 

Mart. Be rul'd by him. 

Isab. Besides, he tells me, that if peradventure 
He speak against me on the adverse side, 
I should not think it strange; for 't is a physic 
That 's bitter to sweet end. 

Mari. I would, friar Peter — 

Isab. O, peace; the friar is come. 

Enter Friar Peter. 

F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand most 
fit, 
Where you may have such vantage on the duke, 
He shall not pass you: Twice have the trumuets 
The generous and gravest citizens [sounded; 

Have hent the gates, and very near upon 
The duke is ent'ring; therefore hence, away. [Exe. 

ACTV. 

SCEKK I.— A 2}ublic Place near the City Gate. 

Mariana (veiled), Isabella, and Peter, at a distance. 

Enter at opposite sides, Duke, Varrius, Lords; 

Angelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, Officers, and 

Citizens. 

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met:— 
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. 

Ang. aud Kscal. Happy return be to your royal 
grace! 

Duke. Many and hearty thanklngs to you both. 
We have made Inquiry of you; and we hear 
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 
Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks. 
Forerunning more requital. 

Ang. You make my bonds still greater. 

Ihtke. O, your desert speaks loud; and I sljould 
To lock It III the wards of covert bosom, [wrong it, 
When it deserves with characters of brass 
A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time. 
And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand. 
And let the subject see, to make them know 
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
Favours that keep within.— Come, Escalus; 
You must walk by us on our other hand; 
And good supporters are you. 

Peter and Isabella conte forward. 

F. Peter. Now is your time; speak loud, and kneel 
before him. 

Isab. Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard 
Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid! 
O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye 
By throwing It on any other object. 
Tin you have heard me in my true complaint. 
And given me, justice, justice, justice, justice! 

Duke. Relate your wrongs: In what? By whom? 
Be brief: 
Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice! 
Reveal yourself to him. 

Isab. O, worthy duke. 

You bid me seek redemption of the devil: 



He.'ir me yourself; for that which I must speak 

Must either punish ,ne, not being bellev'd. 

Or wring redress from you: here me, O hear me, here. 

Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm: 
She hath been a suitor to me for her brother, 
Cut off by course of justice! 

Isab. By course of justice! 

Ang. And she will speak most bitterly and • trange. 

Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak: 
That Angelo 's forsworn; Is It not strange? 
That Angelo 's a murtherer; Is 't not strange? 
That Angelo Is an adulterous thief, 
An hypocrite, a virgin-violator; 
Is it not strange, and strange? 

Duke. Nay, It Is ten times strange. 

Isab. It Is not truer he is Angelo, 
Than this Is all as true as It is strange; 
Nay, It Is ten times true; for truth Is truth. 
To the end of reckoning. 

Duke. Away with her;— Poor soul. 

She speaks this In the infirmity of sense. 

Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believ'st 
There is another comfort than this world. 
That thou neglect me not, with that opinion [sible 
That I am touch'd with madness; make not Impos- 
That which but seems unlike: 't Is not impossible 
But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground. 
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute. 
As Angelo; even so may Angelo, 
In all his dressmgs, charaets, titles, forms. 
Be an arch-villain; believe it, royal prince. 
If he be le^s, he 's nothing; but he 's more, 
Had I more name for badness. 

Duke. By mine honesty. 

If she be mad, as I believe no other. 
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, 
(Such a dependency of thing on thing,) 
As e'er I heard In madness. 

Isab. O, gracious duke. 

Harp not on that: nor do not banish reason 
For inequality; but let your reason serve 
To make the truth appear where It seems hid; 
And hide the false seems true, 

Duke. Many that are not mad. 

Have, sure, more lack of reason. — What would you 

Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, [say? 

Condemn'd upon the act of fornication 
To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo: 
I, In probation of a sisterhood. 
Was sent to by my brother: One Lucio 
As then the messenger;- 

Liicio. That 's I, an 't like your grace: 

I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her 
To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, 
For her poor brother's pardon. 

Isab. That's he, indeed. 

Duke. You were not bid to speak. 

Lucio. No, my good lord. 

Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 

Duke. I wish you now then; 

Pray you, take note of it: and when you have 
A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then 
Be perfect. 

Lucio. I warrant your honour. 

Duke. The warrant 's for yourself ; take heed to It. 

Isab. This gentleman tolcl somewhat of my tale, 

Lucio. Right. 

Duke. It may be right; but you are in the wrong 
To speak before your time. — Proceed. 

Isab. I went 

To this pernicious caitiff deputy. 

Duke. That 's somewhat madly spoken. 

Isab. Pardon It ; 

The phrase is to the matter. 

Duke. Mended again:— the matter:— Proceed. 

Isab. In brief,— to set the needless process bj'. 
How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, 
How he refell'd me, and how I replied; 
(For this was of much length.) the vile conclusion 
I now begin with grief and shame to utter: 
He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 
To his concupiscible Intemperate lust. 
Release my brother; and, after much debatement. 
My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour. 
And I did yield to him: But the next mom betimes. 
His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
For my poor brother's head. 

Duke. This Is most likely! 

Isab. O, that It were as like as It Is true! 

Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not 
what thou speak'st; 
Or else thou art suborn'd against his honor. 
In hateful practice: First his integrity 
Stands without blemish:— next It Imports no reason. 
That with such vehemency he should pursue 
Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended. 
He would have welgh'd thy brother by himself. 
And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you on; 
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
Thou cam'st here to complain. 

Isab. And Is this all? 

Then, oh, you blessed ministers above. 
Keep me In patience ; and, with ripeii'd time. 
Unfold the evil which is here wrapp'd up 
In countenance!— Heaven shield your grace from Wxje 
As I, thus wrong'd, hence uubelieved go! 

Duke. I know you'd fain be gone:— An officer! 
To prison with her:— Shall we thus permit 
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
On him so near us? This needs must be a practice. 
Who knew of your Intent, and coming hither? 

Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. 

Duke. A ghostly father, belike: Who knows that 
Lodowick? 

Lucio. My lord, I know; 't Is a meddling friar, 
I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord. 
For certain words he spake against your grace 
In your retirement, I had swlng'd him soundly. 

Duke. Words f.galnst me? This' a good friar, be- 
And to set on this wretched woman here [like! 

Against our substitute!— let this friar be found. 

Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar 
I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar, 
A very scurvy fellow. 

F. Peter. Blessed be j-our rcyal grace! 

I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
Your royal ear abus'd: First, hath this woman 
Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute; 
Who is as free from touch or soil with her. 
As she from one uugot. 

Duke. We did believe no less. 

Know you that friar Lodowick that she speaks of? 

F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and hoi • •, 
Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, 



sz 



MEASUBE FOB MEASURE. 



[Act v. 



As he 's reported by this gentleman; 
And, on my trust, a man that never yet 
DUl, as he vouches, mlsreport your grace. 

Lucio. Mv liM'd, most villainously; believe It. 

F. R'/cr. "Weil, he in time may come to clear nlm- 
But at this instant he Is slok, my lord, [self; 

Of a stranger lover: Upon his mere request, 
(Being come to knowledge that there was complaint 
Intended 'gainst lord Angelo,) came I hither. 
To speak, as from his mouth, wh:it he doth know 
Is true, and false; and w hat he with his oath. 
And all probation, will make up full clear, 
AVhensoever he 's convented. First, for this woman; 
(To justify this worthy nobleman, 
So vulgarly and personally accus'd,) 
Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
Till she herself confess It. 

Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. 

[Isabella is carried off, guarded; and Ma- 
riana comes forward. 
Do you not smile at this, lord \ngelo?— 

heaven! the vanity of wretched fools! 
Give us some seats.— Come, cousin Angelo; 
In this I '11 be inpartial; be .you judge 

Of your own cause.— Is this the witness, friar? 
first, let her show her face; and, after, speak. 

3Iari. Pardon, mv lord; I will not show my face, 
TJntil nty husband bid me. 

Duke. What, are you married? 

Mari. No, my lord. Duke. Are you a maid? 

3Iari. No, my lord. 

Duke. A widow then? Mari. Neither, my lord. 

Duke. Why you 

Are nothing then:— Neither maid, widow, nor wife? 

iticio. My lord, she may be a punk; for many of 
them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 

Duke. Silence that fellow: 1 would he had some 
To prattle for himself. [cause 

Lucio. Well, my lord. 

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was marri°d; 
And, I confess, besides, I am no maid: [not, 

1 have known my husband; yet my husband knows 
That ever he knew me. [better. 

Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord; it can be no 
Duke. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert 
Lucio. Well, my lord. [so too! 

Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. 
Mari. Now I come to 't, my lord: 
She, that accuses him of fornication. 
In selfsame manner doth accuse my husband; 
And charges him, my lord, with such a time, 
When I'll depose I had him in mine arras, 
With all the effect of love. 
Ang. Charges she more than me? 

Mari. N ot that 1 know. 

Duke. No? you say, your husband. 

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 
Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body, 
But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. 
Ang. This Is a strange abuse:— Let's see thy face. 
Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. 

{Unveiling. 
This Is that face, thou cruel Angelo, 
Which once thou s« or'st was worth the looking on: 
This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, 
Was fast belock'd in thine: this is the body 
That took away the match from Isabel, 
And did supply thee at thy garden-house, 
In her Imagin'd person. 
Duke. Know you this woman? 

Lucio. Carnally, she says. 
Duke. Sjrrah, no more. 

Lucio. Enough, my lord. [man; 

Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this wo- 

And five years since, there was some speech qt 

marriage 
Betivlxt myself and her; which was broke off, 
Partly, for that her promised proportions 
Came short of composition; but. In chief. 
For that her reputation was disvalued 
In levity; since which time of five years, P"^*"' 

I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from 
Upon my faith and honour. 

Mari. Noble prince, [breath. 

As there comes light from heaven, and words from 
As there is sense In truth, and truth in virtue, 
I am affianc'd this man's "wife, as strongly 
As words could make up vows: and, my good lord, 
But Tuesday night last gone, In his garden-house. 
He knew me as a wife: As this is true 
Let me in safety raise me from my knees: 
Or else for ever be confixed here, 
A marble monument! 

Ang. I did but smile till now; 

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; 
My patience here is touch'd: I do perceive. 
These poor informal women are no more 
But instruments of .some more mightier member, 
That sets them on: Let me have way, my lord, ^ 
To find this practice out. 

Duke. Ay, with my heart; 

And punish them unto your height of pleasure.— 
Thou foolish friar; and thou pernicious woman, 
Compact with her that 's gone! think'st thou, thy 
oaths, [saint 

Though they would swear down each particular 
Were testimonies against his worth and credit. 
That 's seal'd In approbation?— You, lord Escalus, 
Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains 
To find out this abuse, whence 't is deriv'd: 
There is another friar that set them on; 
Let him be sent for. 

F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord; for he, in- 
Hath set the women on to this complaint: [deed, 

Your provost knows the place wlierc he abides. 
And he may fetch him. 

Duke. Go, do it instantly. — { Exit Frovost. 

And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin. 
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, 
Do with your injuries as seems you best. 
In any chastisement: I for a wh'ile 
Will leave you; but stir not you, till you have 
Well detormin'd upon these slanderers. 

Escal. My lord, we '11 do it thoroughly.— [Erit 
Duke.) Slgnior Lucio, did not you say you knew 
that I'riar Lodowick to be a dishonest per.son? 

Lucio. CucvUus non facit inoiiaclnun, honest In 
nothing, but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke 
most villainous speeches ot the duko. 

Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he 
come, and enforce them against him; we shall find 
this friar a notable fellow. 
jMcio. As any In Vienna, on my word. 
Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again; [to 



an Attendant.] I would speak with her: Pray you, 
my lord, give me leave to question: yoa shall see 
how I '11 handle her. 
Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. 
Escal. Say you? 

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think if you handled her 
privately, she"would sooner confess: perchance, pub- 
licly she '11 be ashamed. 

Reenter Officers, u'ith Isabella; the Duke in tlie 

Friar's habit, and Provost. 
Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 
Lucio. That 's the way; for women are light at 
midnight. .,,,,, 

Escal. Come on, mistress: [to Isabella] here 's a 
gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 

Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; 
here with the provost. 

Escal. In very good time:— speak not you to hlra, 
till we call upon you. Lucio. Mum. 

Escal. Come, sir: Did you set these women on to 
slander lord Angelo? they have confessed you did. 
Duke. 'T is false. 

Escal. How! know you where you are? [devil 

Duke. Respect to your great place! and let the 
Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne:— 
Where is the duke? 't is he should hear me speak. 

Escal. The duke 's in us; and we will hear you 
Look you speak justly. [speak: 

Duke. Boldly, at least: But, O, poor souls, 
Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox? 
Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone? 
Then Is your cause gone too. The duke 's unjust 
Thus to retort your manifest appeal. 
And put your trial in the ylHain's mouth. 
Which here you come to accuse. 
Lucio. This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of. 
Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar! 
Is 't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women. 
To accuse this worthy man? but, in foul mouth. 
And in the witness of his proper ear. 
To call him villain? and then to glance from him 
To the duke himself, to tax him with Injustice? 
Take him hence; to the rack with him:— We '11 touze 

you 
Joint by joint,— but we will know his purpose: 
What ! unjust? Duke. Be not so hot; the duke 

Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he 
Dare rack his own; his subject am I not, i 
Nor here provincial: My business In this stare 
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, 
Till it o'errun the stew: laws, for all faults; 
But faults so countenane'd, that the strong statutes 
Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop. 
As much in mock as mark. [on. 

Escal. Slander to the state! Away with him to pris- 
Ang. What can you vouch against him, slgnior Lu- 
is this the man that you did tell us of? [cio? 
Luj;io. 'T is he, my lord. Come hither, good man 
bald-pate: Do you know me? 

Duke. I remember yoit, sir, by the sound of your 
voice: I met you at the prison, in the absence of the 
duke. 

Lucio. O did you so? And do you remember what 
you said of the duke? 
Duke. Most notedly, sir. 

Lucio. Do you so, sir? And was the duke a flesh- 
monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported 
him to be? 

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere 
you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of 
him; and much more, much worse. 

Lucio. O thou damnable fellow ! Did not I pluck 
thee by the nose for thy speeches? 
Duke. I protest I love the duke, as I love myself. 
Ang. Hark ! how the villain would close now, after 
hi - treasonable abuses. 

£;scai. Such a fellow Is not to be talked withal:— 
Away with him to prison:— Where is the provost?— 
Away with him to prison; lay bolts enough upon him- 
let him speak no more:— Away with those glglots 
too, and with the other confederate companion. 

[The Provost lays hands on the Duke. 
Duke. Stay, sir; stay awhile. 
Ang. What ! resists he? Help him, Lucio. 
Lueio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir; 
Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be 
hooded, must you? Show your knave's visage, with 
a pox to .you ! show your sheep-biting face, and be 
hanged an hour! Will 't not otf? 

[Pulls off the Friar's hood, and discovers the Duke. 
Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er made a 
duke.— 
First, provost, let me bail these gentle three:— 
Sneak not away, sir; [To Lucio ] for the friar and you 
Must have a word anon:— lay hold on him. 
Lucio. This may prove worse, than hanging. 
Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon; sit you 
down.— [To Escalus. 

We 'U borrow place of him- Sir, by your leave: 

ITo Angelo. 
Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence. 
That yet can do thee ofliee? If tliou hast, 
Rely upon it till my tale be heard. 
And hold no longer out. Ang. O my dread lord, 
I should be guiltier than my guiltiness. 
To think I can be undiscernible. 
When I perceive your grace, like power divine. 
Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince. 
No longer session hold upon my shame. 
But let my trial be mine own confession: 
Immediate sentence then, and sequent death. 
Is all the grace I beg. 

Duke. Come hither, Mariana:— 

Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? 
Ang. 1 was, my lord. [ly. — 

Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her, instant- 
Do you the office, friar; which consummate. 
Return him here again:— Go with him, provost. 

[E.i'eunt Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 
Escal. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonour. 
Than at the strangeness of it. 

Duke. Come hither, Isabel: 

Your friar is now your prince: As I was then 
Advertising, and hol.y lo your business, 
Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
Attorney'd at your service. 

Isab. O give me pardon. 

That I, ynur vassal, have employ'd and paln'd 
Your unknown sovereignty. 

Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel: 

And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; 
And you may marvel, why I obscur'd myself, 



Labouring to save his life; and would not rather 

Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power, 

Than let him so be Jost: O most kind maid, 

It was the swift celerity of his death, 

\> hich I did think with slower foot came on. 

That brain'd my purpose; But, peace be with him! 

That life is better life, past fearing death. 

Than that which lives to fear: make It your comfort. 

So happy is your brother. 

Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 

Isab. I do, my lord. 

Duke. For this new-married man, approaching 
Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd [here,- 
Your well defended honour, you must pardon 
For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudg'd your brother 
(Being criminal, in double violation 
Of sacred chastity, and of proniise-breach 
Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,) 
The very mercy of the law cries out 
Most audible, even from his proper tongue. 
An Angelo for Claudio, death for death. 
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure; 
Like doth quit like, and Measure stWl for Measure. 
Then, Angelo, thy fault thus manifested,— 
Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vant- 
We do condemn thee to the very block [age: 

Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste; 
Away with him. 

3ldri. O, my most gracious lord, 

I hope you will not mock me with a husband! 

Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a hus- 
Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, [band: 
I thought your marriage fit; else imputation. 
For that he knew you, might reproach your life. 
And choke your good to come: for his possessions, 
-Although by confiscation they are ours, 
We do instate and widow you withal. 
To buy you a better husband. 

Mari. O, my dear lord, 

I crave no other, nor no better man. 

Duke. Never crave him; we are definitive. 

Mart. Gentle my litge,— [Kneeling. 

Duke. You do but lose your labour; 

Away with him to death.— Now, sir, [to Lucio.] to you. 

Mari. O, my good lord !- Sweet Isabel, take my 
part; 
Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 
I '11 lend you all my life to do you service. 

Duke. Against all sense you do importune her: 
Should she kneel down, in mercy of this fact. 
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break. 
And take her hence in horror. Mari. Isabel, 

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; 
Hold up your hands, say nothing, I 'll speak all. 
They say, best men are moulded out of faults; 
And, for the most, become much more the better 
For being a little bad: so may my husband. 
O, Isabel ! will you not lend a knee? 

Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 

Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Knetling. 

Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd. 
As If my brother liv'd: I partly think, 
A due sincerity govern 'd his deeds. 
Till he did look on me: since it is so. 
Let him not die: My brother had but justice 
In th-tt he did the thing for which he died: 
For Angelo, 

His act did not o'ertake his bad intent; 
And must be burled but as an Intent 
That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects; 
Intents but merely thoughts. 

Mari. Merely, my lord. 

Duke. Your suit 's unprofitable; stand up, I say.— 
I have bethought me of another fault:— 
Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded 
At an unusual hour? 

Prov. It was commanded so. 

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed? 

Prov. No, my good lord; it was by private message. 

Duke. For which I do discharge you of your ofllce: 
Give up your keys. 

Prov. Pardoli me, noble lord: 

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; 
Yet did repent me, after more advice: 
For testimony whereof, one in the prison. 
That should by private order else have died, 
I have reserv'd alive. Duke. What 's he? 

Pi-ov. His name is Barnardine. 

Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.— 
Go, fetch him hither; let me look upon him. 

[Exit Provost. 

Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd. 
Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, 
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 

Ang. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure: 
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart. 
That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 
'T is my deserving, and I do entreat it. 

Reenter Provost, Barnardine. Claudio, and Juliet. 

Duke. Which is that Barnardine? 

Pi-ou. This, my lord. 

Duke. There was a friar told me of this man:— 
Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul. 
That apprehends no further than this world. 
And squar'st thy life according. Thou 'rt con- 
demn'd; 
But for those earthly fault-;, I quit them all; 
And pray thee, take this mercy to provide 
For better times to conie;- Friar, advise him; [that? 
I leave him to your hand.— What muffled fellow 's 

Prov. This is another prisoner that I sav'd 
That should have died when Claudio lost his head; 
As like almost to Claudio, as himself. 

[ Unmvffles Claudio. 

Duke. If he be like your brother, [to Isabeula.] for 
his sake 
Is he pardon'd: And, for your lovely sake. 
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine; 
He is my brother too: But fitter time for that. 
By this, lord Angelo perceives he's safe; 
Methiuks, I .see a quick'ning in his eye:— 
Well, Angelo.your evilquitsyou well; 
liOok that you love your wife; her worth worth 
I find an apt remission in my.self: [yours.— 

And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon:— 
You, sirrah, [to LucioJ that knew me for a fool, a 
One all of luxury, an ass, a mad man; [coward. 

Wherein havi- I so<k'serv'd of you. 
That you extol me tluis? 

Lucio. 'Faith, mv lord, I spoke it but according to 
the trick: If you will hang me for it, you may, but I 
had rather it would please you I might be whipped. 



Scene i.] 



COMEDY OF ERJiOIiS. 



33 



Jhil-e. Wliipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. 
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city; 
If any woman's wrong'd by tliis lewd fellow 
(As I have heard him swear liimself there's one 
Whom he begot with child,) let her appeal'. 
And he shall marry her: the nuptial tinlsh'd, 
Let him be whipp'tl and hang'd. 

LuQio. I beseecti your highness, do not marry me to 
a whore! Your highness said even now, I made you 
a duke; good my lord, do not recompense me in mak- 
ing me a cuckold. 

Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. 



Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal 
Remit thy other forfeits:— Take him to prison: 
And see our pleasure herein executed. 

Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to 
death, whipping, and hanging. 

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves It.— 
She, Claudio, that you wiongd, look you restore. 
Joy to you, Mariana!— love her, Angelo; 
I liave confess'd her, and I know her virtue. 
Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness: 
There's n\oi'e behind that is more gratulate. 
Thanlcs, provost, tor tliy care and secrecy; 



We shall employ thee in a worthier place:— 
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
'the head of Hagozine for Cltuidio's; 
The ottence jjardons it.self.— Dear Isabel, 
I have a motion much imports your good; 
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline. 
What's mine is youi's and what is yours is mine: 
So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show 
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know 

[Exeunt 




[act IV. — SCENE IV.] 



Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come near me. 



COMEDY OF ERRORS. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



SoLixus, I>uX;e 0/ Ephesus. 
.Sgeon, a merehnnt of Syracuse. 
AXTIPHOLUS, of ( twin brothers and sons 

Epiiesus, I fo ^ffigeon and Emilia. 
Aktipholus of ( but %inknou~n to each 

Syracuse, i other. 



Dromio of 

Ephesus, 
Dromio of 

Syracuse, 
Balthazar, a merchant. 
Angelo, a goldsm ith. 



twin brothers, and Attend- 
ants on the two Antipho- 
luses. 



[ A Merchant, friend to Antipholus of 

Syracuse. 

Pinch, a schoohnaster, and a conjurer. 

Emilia, M'l/e to .ffigeon, an abbe.'is at 

Ephesus. [sus. 

\ Adkiaxa, wife to Antipholus of Ephe- 



LcciANA, her sister. 
Luce, her servant. 
A Courtezan. 

Gaoler, Officers, aitd other At- 
tendants. 
SCENE.— Ephesus. 



ACT L 
Scene I.— a Hall in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, .ffigeon. Gaoler, Officers, and other 
Attendants. 

.^ge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall. 
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all. 

Duke. Merchant of Syi-acuse, plead no more; 
I am not partial, to infringe our laws; 
The enmity and discord, which of late 
Sprung from the rancoious outrage of your duke 
To mei-chants, our well-dealing countrymen,— 
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives, 
Have seal'd his rigorous statues with their bloods,- 
Exeludes all pity from our threafning looks. 
For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
'Twixt thy .seditious countrvmcn and us. 
It hath in solemn synods been decreed. 
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves. 
To admit no traffic to ourndver.se towns: 
Nay, more. If any, born at Ephesus, 
Be seen at any Syracusan marts and fairs. 



Again, if any Syracusan born. 
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose; 
TJnless a thousand marks be levied, 
To quit the penalty, and to ransom him. 
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, 
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; 
Therefore, by law, thou art condemn'd to die. 

.lEge. Yet this my comfort when your words are 
My woes end likewise with the evening sun. [done, 

Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause 
Why thou departedst from thy native home; 
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. 

.Ege. A heavier task could not have been impos'd. 
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable: 
Yet, that the world may witness that my end 
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 
I '11 utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 
In Syracusa was I born; and wed 
Unto a woman, happy but for me, 
And by me, too, had not our hap been bad. 
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealtii increas*d, 
By prosperous voyages I often made 



To Epidamnum, till my factor's death. 

And the great care of goods at random left, 

Drew me from kind embracemcnts of my spouse: 

From whom my absence w-as not six months old. 

Before herself (almost at fainting under 

The pleasing punishment that women bear. 

Had made provision for her following me, 

And soon, and safe, arrived where I was. 

There had she not been long, but she became 

A joyful mother of two goodly sons; 

And, which was str.ange, the one so like the other 

.4.S could not be distinguish 'd but by names. 

That very hour, and in the ,self-.same inn, 

A poor mean woman w^as delivered 

Of such a burden, male twins, both alike: 

Those, for their parents were exceeding poor. 

1 bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 

My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 

Made daily motions for our home return: 

Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon. 

We came aboard: 

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, 

Before the always-wind-obeying deep 



V 



St 



COMEDY OF EimORS. 



lAcT n. 



Gave any tragic instance of our harm: 

But longer Jld we not retain niudi iiopo; 

For what obscured light the heavens illd grant 

Did but convey unto our fearful minds 

A doubtful warrant of immediate death; 

Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd, 

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife 

Weeping before for what she saw must come, 

And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, 

That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, 

Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. 

And this It was,— for other means was none.— 

The sailors sought for safety by our boat. 

And left the ship, then slnkingripe, to us: 

My wife, most careful for the latter-born. 

Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast. 

Such as sea-faring men provide for storms: 

To him one of the other twins was bound. 

Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. 

The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, 

Fixing our eyes on whom our care was flx'd, 

Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast; 

And floating stral ,'ht, obedient to the stream. 

Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 

At length 'he sun, gazing upon the earth, 

Dlspers'ri hose vapours that offended us; 

And, by the beneflt of his wlsh'd light, 

The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered r- 

Two ships from far making amain to us. 

Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this: 

But ere tliey came,— O, let me say no more! 

Gather the sequel by that went before. 

Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so; 
For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 

JEge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now 
Worthily term'd them merciless to us! 
For ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues. 
We were encounter'i. ^y a mighty rock; 
Which being violently ?3orne upon. 
Oar helpful ship was splltted In the midst. 
So that, in this n ijust divorce of us. 
Fortune had left to both of us alike 
What to f.ellght in, what to sorrow for. 
Her J art, poor soul! seeming as burdened 
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe. 
Was carried with more speed before the wind; 
And in our sight they three were taken up 
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
At length, - -other ship had seized on us; 
And, knowing whom ic was their hap to save, 
Gavo healthful weii- jme to their shipwreck'd guests; 
And would have reft the fishers of their prey. 
Had not their bark been very slow of sail. 
And therefore homeward did they bend their coui-se. 
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss; 
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd. 
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 

Duke. And, tortho sake of them thou sorrowest for. 
Do me the favor to dilate at full 
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now. 

^ge. My youngest oy, and yet my eldest care. 
At eighteen years jecame Inquisitive 
After his brother; and importun'd me. 
That hi< attendant, so his case was like, 
Reft of his brother, (but retain'd his name,) 
Might bear him company in the quest of him: 
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see, 
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. 
Five summers have 1 spent in farthest Greece, 
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, 
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; 
Hopeless to find, yet loth to leave unsought. 
Or that, or any place that harbours men. 
But here must end the story of my life; 
And happy were I in my timely death, 
Cr'uld all my travels warrant me they live. 

Duke. Hapless jEgeon, whom the fates have ma rk'd 
To bear the extremity of dire mishap! 
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws. 
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, 
Wiilch princes, would they, may not disannul. 
My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 
But, though thou art adjudged to the death, 
And passed sentence may not be recall'd 
But to our honour's great disparagement. 
Yet will I favour thee In what 1 can: 
Therefore, merchant, I 'U limit thee this day. 
To seek thy help by 1 eneflcial help: 
Try all the friends hou hast in Ephesus: 
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum. 
And llv if no, th( \ thou art doom'd to die:— 
Gaoler, take him into thy custody. 

Oaol. I will, my lord. 

-^ge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth JEgeon wend. 
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt, 

Scene 11.— A public Place. 

Enter Antlpholus and Dromio of Syracuse, and a 

Merchant. 

Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum, 
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
This very d^y, a Syracusau merchant 
Is apprehended for arrival he^e; 
And, not being able to buy out his life. 
According to the statute of the town. 
Dies ere the weary sun ?' ; In the west. 
There is your money that I had to keep. 

Ant. S. Go, bear it to the Centaur, where we host. 
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 
Within this hour it will be dinner-time: 
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town. 
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings. 
And then return, and sleep within mine inn; 
For with long travel I am stiff and weary. 
Get thee away. 

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word. 
And go Indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit. 

Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, 
When I am dull with care and melancholy. 
Lightens my humour with his merry lests. 
What, will you walk with me about the town. 
And then go to my inn and dine with me? 

Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, 
Of whom I hope to make much benefit; 
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock. 
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the n<art. 
And afterward consort you till bed-time; 
My present business calls me from you now. 

Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose my.self, 
And wander up and down, to view the city. 

Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. 

[Kj-iV Merchant. 



Anx. S. He that commends me to mine own con- 
Commends me to the thing I cannot get. [tent, 
I to the world am like a drop of water. 
That in the ocean seeks another drop; 
Who, failing there to find his fellow forth. 
Unseen, Inquisitive, confounds himself: 
So I, to find a mother and a brother. 
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 
Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
Here comes the almanack of my true date. — 
What now? How chance, thou art return'd so soon? 

Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too 
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit: [late: 
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell. 
My mistress made it one upon my cheek: 
She is so hot, because the meat is cold; 
The meat is cold, because you come not home; 
You come not home, because you have no stomach; 
You have no stomach, having broke your fast; ; 
But we, that know what 't is to fast and pray. 
Are penitent for your default to-day. 

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; telfme this, I pray: 
Where have you left the money that I gave you? 

Dro. E. O,— .■sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last. 
To pay the saddler for mv mistress' cruper; 
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not. 

Ant. S. I ,im not in a sportive humour now: 
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? 
We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust 
So great a charge from thine own custody? 

Dro. E. I pray you, ,iest, sir, as you sit at dinner: 
I from my mistress come to you in post; 
If I return, I shall be post indeed; 
For she will score your fault upon ray pate. 
Methlnks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock, 
And strike you home without a messenger. 

Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of 
season; 
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this: 
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? 

Dro. K. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me. 

Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, nave done your fool- 
ishness, 
And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. 

Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch thee fro' the 
mart 
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; 
My mistress and her sister stay for you. 

Ant. S. Now, as I am a christian, answer me, 
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money; 
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, 
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd: 
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? 

Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate. 
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders. 
But not a tnousand marks between you both. 
If I should pay your worship those again, 
Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. 

Ant, S. Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, slave, 
hast thou? [Phoenix; 

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner. 
And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. 

Ant. S. What, wilt thou tlout me thus unto my face. 
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. 

Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold 
your hands; 
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. 

[E>« Dro. E. 

Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other, 
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. 
They say, this town is full of cozenage; 
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye. 
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, 
Soul-killing witches that deform the body. 
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks. 
And many such like liberties of sin: 
If it prove so, I vrill be gone the sooner. 
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave; 
I greatly fear my money is not safe. lEtsit. 

ACT IL 
I Scene I.— ^ tniblic Place. 

Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave ret" 
I That in such haste I sent to seek his master! 
; Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 
i Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him. 
And from the mart he 's somewhere gone to dinner. 
! Good sister, let us dine, and never fret: 
i A man is master of his liberty: 
j 'lime is their master; and, when they see time, 
I They '11 go, or come: If so, be patient, sister. 

Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more? 

Luc. Becau.se their business stiU lies out o' door. 

Adr, Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. 

Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will. 

Adr. There 's none but asses will be bridled so. 

Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is iash'd with woe. 
There 's nothing situate under heaven's eye 
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in skj': 
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls. 
Are their males' subjects, and at their controls: 
Men, more divine, the masters of all these. 
Lords of the wide world, and wild watery seas. 
Indued with Intellectual sense and souls. 
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls. 
Are masters to their females, and their lords: 
Then let your will attend on their accords. 

Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. 

Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. 

Adr. But were you wedded you would bear some 

Luc. Ere I learii love, I '11 practise to obey. [sway. 

Adr. How if your husband start some other where? 

Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. 

Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she 
pause; 
They can be meek that have no other cause. 
A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity. 
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; 
But were we burden'd with like weight of paiu. 
As much, or more, \vo should ourselves complain: 
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. 
With urging helpless patience would relieve me: 
But, if thou live to see like right bereft. 
This fool-liegg'd patience in thee will be left. 

Luc. Well, I win man-y one day, but to try;— 
Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. 
Kntcr Dromio o/ Ephesus. 

Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? 



Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that 
my two ears can witness. 

Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou 
his mind? 

Dro. E. Ay, ay. he told his mind upon mine ear. 
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. 

Luc. Spake he so doubtfully thou could'st not feel 
his meaning? 

Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly I could too well 
feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that 1 could 
scarce understand them. 

Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home? 
It seems he hath great care to please his wife. 

Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. 

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain? [stark mad. 

Dro. E. I mean not cuckold mad; but, sure, he "s 
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner. 
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold: 
' 'T is dinner-time," quoth I; 'My gold,' quoth he; 
'If our meat doth burn," quoth I; 'My gold," quoth 
he; [he: 

'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold,' quoth 
'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?' 
'The pig,' quoth I, 'is burn'd; 'My gold,' quoth he; 
'My mistress, sir,' quoth I; 'Hang up thy mistress; 
I know not tliy mistress; out on thy mistress ! ' 

Luc. Quoth who? 

Dro. E. Quoth my master: 
' I know,' quoth he, 'no house, no wife, no mistress; ' 
So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
I thank him. I bare home upon my shoulders; 
For, in conclusion, he d d beat me there. 

Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. 

Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home? 
For God's sake send some other messenger. 

Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. 

Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other 
Between you I shall have a holy head. [beatlngt 

Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy master 
home. 

Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me. 
That like a football you do spurn me thus? 
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: 
If I last In this service you must case me In leather. 

[Exit. 

Luc. Fye, how impatience loureth In your face! 

Adr. His company must do his minions grace, 
Wh.lst I at home starve for a merry look. 
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted It: 
Are my discourses dull? barren my wit? 
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. 
Do their gay vestments his affections bait? 
That 's not my fault, he's master'of my state: 
What ruins are in me that can be found 
By him not ruin'd? then Is he the ground 
Of my defeatures: My decayed fair 
A sunny look of his would soon repair: 
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale. 
And feeds from home : poor I am but his stale. 

Luc. Self-harming jealousy!— fye, beat it hence. 

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dls 
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; [pense. 
Or else, what lets it but he would be here? 
Sister, you know he promls'd me a chain; — 
Would that alone alone he would detain. 
So he would keep fair quarter with his bedl 
Isee, the jewel best enamelled 
Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still. 
That others touch, yet often touching will 
Wear gold; and so no man that hath a name. 
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. 

Luo. How many fools serve mad jealousy! 

[Eseunt. 
Scene H.—The same. 
Enter Antlpholus of Syracuse. 

Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio Is laid up 
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave 
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. 
By computation, and mine host's report, 
I could not speak with Dromio, since at first 
I sent him from the mart: See, here he comes. 

Enter Dromla of Syracuse. 

How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd? 
As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold? 
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 
Ky house was at the Phcenix? Wast thou mad. 
That thus so madly thou didst answer me? 

Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a 
word? 

Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. 

Dro. S, I did not see you since you sent me hence, 
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 

Ant.S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold'sreeeipt. 
And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner; 
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. 

Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein: 
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. 

Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout mo in the 
teeth? 
Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. 

[Beating him. 

Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest is 
Upon what bargain do you give it me? [earnest: 

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you. 
Your sauciness will jest upon my love, 
And make a common of my serious hours. 
When the sun shines let foolisli gnats make sport. 
But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. 
If you will jest with me know my aspect. 
And fashion your demeanour to my looks, 
Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 

Dtx>. S. Sconce, call you It? so you would leave 
battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use 
these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, 
and insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my 
shoulders. But, I pray sir, why am I beaten? 

Ant. S. Dost thou not know? 

Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten. 

Ant. S. Shall I tell you why? 

Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every 
why liath aWherefore. 

Ant. S. Why, first,— for flouting me; and then. 
For urging it the second time to me. [wherefore, — 

Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out 
of season? 



Scene ii.J 



COMEDY OF EliBOliS. 



85 



When, In the why, and the wherefore. Is neither 

rhyme nor reason?— 
Well, sir, I thank you. 

Ant. S. Thank nie, sir, for what? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you 
gave me for nothing. 

Ant. S. I 'U make you amends next, to give you 
nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time^ 

Dro. S. No, sir; I think the meat wants tliat I have. 

Ant. S. In good time, sir, what 's that? 

Dro. S. Basting. 

Ant. &•. Well, sir, then 't will be dry. 

Dru. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. 

Ant. S. Your reason? 

Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase 
me another dry basting. 

Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time. There i 
a time for all things. 

Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were 

Ant. S. Bv what rule, sir? |so choleric. 

Dro. S. Marrv, sir, bv a rule as plain as the plain 
bald pate of father Time himself. 

Ant. S. Let 's hear It. 

Dro. S. There 's no time for a man to recover his 
hair, that grows bald by nature. 

Ant. t>. May he not do It by fine and recovery? 

Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and re- 
cover the lost hair of another man. 

Ant. S. Why is Time sucli a niggard of hair, being, 
as it is, so plentiful an excrement? 
. Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on 
beasts: and what he hath scanted men iu hair, he 
hath given them In wit. 

Ant. S. Why, but there 's many a man hath more 
hair than wit: 

Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit to 
lose his hair. 

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain 
dealers without wit. 

Dro. S. Theplainerdealer, the sooner lost: Yet he 
loseth It In a kind ot jollity. 

Ant. S. For what reason? 

Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too. 

Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 

Dro. S. Sure ones then. 

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. 

Dro. S. Certain ones then. Ant. S. Name them. 

Dro. S. The one, to .save the money that he spends 
in tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not 
drop in his porridge. 

Ant. S. You would all tills time have proved there 
is no time for all things. 

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, in no time to 
recover hair lost by nature. 

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why 
there Is no time to recover . 

Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, 
and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald fol- 
lowers. 

Ant. S. I knew 't would be a bald conclusion: 
But soft! who wafts us youder? 

Enter Adriana and Luciana. 

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown; 
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects: 
I am not Adriana,,nor thy wife. 

The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st vow 
That never words were music to thine ear. 
That never object pleasing in tliine eye. 
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand. 
That never meat sweet savour'd in thy taste, [thee. 
Unless I spake, or look'd, or toueh'd, or carv'd to 
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it, 
That thou art then estranged from thyself? 
Thyself I call it, being strange to me. 
That, undividable, incorporate, 
Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; 
For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall 
A drop of water in the breaking gulph, 
And take tmmingled thence that drop again. 
Without addition or diminishing, 
As take from me thyself, and not me too. 
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick 
Should 'st thou but hear I were licentious? 
And that this body, consecrate to thee. 
By ruffian lust should be contaminate? 
Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, 
And hurl the name of husband in my face. 

And tear the stain'd skin of my harlot brow. 

And from my false hand cut the wedding ring. 

And break it wltli a deep-divorcing vow? 

I know thou canst; and therefore see tiiou do it. 

I am possess'd with an adulterate blot; 

My blood is mingled with the grime ot lust; 

For, if we two be one, and thou play false, 

I do digest the poiscu of thy flesh. 

Being strumpeted by tliy contagion. 

Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed; 

I live dis-stain'd, thou, undishonoured. 
Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you 

In Ephesus I am but two hours old, [not: 

As strange unto your town, as to your talk; 

Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd. 

Want wit in all one word to understand. 
Luc. Fye, brother! how the world is chang'd with 

When were you wont to use mv sister thus? [you: 

She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 
Ant. S. By Dromio? Dro. S. By me? 

Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return from 

That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows [him,— 

Denied my house for his, me for his wife, [woman? 
Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, ^vlth this gentle- 

What is the course and drift of your compact? 
Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. 
Ant. S. Villain, thou llest: for even her very words 

Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 
Dro. S. I never spake with her in all ray life. 
Ant. S. How can she thur then call us by our 

Unless it be by inspiration? [names, 

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity. 

To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, 

Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! 

Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt. 

But wrong not that wrong 'vith a more contempt. 

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: 

Thou art an elm, my husband, I, a vine; 

Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state. 

Makes me with thy strength to communicate: 

If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, 

Ursurping ivy, briar, or idle moss; 

Whp, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 

Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. [theme: 
Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her 



What, was I married to her In my dream' 

Or sleep I now, and think I hear ail this? 

What error drives our eyes and ears amiss? 

Until I know this sure, uncertainly 

I 'II entertain the offer'd fallacy. [ner. 

Ltw. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for din- 

J>ro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. 
This is the fairy Iand;-0, spite of spites! 
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; 
If we obey tliem not, this will ensue. 
They 'U suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. 

Luc. Why, prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st 
not? 
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot! 

Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I? 

Ant. S. I think tliou art, in mind, and so am I. 

Dro. S. Nay, master, botli in mind, and in my 

Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. [shape. 

Dro. S. No, I am an ape. 

Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 't is to an ass. 

Dro. S. 'V is true; she rides me, and I long for 
'T is so, I am an ass; else it could never be, [grass. 
But I should know her as well as she knows me. 

Adr. Come, come, no lengcr will I be a fool. 
To put the finger in the eye and weep. 
Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to scorn. 
Come, sir, to dinner; Dro,nio, keep the gate:— 
Husband, I '11 dine above with you to-day. 
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks: 
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master. 
Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter. 
Come, sister:— Dromio, play the porter well. 

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in heU? 
Sleeping, or waking? mad, or well advis'd? 
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd! 
I'll say as they sa.v, and persever so. 
And in this mist at all adventures go. 

Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? 

Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your 
pate. 

Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late! 

lExeunt. 
ACT III. 
Scene I.— The same. 

Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, 
Angelo, and Balthazar. 

Ant. E. Good slgnior Angelo, you must excuse us 
My wife Is shrewish, when I keep not hours: [all. 
Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop, 
To ,- ee the making of her carcanet. 
And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
But here's a villain, that would face medown 
He met me on the mart; and that I beat him. 
And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold; 
And that I did deny my wife and house: 
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? 
Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I 
know: [show: 

That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to 
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave 

were ink. 
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. 
Ant. E. I think thou art an ass. 
Dro. E. Marry, so It doth appear 

By the wrongs I sufEer and the blows I bear. 
I should kick, being kick'd; and, being t that pass. 
You would keep from my heels and beware of an ass. 
Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: 'Pray God, 
our cheer [here. 

May answer my good will, and your good welcome 
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your wel- 
come dear. 
Ant. E. O. signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, 
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. 
Bal. Good meat, sir, is common; tliat every churl 

affords. 
Ant. E. And welcome more common; for that's 

no'.hing tout words. 
L>al. Small ciieer, and great welcome, makes a 

merry feast. 

Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more-sparing 

guest, [part; 

But tlinugh my cates be mean, take them in good 

Better cheer may you have, but not with betterheart. 

But, soft: my door is Icck'd. Go b;d them let us in. 

Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, 

Jen'! 
Dro. S. {_Within.'] Mome, malt-horse^ capon, cox- 
comb, idiot, patch! [hatch: 
Either get thee from the door or sit down at tlie 
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou callst for 
such store, [door. 
When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the 
Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? my mas- 
ter stays in tlie street. 
Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest 
he catch cold on 's feet. [door. 
Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho! open the 
Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an' you'll tell 
me wherefore. [diu'd to-day. 
Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner; I have not 
JJro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come again 

when you may. 
Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from 

the house I owe? 
Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name 

is Dromio. 
Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office 
and ray name; 
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. 
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place. 
Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name or 
thy name for an ass. 
iMce. [W/Him.] \v hat a coil is there! Dromio, who 
are those at the gate? 
Dro. E. Let my master in. Luce, 
iMce. Faith no; he comes too late; 

And so tell your master. 

Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh;— 

Have at you with a proverb.— Shall I set in my staff? 

Luce. Have at you with another; that's, — When? 

can you tell? 
Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou hast 

answer'd him well. 
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, 
Imce. I thought to have ask'd you. [I hope? 

Dro. S. And you said, no. 

Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there was blow 

for blow. 
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
Luce. Can yon tell for whose sake? 

Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 



Luce. Let him knock till it ake. 

Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat thee 
door down. [in the town? 

Luce. What needs all that, and a pair ot stocks 
Adr. \_Witliin.] Who is that at the door, that keeps 

all this noise? 
Dro. S. By my troth your town Is troubled with 
unruly boys. [before. 

Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have come 
Adr, Your wife, sir knave! go, get you from the 
door. [w ould go sore. 

Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, tliis knave 
Ang. Here "is neither cheer, sir, nor welconii ; we 

would fain have either. 
Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part 

with neither. 
Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid them 

welcome hither. 
Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we 

cannot get in. 
Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments 
were thin. 
Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the 

cold: 
It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought 
and sold. 
Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the 

gate. 
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and 1 '11 break 

your knave's ] ate. 

Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir; 

and words are but wind. [behind. 

Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not 

Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking: Out upon 

thee, hind! 
Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray 

thee, let rae in. 
Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and flsh 

have no fin. 
Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go, bo-row me a crow. 
Dro. E. A crow without featlier; master, mean 
you so? 
For a flsh without a fin, there's a fowl without a fea- 
ther: [gether. 
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow to- 
Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow. 
Bal. Have patience, sir, O let it not be so. 
Herein you war against your reputation. 
And draw within the compass ot suspect 
The unviolated honour of your wife. 
Once this, — Your long experience of her wisdom. 
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, 
Piead on her part some cause to you unknown; 
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
Be rul'd by me; depart in patience. 
And let us to the 'l iger all to dinner: 
And, about evening, come yourself alone. 
To know the reason of this strange restraint. 
If by strong hand you oifer to break in. 
Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
A vulgar comment will be made of it; 
And that supposed by the common route 
Against your yet ungalled estimation. 
That may with foul intrusion enter in. 
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead: 
For slander lives vi,ion succession; 
For ever housed, where it gets possession. 

Ant. E. You have prevall'd. I will depart in quiet. 
And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. 
I know a wench of excellent discourse; 
Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle;— 
There will we dine: this woman that I mean. 
My wife (but, I protest, without desert,) 
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; 
To her will We to dinner. Get you home. 
And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 't is made: 
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine; 
For there 's the house; that chain will I bestow 
fBe it for nothing but to spite my wife,) 
Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste: 
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
1 '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they '11 disdain me. 
Ang. I '11 meet you at that place, some hour hence. 
Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost nie some ex 
pence. \_Exeunt, 

Scene II.— The same. 
Enter Luciana and Antipholus of Syracuse. 
Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot 
A husband's office? shall, Antipholus, 
Even in the spring of love, tliy love-sorings rot? 

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? 
If vou did wed my sister for her wealth, [kindness 
then, for her wealth's sake, use her with morf 
Or, it you li'rce elsewhere, do it by stealth; 

Muffle your false love with some show of blind 
Let not my sister read it in your eye; [ness 

Be not thy tongue tliy own shame's orator; 
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; 

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: 
Bear a fair presence, tliotigh your heart be tainted; 

Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; 
Be secret-false: What need she be acquainted? 
What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 
'T is double wrong to truant with your bed. 

And let her read it in thy looks at board: 
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; 

111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 
Alas, poor women! make us but believe. 

Being compact of credit, that you love us; 
Though others have the arm show us the sleeve; 

We in your motion turn, and you may move us. 
Then, gentle bro her, get you in again; 

Comfort ray sister, cheer her, call her wife: 
'T is holy sport, to be a little vain. 
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 
Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else, 1 

know not. 
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,) 
Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show 
not. 
Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine. 
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; 

Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, 
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak. 

The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you. 

To make it wander In an unknown field? 
Are you a god? would you create me new? 

Transform me then, and to your power I '11 yield. 
But if that I am I, then well I know. 

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine. 
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe; 



S6 



COMEDY OF EliRORS. 



[Act IV. 



Far more, far more, to you do I decline. 
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, witii tliy note, 

To drown me In thy sister flood of tears; 
Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote: 

Spread o'er the sliver waves thy golden hairs. 
And, as a bed, I '11 take thee and there lie; 

And, in that glorious supposition, think 
He gains by death, that hath such means to die:— 

Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink! 

Lkc. What, are you mad, tliat you do reason so? 

Ant. S. Not mad. but mated; how, I do not know. 

Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 

Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, be- 
ing by. [your sight. 

Lttc. Gaze where you sliould, and that will clear 

Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on 
night. 

Lnc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. 

Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 

Luc. That 's my sister. 

Ant. S. No; 

It is thyself, mine own self's better part; 
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; 
My food, mv fortiine, and my sweet hope's aim, 
M.v sole earth's heaven, and my heaven '.s claim. 

Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 

Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee; 
Thee will I love, and witli tnee lead my life; 
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife: 
Give me thy hand. 

Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still; 

I 'U fetch my sister, to get her good will. {Ex. Luc. 

Enter from the house o/Antipholus o/Ephesus, 
Dromio of S.vracuse. 

Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where runn'st 
thou so fast? 

Dro. S. Do you know me sir? am I Dromio? am I 
your man? am I myself? 

Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou 
art thyself. 

Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman 's man, and be- 
sides myself. ' [self? 

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thy- 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a 
woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, 
one that will have me. 

Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? 

Dro. S- Marry, sir, such claim as you ■«'ould lay to 
your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not 
that, I being a beast, slie would have me: but that 
she, being a very beastly creature, lays claims tome. 

Ant. S. What is she? 

Dro. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a 
man may not speak of, without he say, sir rever- 
ence: I have but lean luck in the match, and yet Is 
she a wondrous fat marriage. 

Ant. S. How dost thou mean a fat marriage? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, she 's the kitchen wench, and 
all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, 
but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her 
own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in 
them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till 
doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole 
world. 

Ant. S. What complexion is she off? 

Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing 
like so clean kept. For why? she sweats; a man may 
go over Shoes in the grime of it. 

Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. 

Dro. S. No, sir, 't is in grain: Noah's flood could not 
do it. Ant. S. What's her name? 

Dro. S. Nell, sir;— but her name and three quarters, 
that is an ell and three quarters, will not measure 
her from hip to hip. 

Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth? 

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip 
to hip; she is spherical, like a globe. I could find out 
countries in her. 

Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? 

Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks. I found it out 

Ant. S. Where Scotland? [by the bogs. 

Dro. S. I found It by the barrenness; hard, in the 
palm of the hand. 

Ant. S. Where France? 

Dro. S. In her forehead; ai'med and reverted, mak- 
ing war against her hair. 

Ant S. where England? 

Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could 
find no whiteness in them: t)ut I guess, it stood in 
her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France 
and it. Ant. S. Where Spain? 

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it, hot in her 

Ant. S. Where America, the Indies? [breath. 

Dro. S. O, sir, upon lier nose, all o'er embellished 
with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their 
rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent 
whole armadas of carracks to be ballast at her nose. 

Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? 

Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, 
this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; called me 
Dromio; swore, I was assured to her; told nie what 
privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my 
shoulder, the mole in my neclc, the great wart on my 
left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: 
And,- I think, if ray bi-east had not been made of 

faith, and my heart of steel. 
She had transform'd me to a curtall-dog, and made 
me turn i' the wheel. 

Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road; 
And if the wind blow any way from shore, 
I will not harbour in this town to-night. 
If any bark put forth, come to the mart. 
Where I \vill walk, till thou retiirn to me. 
If every one knows us, and we know none, 
'T is time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. 

Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, 
So fly I from her that would be my wife. {Eidt. 

Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here; 
And therefore 't is high time that I were hence. 
She, that doth call me husband, even my soul 
Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister. 
Possessed with sucli a gentle sovereign grace, 
Of such enchanting presence and discourse. 
Hath almost made me traitor to myself. 
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, 
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 
Enter Angelo. 

Ang. Master Antlpholus? 

Ant. .^. Ay, that's my name. 

Ang. I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain; 
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine: 
The chain unflnish'd made me stay thus long. 



Ant. S. What is your will that I should do with this? 

Ang. What please yourself, sir; I liave made It for 
you. 

Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. 

Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you 
have: 
Go home witli it, and please your wife withal; 
And soon at supper-time I'll visit you. 
And tlien receive my money for tlie cliain. 

Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, 
For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more. 

Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare .you well. fEx. 

Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell: 
But this I think, there's no man is so vain 
That would refuse so fair an ofter'd chain. 
I see, a man here needs not live by shifts. 
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. 
I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay; 
If any ship put out then straight away. [Exit, 

ACT rv. 

Scene I.— The same. 
Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer. 

Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due. 
And since I have not much importun'd you. 
Nor now I had not, but tiiat I am bound 
To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage: 
Therefore make present satisfaction, 
Or I'll attach you by this oiticer. 

Aug. Even just tlie sum that I do owe to you, 
Is growing to me by Antlpholus: 
And, in the instant that I met with you, 
He had of me a chain; at five o'clock, 
I shall receive the money for the same: 
Pleaseth you walk with nie down to his house, 
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 
Enter Antlpholus of Ephesus, and Dromio of 
Ephesus. 

Off. Thatlabourmayyousave; see where he comes. 

Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou 
And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow 
Among my wife and her confederates. 
For locking nie out of my doors by day. 
But soft, I see the goldsmith:— get thee gone; 
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. 

Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year!— I buy a 
rope! \Exit Dromio. 

Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts to you. 
I promised your presence, and the cliain; 
But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me: . 
Belike, you thought our love would last too long. 
If it were chained together; and therefore came not. 

Ang. Saving your merry humour, here 's the note 
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat; 
The fineness of tlie gold, and chargeful fashion; 
Which doth amount to three odd aucats more 
Than I stand debted to this gentleman: 
I pray you, see him presently discharg'd, 
For he is bound to sea, and stays but tor It. 

Ant. E. lamnotfurnish'd with the present money; 
Besides I have some business in the town: 
Good Siguier, take the stranger to my house. 
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof; 
Perchance, I will be there as soon as you. 

Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her yourself? 

Ant. E. Nc; bear It with you, lest I come not time 
enough. [you? 

Ang. Well, sir, I will: Have you the chain about 

Ant. E. An If I have not, sir, I hope you have; 
Or else you may return without your money. 

Ang. Nay, come, X pray you, sir, give me the chain; 
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman. 
And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 

Ant. E. Good lord, you xise this dalliance to excuse 
Your breach of promise to the Porpentine: 
I should have chid you for not bringing it, 
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 

Mer. 'The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, despatch. 

Ang. You hear, how he importunes me; the chain — 

Ant. E. Why, giye it to my wife, and fetch your 
money. [now; 

Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you even 
Either send the chain, or send me by som.e token. 

Ant. E. Fye! now you run this humour out of 
breath; 
Come, where 's the chain? I pray you, let me see it. 

Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance: 
Good sir, say, whe'r you '11 answer me, or no; 
If not, I '11 leave him to the officer. 

Ant. E. I answer you! What should I answer you? 

Ang. The money, that you owe me for the chain. 

Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. 

Ang. You know, I gave It you half an hour since. 

Ant. E. You gave me none; you wrong me much to 
say so. 

Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it: 
Consider, how it stands upon my credit. 

Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 

Off. I do; and charge you In the duke's name, to 
obey me. 

Ang. This touches me in reputation:— 
Either consent to pay this sum for me. 
Or 1 attach you by this officer. 

Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had! 
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 

Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer. 
I would not spare my brother in this case. 
If he should scorn me so apparently. 

Off. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit. 

Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee ball: 
But, sirrah, you shall buy the sport as dear 
As all the metal in your shop will answer. 

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. 
Enter Dromio nf Syracuse. 

Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, 
That stays but till her owner conies aboard. 
And then, sir, she bears away: our fraughtage, sir, 
I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought 
The oil, thebalsamum, and aqua-vitae. 
The ship is in her trim; the merry wind 
Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all. 
But for their owner, master, and yourself. 

Ant. E. How now! a madman? Why thou peevish 
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? [sheep, 

Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 

Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope; 
And told thee to wliat purpose, and what end. 

Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's-end as soon: 
You scut me to the bay, sir, for a bark. 



Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure. 
And teach your ears to list nie with more heed. 
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight: 
Give her this key, and tell her. In the desk 
That 's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry, 
There is a purse of ducats; let her send It; 
Tell her, I am arrested in the street, 
And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave: be gone. 
On, ofScer, to prison till it come, 

ZEvcunt Merch., Angelo, Officer, and Ant. E. 

Dro. S. To Adriana! that is where we din'd. 
Where DowsabeJ did claim me for her husband: 
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 
Thither I must, although against my will. 
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. lExit. 

Scene II.— Tfte sa7ne. 
Enter Adriana and Luclana. 

Adr. Ah, Luclana, did he tempt thee so? 
Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye 
That lie did plead in earnest, yea, or no? 

Look'd he or red, or pale; or sad or merrily? 
What observation mad'st thou in this case, 
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? 

Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right. 

Adr. He meant, he did me none; the more my 
spite. 

Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. 

Adr. A_nd true he swore, though yet forsworn he 

Zmc. Then pleaded I for you. [were. 

Adr. And what said he? 

Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me. 

Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? 

Luc. With words that in an honest suit might move. 
Fisrt, he did praise my beauty; then, my speech. 

Adr. Didst speak him fair? 

Luc. Have patience, I beseech. 

Adr. 1 cannot, nor I will not, hold me still; 
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. 
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, 
Ill-fac'd, worse-bodied, shapeless every where; 
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; 
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. 

Luc. Who would be Jealous then of such a one? 
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 

Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I say. 
And yet would herein others' eyes were worse: 
Far from her nest the lapwing cries, away; [curse. 
My heart prays for him, though my tongue do 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
Dro. S. Here, go; the desk, the purse; sweet now, 
Luc, How hast thou lost thy breath? [make haste. 
Dro. S. By running fast. 

Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? 
Dro. S. No, he 's in Tartar limbo, worse then hell. 
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him. 
One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel; 
A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough; 
A wolf, nay, worse,— a fellow all in buff; [niands 
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that counter- 
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; 
A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry foot 
well; [to hell. 

One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls 
Adr. Why, man. what is the matter? [the case. 
Dro. S. I do not know the matter; he is 'rested on 
Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose suit. 
Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested, well; 
But is in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that can 
I tell; [in his desk? 

Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money 
Adr. Go fetch it, sister.— This 1 wonder at, 

lExit Luclana. 
That he, unknown to me, should be In debt:— 
Tell me, was he arrested on a band? 

Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; 
A chain, a chain: do you not hear it ling? 
Adr. What, the chain? 

Dro. S. No, no, the bell: 't is time that I were gone; 

It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes 

one. 

Adr. The hours come back! that did I never hear. 

Dro. S. O yes. If any hour meet a sergeant, a' 

turns back for very fear. 
Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost 

thou reason! 
Dro. S. Time is a ver.v bankrout, and owes more 
than he "s worth, to season. 
Nay, he's a thief too: Have you not heard men say. 
That time comes stealing on by night and day? 
If he be in debt, and theft, and a sergeant in the 

way. 
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? 
Enter Luclana. 
Adr. Go, Dromio; there 's the money, bear it 
straight; 
And bring thy master home Immediately. 
Come, sister; I am press'd down with conceit; 

Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt^ 

Scene III.— 27ie same. 
Enter Antlpholus of Syracuse. 

Ant. S. There 's not a man I meet but doth salute 
As If I were their well acquainted friend; [me 

And every one doth call me by my name. 
Some tender money to me, some Invite me; 
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; 
Some offer me commadities to buy: 
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop. 
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me. 
And, therewithal, took measure of my body. 
Sure, these are but imaginai-y wiles. 
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 

Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 

Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for; 
What, have you got [rid of] the picture of Old Adam 
new apparelled? 

Ant. S. What gold is tijis? What Adam dost thou 
mean? 

Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the raradise, but 
that Adam that keeps the prison: he that goes in the 
calf's-skin that was killed for the prodigal; he that 
came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid yoa 
forsake your liberty. 

Ant. S. I understand thee not. 

Dro. S. No'' why, 't is a plain case: he that went 
like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, 
that, when gentlemen are tired, givrs them a fob, 
and 'rests tliem; lie, sir, that takes pity on decayed 
men, and gives them suits of durance; he that sets. 



Scene hi.] 



COMEDY OF EltnOliiS. 



37 



up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than 
a morris-pike. 
Ant. i'. what! thou mean'st an officer? 
Dro. a. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band: lie. that 
brings any man to answer It thai; breaks his band; 
one that thinks a man always going to bed, and 
says, 'God give you good rest!" 

Ant. S. Well, sir, tliere rest in your foolery. Is 
there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone? 
JJro. S. Why. sir, I brought you word an hour 
since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; 
and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry 
for the hoy Delay: Here are the angels that you sent 
for, to deliver vou. 

Ant. S. The fellow is distract.and so am I; 
And here we wander in illusions; 
Some blessed power deliver us from hence! 
Enter a Courtezan. 
Cottr. Well met, well met, master Antipholui. 
I see, sir, you have found tlie goldsmith now: 
Is that the chain vou proniis'd me to-day? 
Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee tempt me not! 
Dro. S. master, is this mistress Satan? 
Ant. S. It is the devil. 

Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; 

and here she comes In the habit of a light wench; 

and tlioreof comes, that the wenches say, ' God 

damn me,' that's as mucli as to say, ' God make me 

a light wench.' It is written, they appear to men like 

angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire 

willburn; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not 

near her. [sir. 

Co'ir. Your man and you are marvellous merry. 

Will you go wit^me? We '11 mend our dinner here. 

jDro. S. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, so 

bespeak a long spoon. Ant. S. Why, Dromio? 

Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon that 

must eat with the devil. 

.471*. S. Avoid thee, flend! what tell'st thou me of 
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress: [supping? 

I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. 

Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner. 
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd; 
And I '11 be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Dro. S. Some devils ask but the paring of one's 
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, [nail, 

A nut. a cherry-stone: but she, more covetous. 
Would have a chain. 

Master, be wise; an' if you give it her, [it. 

The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with 

Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain; 

I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. [us go. 

Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witcli! Come, Dromio, let 

Dro. S. Fly pride, says tlie peacock; Jlistress. that 

you know. IL'xeunt Ant. S. arid Dro. S. 

Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, 
Else would he never so demean himself: 
A ring he hath of mine worthy forty ducats, 
And for the same he promis'd me a chain; 
Both one, and other, he denies me now. 
The reason that I gather he is mad, 
[Besides this present instance of his rage,) 
Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner, 
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits. 
On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
My way is now, to hie home to his house. 
And tell Ms wife, that, being lunatic. 
He rush'd into my house, and took perforce 
My ring away: This course I fittest choose; 
For forty ducats is too much to lose. IJSxit. 

Scene IV.— The Same. 
Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and an Officer. 
Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not breakaway: 
I '11 give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money 
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day; 
And will not lightly trust the messenger: 
That I should be attach'd in Ephesus, 
I tell you, 't will sound harshly in her ears.— 

Enter Dromio o/Ephesus, ivith a rope's end. 
Here comes my man; I think he brings the money. 
How now, sir? have you that I sent you for? 
Dro. E. Here 's that, I warrant you, will pay them 
Ant. E. But where 's the money? [all. 

Di-o. £. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. 
Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope? 
Dro. E. I '11 serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. 
Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? 
Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir; and to that end am I 

return'd. 
Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I wOl welcome you. 

^Beating him. 
Off. Good sir, be patient. 

Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; lam in ad- 
Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. [versify. 

Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his 
Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain! [hands. 
Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sii-, that i might 
not feel your blows. 

Ant. E. Thou art sensible In nothing but blows, 
and so is an ass. 

Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by 
my long ears. I have served him from tlie hour of 
my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his 
hands for my service, but blows: when I am cold, 
he heats me with beating: when I am warm, he 
cools me with beating; I am waked with it, when I 
sleep; raised with it, when I sit; driven out of doors 
with it, when I go from home; welcomed home wltli 
it, when I return: nay, I bear it on my shoulder.-, 
as a beggar wont her brat: and, I tliink, when he 
hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door. 
Enter Adriana, Luciana, and the Coartezan, 
with Pinch, and others. 
Ant. E. Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder. 
Dro. E. Mistress, respict: finem, respect your end; or 
rather to prophesy, like the parrot, 'Beware the 
rope's end. 
Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Beats him. 

Cour. How say you now? is not your husband mad? 
Adr. His incivility confirms no less. 
(Jood doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; 
Establish him in his true sense again, 
And I will please you what you will demand. 
Lmc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks! 
Co'ir. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstasy! 
Pinch. Give me your band, and let me feel your 

pulse. 
Ant. E. Thereismy hand, and let it feel your ear. 
I^nch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man, 



To yield possession to my holy prayers, 
And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight; 
I conjure thee bv all the saints in heaven. [mad. 

Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace; I am not 
^Irfi-. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul! 
Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your customers? 
Did tills companion with the saffron face 
Revel and feast it at mv house today. 
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, 
And I denied to enter in my liouse? [home, 

Adr. O husband, God doth know, you diu'd at 
Where 'would you had remain'd until this time. 
Free from these slanders, and this open shame! 
Ant. E. Din'd at home! Thou villain, what say'st 

thou? 
jDro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. 
Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut 
out? [shut out. 

Dro. E: Perdv, your doors were lock'd and you 
^Ijit. E. And did not she herself revile me tliere? 
Di-o. E. Sans fable, slie herself revil'd you there. 
Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and 
scorn me? [you. 

Dro. E. Certes. she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd 
Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence? 
Dro. E. In verity, you did;— ray bones bear witness, 
That since have felt the vigour of his rage. 
Adr. Is 't good to sooth him in these contraries? 
Pinch. It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein. 
And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. 
Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldmith to arrest 

me. 
Adr. Alas! I sent you money to redeem you. 
By Dromio here, wlio came in haste for it. 

Dro. E. Money by me? heart and good-will you 
But, surelv, master, not a rag of money. [might. 

Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of 
Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. Lducats? 
Luc. And I am witness with her, that she did. 
Dro. E. God and the rope-maker, bear me witness, 
That I was sent for nothing but a rope! 

Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is possess'd; 
I know it by their pale and deadly looks: 
They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 
Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to- 
day? 
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold? 
Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 
Dro. E. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold; 
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. [both. 
Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in 
Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all; 
And art confederate with a damned pack. 
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me: 
But with these nails I '11 pluck out these false eyes. 
That would behold in me this shameful sport. 

[Pin. and his Assistants bind Ant. E. and Dro. E. 
Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come near 
me. [him. 

Pinch. More company; the flend is strong within 
Luc. Ah me, poor man! how pale and wan he looks! 
Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, 
I am thy prisoner: wUt thou suffer them [tliou, 

To make a rescue? Off. Masters, let him go: 

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 
Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. 
Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? 
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
Do outrage and displeasure to himself? 
Off. He is my prisoner; if I let him go. 
The debt he owes will be requir'd of me. 

Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee; 
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor. 
And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd 
Home to my house. O most unhappy day! 
Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet! 
Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond for you. 
Ant. E. Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou 

mad me? 
Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, 

good master; cry, the devil.— 
Luc.'GtoCl help, poor souls, how idly do they talk! 
Adr. Go bear him hence.— Sister, go yoa with me.— 
\Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, with Am E. 
and Dro. E. 
Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? 
Off. One Angelo, a gold::mith. Do you know him? 
Adr. I know the man: What Is the sum he owes? 
Off. Two hundred ducats. 

Adr. Say, how grows it due? 

Off. Due for a chain your husband had of him. 
Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. 
Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day, 
Came to my house, and took away my ring, 
(The ring I saw upon his finger now,) 
Straight after, did I meet him with a chain. 

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it:— 
Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is; 
I long to know the truth hereof at large. 
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, with his rapier drawn, 
and Dromio o/ Syracuse. 
Luc. God, for thy mercy! they are loose again. 
Adr. And come with naked swords; let 's call more 
To have them bound again. [help. 

Off. Away, they '11 kill us. 

[ExeuntOfRcev, Adr. and Luc. 
Ant. S. I see, these witclies are afraid of swords. 
Dro. S. She, that would be your wife, now ran 
from you. [thence: 

Ant. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from 
I long that we were safe and sound aboard. 

Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night, they will surely 
do us no harm; you saw tliey speak us fair, give us 
gold: methinks, they are such a gentle nation, that 
but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims mar- 
riage of me, I could find in my heart to stay here 
still, and turn witch. 

Ant. S. 1 will not stay to-night for all the town; 
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt. 

ACTV. 
Scene L—TJie Same. 
Enter Merchant and Angelo. 
Ana. I am sorry, sir, that Ihavehinder'd you; 
But, I protest, he had the chain of me. 
Though most dishonestly he doth deny Jt. 
Mer. How is the man esteem d here in the city? 
Any. Of very reverend reputation, sir. 
Of credit infinite, highly belov'd. 
Second to none that lives here in the city; 
His word might bear my wealth at any time. 



Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he walks. 
Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse. 

Ang. 'T is so; and that self chain about his neck. 
Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have. 
Good sir, draw near to me, 1 'II speak to him. 
Signior Antipholus, I wonder much 
That you would put me to this shame and trouble^ 
And not without some scandal to yourself,. 
With circumstance and oaths, so to deny 
•This chain, which now you wear soopenlyr 
Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment. 
You have done wrong to this my honest friend; 
Who, but for staying on our controversy. 
Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day: 
This chain you had of me, can you deny it? 

Ant. S. Ilhlnklhad;lnever did deny It. 

Mer. Yes, that you did, sir; and foi swore it too. 

Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it? 

Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear 
thee: 
Fye on thee, wretch! 't is pity, that thou liv'st 
To walk where any honest men resort. 

Ant. S. Thouart a villain to Impeach me thus: 
I 'U prove mine honour and mine honesty 
Against thee presently, if thoudar'st stand. 

Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. 

[They draw. 

Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, and others. 

Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake; he is mad ; 
Some get within him, take his sword away: 
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 

Dro. S. Run, master, run; for God's sake, take a 
house. 
This is some priory. — In, or we are spoiled. 

[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. to the Priory. 

Enter the Abbess. 
Abb, Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you 

hither? 
Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence: 
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast. 
And bear him home for his recovery. 
Ang. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. 
Mer. I am sorry now that I did draw on him. 
Abb. How long hath this possession held the man? 
Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad. 
And much different from the man he was; 
But, till this afternoon, his passion 
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. 

Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wrack of sea? 
Burled some dear friend? Hath not else his eye 
Stray'd his affection in unlawful love? 
A sin, prevailing much in youthful men. 
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
Which of these sorrows is he subject to? 
Adr. To none of these, except it be the last; 
Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. 

Abb. You should for that have reprehended him. 

Adr. Why, so I did. 

Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 

Adr. As roughly as my modesty would let me. 

Abb. Haply, in private. 

Adr. And in assemblies too.. 

Abb. Ay, but not enough. 

Adr. It was the copy of our conference; 
In bed, he slept not for my urging it; 
At board, he fed not for my urging it; 
Alone, it was the subject of my theme; 
In company, I often glanced it; 
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 

Abb. And therefore came it that the man was mad; 
The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
It seems, his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing-. 
And thereof comes it that his head is light. 
Thou say'st, his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraid- 
Unquiet meals make 111 digestions, L'ngsr 

'Thereof the raging fire of fever bred; 
And what 's a fever but a fit of madness? 
Thou say'st, his sports were hinder'd by thy brawlfi: 
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue 
But moody and dull melancholy. 
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair. 
And, at her heels, a liuge infectious troop 
Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life? 
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest 
To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast: 
The consequence is then, thy jealous fits 
Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. 

Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly. 
When he demean'd himself rough, rude and wildly. 
Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not? 

Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. — 
Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. 

Ablj. No, not a creature enters in my house. 

Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband 
forth. 

Abb. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary, 
And it shall privilege him from your hands. 
Till I have brought him to his wits again, 
Or lose my labour in assaying it. 

Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,- 
Diet his sickness, for it is my oflice. 
And will have no attorney but myself; 
And therefore let me have him home with me. 

Abb. Be patient: for I will not let him stir. 
Till I have used the approved means I have. 
With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers 
To make ot him a formal man again: 
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
A charitable duty of my order; 
Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. 

Adr. I will not hence, and leave my husband here; 
And ill it doth beseem your holiness. 
To separate the husband and the wife. 

.466. Be quiet, and depart, thou Shalt not have him. 

[Exit Abbess. 

Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. 

Adr. Come, go; I will fall prostrate at his feet. 
And never rise until my tears and prayers 
Have won his grace to come In person hither. 
And take perforce mv husband from the aubess. 

Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at Jive: 
Anon, 1 'm sure, the duke himself in person 
Comes this way to the melancholy vale, — 
The place of death and sorry execution, 
Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 

Ang. Upon what cause? 

Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant, 
Who put unluckily Into this bay 
Against the laws and statutes of this town. 
Beheaded publicly for his offence. (death. 

Ang. See, where they come; we will behold his- 



MUCH ADO Aliorr NOTHING. 



[Act I. 



i«c. Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey. 

£n(er Duke, attended: jTIgeon, bareheaded; with the 

Headsman and other OfHccrs. 

Duke. Yet once again proclaim It publicly, 
If any friend will pay the sum for hlni. 
He shall not die, so much we tender him. 

Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess! 

IHike. She is a. virtuous and a reverend lady; 
It cannot be that she hath done tliee wrong. 

Adr. May it please your grace, Antlpholus.my hus 
Whom I made lord of me and all I had, [band,— 

At your Important letters,— this ill day 
A most outrageous lit of madness took hmi; 
That desperately he hurried through the street, 
rWith him his bondman, all as mad as he,) 
Doing di-spleasure to tlie citizens 
Bv rushing in tlielr houses, bearing thence 
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home, 
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, 
That here and there his fury had committed. 
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape. 
He broke from those that had the guard of him; 
And, with his mad attendant and liimself. 
Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, 
Met us again, and, madly bent on us. 
Chased us away; till, raising of more aid. 
We came again to bind them: then they lied 
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them; 
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us. 
And will not suffer us to fetch nlm out. 
Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. 
Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command, 
Let hira be brought forth, and borne hence for help. 

Duke. Long since, thy husband serv'd me in my 
And I to thee engag'd a prince's word, [wars; 

When thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
To do him all the grace and good I could. 
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate. 
And bid the lady .abbess come to me; 
I wlU determine this, before I stir. 
Enter a Servant. 

Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself! 
My master and his man are both broke loose. 
Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor. 
Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire; 
And ever as It blazed, they threw on him 
Great palls of puddled mire to quench the hair: 
My master preaches patience to him, and the while 
His man with sclssars nicks him like a fool: 
And, sure, unless you send some present help, 
Between them they will kill the conjurer. 

Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here; 
And that is false thoii dost report to us. 

Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; 
I have not breath'd almost since I did see It. 
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take J'ou, 
To scotch your face, and to disfigure you: 

ICry within. 
Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone. 

Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: Guard 
with halberds. 

Adr. Ah me. It is my husband! Witness you 
That he is borne about Invisible: 
Even now we hous'd him In the abbey here; 
And now he 's there, past thought of hviman reason. 
Enter Antlpholus and Dromio of Ephesus. 

Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant me 
justice! 
Even for the service that long since I did thee. 
When I bestrid thee In tlie wars, and took 
Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood 
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice! 

.^e. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, 
I see my son Antlpholus and Dromio. 

Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman 
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife; [there. 
That hath abused and dishonoured me. 
Even in the strength and height of injury! 
Beyond imagination is the wrong 
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 

Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. 

Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors 
upon me. 
While she with harlots feasted in my house. 

Duke. A grievous fault: Say, woman, didst thou so? 

Adr. No, my good lord;— myself, he, and my sister, 
To-day did dine together: So befal my soul 
As this is false he burdens me withal! 

lAic. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night. 
But she telLs to your highness simple truth! 

Ang. O perjur'd woman! thev are both forsworn. 
In this the madman justly chaigeth them. 

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; 
Neither disturbed with the effect of wine. 
Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging Ire, 
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
This woman lock'd rae out this day from dinner; 
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, 
Could witness it, for he was with mo tlien; 
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain. 
Promising to bring It to the Porpentlne, 
Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
I went to seek him: In the street I met him; 
And in his company that gentleman. 
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, 
That I this day of nlm recelv'd the chain. 



Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which. 

He did arrest nie with an dfticer. 

1 did obey; and sent my peasant home 

For certain ducats: he with none return'd. 

Then fairly I bespoke tlie ofHcer, 

To go in person with me to my house. 

By the way we met 

My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 

of vile confedeiates; along with them 

They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, 

A mere anotoniy, a mountebaiik, 

A threadbare juggler, and a fortuneteller; 

A needy, hoUow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, 

A living dead man: this pernicious slave, 

Foi'sooth, took on him as a conjurer. 

And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse. 

And with no face, as 't were, outfacing me. 

Cries out, 1 was possess'd: then altogether 

They fell upou me, bound me, bore me thence; 

And In a dark and dankish vault at home 

There left me and my man, both bound together; 

Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 

1 gained my freedom, and immediately 

Ran hither to your grace; whom 1 beseech 

To give me ample satisfaction 

Eor these deep shames, and great indignities. 

Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, 
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 

Duke. But liad he such a chain of thee, or no? 

Ang. He had, my lord: and when he ran In here, 
These people saw the chain about his neck. 

Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine 
Heard ^ ou confess you had the chain of him, 
After you first forswore it on the mart. 
And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you; 
And then you fled into this abbey here. 
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 

Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls. 
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me; 
I never saw the chain, so help me heaven! 
And this is false you burden me withal. 

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this! 
I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. 
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been: 
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly: 
You say he din'd at home; the goldsmith here 
Denies that saying:— Sirrah, what say you? 

Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por- 
pentlne. > [ring. 

Cmir. He did; and from my finder snatch'd that 

Ant. E. 'T is true, my liege, this ring I had of her. 

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? 

Co\tr. As sure, my Ilege, as I do see your grace. 

Duke. Why, this is strange:— Go call the abbess 

I think, you are all mated, or stark mad. [hither; 

[Exit an Attendant. 

^176. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe rae speak a 
Haply, I see a friend will save my life, [word; 

And pay the sum that may deliver me. 

Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. 

JEge. Is not your iianie, sir. call'd Antlpholus? 
And Is not that your bondman Dromio? 

Bro. K. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir. 
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords: 
Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. 

jEge. I am sure you both of you remember me. 

Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, .sir, by you; 
For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? 

jEge. Why look you strange on me? you know me 
well. 

Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. 

^Ege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw me 
last; 
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand. 
Have written strange defeatures in my face: 
But tell me yet, dost thou not know mv voice? 

Ant. E. Neither. jfge. Dromio, nor thou? 

J>ro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 

Ai'ge. I am sure thou dost. 

Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure I do not; and what- 
soever a man denies you are now bound to believe 
him. 

^Ege. Not know my voice! O, Time's extremity! 
Hast thou po crack'd and splitted my poor tongue. 
In seven short years, that here my only son 
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? 
Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow. 
And all the conduits of my blood froze up. 
Yet hath my night of life some memory. 
My wasting lamps some fnding glimmer left. 
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: 
All these old witnesses (I cannot err,) 
Tell me. thou art my son Antipholus. 

Ant. F. Inever saw my father in my life. 

Mge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy. 
Thou know'st we parted: but, perhaps, my .son. 
Thou sham'st to acknowledge me In misery. 

Ant. K. The duke, and all that know me in the city. 
Can witness with me that it is not so; 
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 

Diike. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years 
Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa. 
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. 

Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus of Syracuse, 
and Dromio of Syracuse. 



^66. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
wrong'd. [All gather to see him. 

Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. 

Duke. One of these men is genius to the other; 
And .so of tliese: Which is the natural man. 
And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? 

Dro. S. l, sir, am Dromio; command him away. 

Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay. 

Ant. S. ^geon, art thou not? or else his ghost? 

Dro. &'. O, my old master, who hath bound him 
here? 

Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds. 
And gain a husband bv his liberty: 
Speak, old ^geon. It thou be'st the man 
That had a wife once call'd iEmiiia, 
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons: 

0, If thou be'st the same ^geoii, speak. 
And speak unto the same Emilia! 

JEge. If 1 dream not, thou art ^Emilia: 
If thou art she, tell me where is that .son 
That floated with thee on the fatal raft? 

Abb. By men of Epidamnum. lie, and I, 
And tlie twin Dromio, ail were taken up: 
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth 
By force took Dromio and my son from thera. 
And me they left with those of Epidamnum: 
What then became of them I cannot tell; 

1, to this fortune that you see me in. 

Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right. 
These two Antipholuses, these two so like. 
And these two Dromlos, one in semblance,— 
Besides her urging of her wrack at sea, — 
These are the parents to these children, 
Whicli accidentally are met together. 
Antlpholus, thou cam'st from Corinth flrst? 

Ant. S. No, sir, not I; 1 came from Syracuse. 

Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which Is which. 

Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious 

Dro. E. And I with him. [lord. 

Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous 
warrior 
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. 

Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day? 

Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 

Adr. And are not you my husband? 

Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. 

Ant. S. And so do I. yet she did call me so. 
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here. 
Did call me brother:— What I told you then, 
I hope I shall have leisure to make good; 
If this be not a dream I see and hear. 

Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. 

Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not. 

Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. 

Ang. I think 1 did, sir; I deny it not. 

Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your ball. 
By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. 

Dro. E. No, none by me. 

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I recelv'd from you, 
And Dromio my man did bring them me: 
I see, we still did meet each other's man. 
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me. 
And thereupon these Errors are arose. 

Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 

Duke. It shall not need; thy father hath his life. 

Cour. Sir. I must have that diamond from you. 

Ant. E. There, take It; and much thanks for my 
good cheer. 

AVb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains 
To go with us into the abbey here. 
And here at large discoursed all- our fortunes: 
And all that are assembled in this place. 
That by this sympathized one day's error 
Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company. 
And we shall make full satisfaction. 
'I wenty-Uve years have I but gone in travail 
Of you, my sons; and, till this present hour, 
My heavy burden ne'er delivered: 
The duke, my husband, and my children both. 
And you the calendars of their nativity. 
Go to a gossip's feast, and joy with rae; 
After so long grief, such festivity! 

Duke. With all my heart I '11 gossip at this feast. 

[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, Mgenn. Courtezan, Merchant, 
Angelo, and Attendants. 

Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stufl! frora ship- 
board? [bark'd? 

Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou em- 

Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the Cen- 
taur. [Dromio-. 

Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am your master, 
Come, go with us; we '11 look to that anon: 
Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. 

{Exeunt Ant. S. and E., Adr. and Luc. 

Pro. S. There is a fat friend at your master'shouse! 
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner; 
She now shall he my sister, not my wife. 

Dro. K. Methinks you are my glass, and not my 
I see, by you. I am a sweet-faced youth. [brother: 
Will you walk in to see their gossiping? 

Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder. 

Dro. E. That 's a question: how shall we try it? 

Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior: till then, 

Dro. E. Nay, then thus: [lead thou flrst. 

We came into the world like brother and brother: 
And now let 's go hand in hand, not one before an- 
other. [Exeunt. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. 
Don John, his bastard brother. 
Claudio, a young lord of Florence, 

favourite o/Don Pedro. 
Benedick, a young lord, of Padua, 

favourite likeurise o/Don Pedro. 



0, govern 
ANTONIO, his brother. 
Balthazar, servant to Don Pedro. 



BORACHIO, 
CONRADE, 



followers of Don John. 



^°^^^'V-'oonyoffl<^.rs. 

A Sexton. 

A Friar. 

A Boy. 

Hero, daughter to Leonato. 



Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 
Margaret, ( gentlewomen attending 
Ursula, ( on Hero. 

Messengers, Watch, and attendants. 

SCENE.— Messina. 



Scene i.] 



MVVII ADV ABOUT NOTHING. 



30 



ACT I. 
Scene I.— Street in Messina. 

BMer Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, with a 
Messenger. 

Leon. I learn In this letter, that Don Pedro of Ar- 
ragou comes this night to Messina. 

Mess. He is very near by this; he was not three 
leagues off when ( left hlni. 

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this 
action? 

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself when tlie achiever 
brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Pe- 
dro hath bestowed mucli honour on a young Floren- 
tine, called Claudio. 

Ml ss. Much deserved on his part, and equally re- 
membered by Don Pedro: He hatli borne himself be- 
yond the promise of his age; doing, in the fisure of a 
lamb, the feats of a lion; lie liath, indeed, better bet- 
tered expectation than you must e^^pect of me to tell 
you how. 

Leon. He hath an uncle here In Messina will be 
very much glad of it. 

Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and 
there appears mucii ]oy in him; even so much that 
joy could not show Itself modest enough without a 
badge of bitterness. 

Leon. Did he break out into tears? 

Mess. In great measure. 

Li<m. A kind overflow of kindness: There are no 
faces truer than those that are so washed. How 
much better is it to weep at joy, than to Joy at weep- 
ing. 

Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned 
from the wars, or no? 

Mess. I know none of that name, lady; there was 
none such in the army of any sort. 

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? 

Bero. My cousin means signior Benedick of Padua. 

Mess. O, he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he 
was. 

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and chal- 
lenged Cupid ac the flight: and my uncle's fool, read- 
ing the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and chal- 
lenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many 
hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how 
many hath he killed? for, Indeed, I promised to eat 
all of his killing. 

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too 
much; but he '11 be meet with you, I doubt It not. 

Mess. He hath done good service, lady. In these 
wars. 

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to 
eat It: he is a very valiant trencherman, he hath an 
excellent stomach. 

Mvss. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beat And a good soldier to a lady:— But what is he 
to a lord? 

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed 
with all honourable virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed: he Is no less than a stuffed 
man: but for the stuffing,— Well, we are all mortal. 

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece: there 
Is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and 
her: they never meet but there is a skirmish of wit 
between them. 

Beat. Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last 
conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and 
now is the whole man governed with one: so that if 
he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him 
bear it for a difference between himself and his 
horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be 
known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion 
now? He hath every month a new sworn brother. 

Mess. Is it possible? 

Beat. Very easily possible; he wears his faith but 
as the fashion of his hat; It ever clianges with the 
next block. [books. 

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman Is not in your 

Beat. No; an he were, I would burn my study. 
But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no 
young squarer now, that will make a voyage with 
him to the devil? [ble Claudio. 

Mess. He is most in the company of the right no- 
Beat. O Lord! he will hang upon him like a dis- 
ease: he is sooner caught than thejpestilence, and 
the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble 
Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it will cost 
him a thousand pound ere he be cured. 

Mesa. I will hold friends with you, lady. 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon. You '11 ne'er run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 
Jlfe«s. Don Pedro is approached. 

Enter Donl?eAra, attended by Balthazar and others, 
Bon John, Claudio, and Benediclc. 

D. Pedro. Good slgnoir Leonato, you are come to 
meet your trouble: the fashion of the world is to 
avoid cost, and you encounter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the like- 
ness of your grace; for trouble being gone, comfort 
should remain; but when you depart from me sor- 
row abides, and happiness takes his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. 
I think this is your daughter. 

Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 

Bene. Were you in doubt that you asked her? 

Leon. Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a 
child. 

D. Pedro. You have it full. Benedick: we may guess 
by this what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady 
fathers herself:- Be happy, lady! for you are like an 
honourable father. 

Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would 
not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, 
as like him as she is. 

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signior 
Benedick: nobody marks you. [living? 

Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain! are you yet 

Beat. Is it possible Disdain should die, while she 
hath such meet food to feed it as signior Benedick? 
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain if you come 
m her presence. 

Bene. Then is courtesy a turncoat:— But it is cer- 
tain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and 
I would I could And in my heart that I had not a 
hard heart: for, truly, I love none. 

Beat. Adear happiness to women; they would else 
have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank 
God, and my cold blood, I am of your hwnour for 



that; I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than 
a man swear he loves me. 

Bene. God keep your ladyship still In that mind! so 
some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate 
scratched face. 

Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 't 
were such a face as yours were. 

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast 
of yours. 

Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your 
tongue; and so good a contlnuer: But keep your 
way o' God's name; I have done. 

Beat. You always end with a jade's trick; I know 
you of old. 

D. Pedro. This is the sum of all, Leonato.— Signior 
Claudio, and signior Benedick,— my dear friend 
Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him we shall 
stay here at the least a month; and he heartily prays 
soriie occasion may detain us longer; I dare swear he 
Is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 

Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be for- 
sworn. —Let me bid you welcome, my lord; being 
reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe you all 
duty. 

D. John. I thank you: I am not of many words, 
but I thank you. 

Leon. Please it your grace lead on? 

D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato; we will go to- 
gether. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. 

Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of 
signior Leonato? 

JBene. I noted her not: but I looked on her. 

Claud. Is she not a modest young lady? 

Bene. Do you question me as an honest man should 
do, for my simple true judgment; or would you have 
me speak after my custom, as being a professed 
tyrant to their sex? 

Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. 

Bene. Why, i' faith, methinks she is too low for a 
high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too little 
for a great praise; only this commendation I can af- 
ford her: that were she other than she is, she were 
unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I do 
not like her. 

Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport; I pray thee, tell 
me truly how thou likest her. 

Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after 

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? [her? 

Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you 
this with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting 
Jack; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-flnder, and Vul- 
can a rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a 
man take you, to go in the song? 

Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that 
ever I looked on. 

Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see 
no such matter; there 's her cousin, an she were not 
possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty 
as the first of May do:h the last of December. But 
I hope you have no intent to turn husband; have 
you? 

Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I had 
sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 

Bene. Is 't come to this, i' faith? Hath not the 
world one man but he will wear his cap with sus- 
picion? Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score 
again? Go to, i' faith: an thou wilt needs thrust thy 
neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away 
Sundays. Look, Don Pedro is returned to seek you. 

Reenter Don Pedro. 

X). Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that 
you followed not to Leonato's? [tell. 

Bene, I would your grace would constrain me to 

D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 

Bene. You hear, count Claudio: I can be secret 
as a dumb man, I would have you think so; but on 
my allegiance, — mark you this, on my allegiance:- 
He is in love. With who?— now that is your grace's 
part.— Mark how short his answer is:- With Hero, 
Leonato's short daughter. 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: 'it Is not so, nor 
't was not so; but, indeed, God forbid it should be so.' 

Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God for- 
bid it should be otherwise. 

D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her; for the lady is 
very well worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 

J). Pedro. By my troth I speak my thought. 

Claud. And in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 

Bene. And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, 
I spoke mine. 

Clatid. That I love her, I feel. 

X>. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, 
nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion 
that fire cannot melt out of me: I will die in it at 
the stake. 

D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in 
the despite of beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain his part but in 
the force of his will. 

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; 
that she brought me up, I likewise give her most 
humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat 
winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an in- 
visible baldrick, all women shall pardon me: Be- 
cause, I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, 
I will do myself the right to trust none; and the • 
fine is, (for the which I may go the finer,) I will live 
a bachelor. [love. 

D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with 

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, 
my lord; not witli love: prove that ever I lose more 
blood with love than I will get again with drinking. 

Kick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen, and 
ang me up at the door of a brothel house for the 
sign of blind Cupid. 

I). Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this 
faith thou wilt prove a notable argument. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and 
shoot at me; and he that hits me let him be clapped 
on the shoulder and called Adam. 

D. Pedro. Well, astime shall try: 
'In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.' 

Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever this sensi- 
ble Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns and 
set them in my forehead: and let me be vilely 
painted; and in such gi-eat letters as they write, 
'Here is good horse to hire,' let them signify under 
my sign,—' Here you may see Benedick the married 
man.' 



Claud. If this should ever happen thou wouldst 
be horn-mad. 

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 

/;. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. , 
In the mean time, good signior Benedick, repair to 
Leonato's; commend me to him, and tell him I will 
not fall him at supper; for Indeed, he hatli made 
great preparation. 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such 
an embassage: and so I commit you— 

Claud. To the tuition of God: From my house (If 
I had it)— 

D. Pedro. The sixth of July: Your loving friend. 
Benedick. 

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not: The body of your 
discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and 
the guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere 
you flout old ends any further, examine your con- 
science; and so I leave you. [Exit Benedick. 

Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me 
good. 

D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach; teach It but 
And thou shalt see how apt It Is to learn [how. 

Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord? 

D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she 's his only heir: 
Dost thou affect her, Claudio? 

Claud. O my lord. 

When you went onward on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
Than to drive liking to the name of love: 
But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
All prompting me how fair young Hero Is, 
Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars. 

Z>. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently. 
And tire the hearer with a book of words: 
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it: 
And I will break with her; [and with her father. 
And thou shalt have her:] Was 't not to this end, 
That thou begann'st to twist so fine a story? 

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love. 
That know love's grief by his complexion! 
But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 

J). Predo. What need the bridge much broader 
than the flood? 
The fairest grant is the necessity: 
Look, what will serve is flt: 't is once, thoulovest; 
And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
I know we shall have revelling tonight; 
I will assume thy part in some disguise. 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio; 
And in her bosom I '11 unclasp my heart. 
And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
And strong encounter of my amorous tale: 
Then, after, to her father will I break; 
And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine: 
In practice let us put it presently. [Exezmt. 

Scene II.— .4 Boom in Leonato's Souse. 
Enter Leonato and Antonio. 

Leon. How now, brother? Where Is my cousin, 
your son? Hath he provided this music? 

Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can 
tell you news that you yet dream not of. 

Leon. Are they good? 

Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have a 
good cover; they show well outward. The prince and 
count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in 
my orchard, were thus overheard by a man of mine: 
Tlie prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my 
niece, your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it 
this night in a dance; and if he found her accord- 
nnt, he meant to take the present time by the top, 
and instantly break with you of it. 

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this? 

Ant. A good sharp fellow; I will send for him, and 
question him yourself. 

Leon. No, no; we will hold it as a dream, till it ap- 
pear itself :— but I will acquaint my daughter withal, 
that she may be the better prepared for an answer, 
if peradventure this be true. Go you and tell her of 
it. [Several persons cross the stage.'] Cousins, you 
know what you have to do,— O, 1 cry you mercy, 
friend; go you with me, and I will use your BklU:— 
Good cousins, have a care this busy time. 

Scene III. — Another Boom in Leonato's Souse. 
Enter Don John and Conrade. 

Con. What the good year, my lord! why are you 
thus out of measure sad? 

D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that 
breeds, therefore the sadness is without limit. 

Con. You should hear reason. 

D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing 
bringeth it? [ance. 

Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient suffer- 

D. John. I wonder that thou, being (as thou say'st 
thou art), born under Saturn, goest aoout to apply a 
moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cannot 
hide what I am: I must be sad when I have cause, 
and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have stom- 
ach, and wait for no man's leisure; sleep when I 
am drowsy, and tend on no man's business; laugh 
when I am merry, and claw no man in his humour. 

Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show of 
this, till you may do it without controlment. You 
have of late stood out against your brother, and he 
hath ta'en you newly into his grace; where it is im- 
possible you should take root, but by the fair weath- 
er that you make yourself: it is needful that you 
frame the season for your own harvest. 

D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge than 
a rose in his grace; and it better fits my blood to 
be disdain'd of all than to fashion a carriage to rob 
love from any: in this, thougli I cannot be said to be 
a flattering honest man, it must not be denied that I 
am a plain dealing villain. lam trusted with a muz 
zie, and enfranchised with a clog: therefore I have 
deci'eed not to sing in my cage: If I had my mouth 
I would bite; if I had my liberty I would do my lik 
ing: in the mean time, let me be that I am, and seek 
not to alter me. 

Con. Can you make no use of your discontent? 

D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. Who 
comes here? What news, Borachio? 
Enter Borachio. 

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper; thi 



40 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act II. 



prince, vour brother, is royally pntertalnetl by Leo- 
nato; anrt 1 can give you intelligence of an Intended 
marriage. , , . , ,,j , 

n. John. Will it serve for any model to build mis- 
chief on? What Is he for a fool that betroths him- 
self to unquietness? , , ^ . , 

Sora. Marry, It Is your brother's right hand. 

D. John, who? the most exquisite Claudio.'' 

Bura. Even he. . . , ^ j ,. o 

D. John. A proper squire! And who, and who? 
whi'-h way looks he? , [Leonato 

Sora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of 

V. John. A very forward March-chick! How came 
vou to this? 

Bora, Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was 
smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and 
Claudio. hand in hand. In sad conference: I whipt 
behind the arras; and there heard It agreed upon, 
that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and 
having obtained her give her to count Claudio. 

D. John. Come, come, let us thither; this may prove 
food to my displeasure; that young start-up hath all 
the glorv of mv overthrow; If I can cross him any 
way'l bless myself every way: You are both sure, 
and will assist me? 

Con. To the death, my lord. 

Z>. John. Let us to the great supper: their cheer 
Is the greater that I am subdued: 'Would the cook 
were of ray mind ! Shall we go prove what's to be 
done? TT, » 

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I.— A Hall in Leonato's Hovse. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and 

others. 

Leon. Was not count John here at supper? 

Ant. I saw him not. 

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks! I never 
can see him but I am heart-burned an hour after. 

Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 

Beat. He were an excellent man that were made 
just in the mid-way between him and Benedick; the 
one is too like an image, and says nothing; and the 
other too like my lady's eldest son, evermore tat- 
tling. 

Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count 
John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in 
signior Benedick's face,— 

Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, and 
money enough in his purse, such a man would win 
any woman in the world,— if he could get her good- 
will. 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee 
a husband if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 

Ant. In faith, she is too curst. 

Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen 
God's sending that way: for it is said, 'God sends a 
curst cow short horns; ' but to a cow too curst he 
sends none. [horns. 

Leon. So, by being too curst God will send you no 

Beat. Just, if he send me no husband; for the 
which blessing I am at him upon my knees every 
morning and evening: Lord '. I could not endure a 
husband with a beard on his face: I had rather lie 
in the woollen. 

Leon. You may light upon a husband that hath no 
beard. 

Beat. What should I do with hinrt? dress him In my 
apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewoman? 
He that hath a beard is more than a youth; and he 
that hath no beard is less than a man: and he that 
is more than a youth is not for mo; and he that is 
less than a man I am not for him: Therefore I will 
even take sixpence in earnest of the bearward, and 
lead his apes into hell. 

Leon. Well then, go you into hell ? 

Beat. No; but to tlie gate; and there will the devil 
meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, 
and say, ' Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to 
heaven; here 's no place for you maids; ' so deliver I 
up my apes, and away to Saint Peter: for the heav- 
ens, he snows me where the bachelors sit, and there 
live we as merry as the day is long. 

Ant. Well, niece, [to Hero] I trust you will be lulled 
by your father. 

Beat. Yes, faith; it Is my cousin's duty to make 
courtesy, and say, ' Father, as it please you:'— but yet 
for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow 
or else make another courtesy, and say, ' Father, as 
it please me.' 

Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted 
with a husband. 

Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal 
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be ov- 
er-mastered with a piece of valiant dust? to make 
account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, 
uncle, I '11 none: Adam's sons are my brethren; and 
truly I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you: if the 
prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your 
answer. 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you 
be not wooed in good time; if the prince be too im- 
portant, tell him there is measure in everything, and 
so dance out the answer. For hear me. Hero; Woo- 
ing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a 
measure, and a cinque pace: the first suit is hot and 
hasty, like a Scotch Jig, and full as fantastical; the 
wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure full of 
state and ancientry; and then comes repentance, 
and, with his bad legs, falls into the cinque-pace 
faster and faster, till he sink into his grave. 

Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 

Beat. 1 have a good eye, uncle; I can see a church 
by daylight. [good room. 

Leon. The revellers are entering, brother, make 
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Balthazar; Don 

John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, and others, mark- 
ed. 

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your 
friend? 

Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and 
say nothing, I am yours for the walk; and, especial- 
ly, when I walk away. 
D. Pedro. With me in your company? 

Hero. I may say so when I please. 

I). Pedro. And when please you to sav so? 

Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend the 
lute should be like the case ! 
D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; Within the 
house IS Jove. 



Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd. 

D. Pedro. Speak low, it you speak love. 

[Takes Iter aside. 

Balth. Well, I would you did like me. 

Marg. So would not I, for your own sake, for I have 
manv ill qualities. 

VuUh. Which is one? 

Marg. I say my prayers aloud. [Amen. 

Balth. I love you the better; the hearers may cry, 

Ma rg. God match me with a good dancer ! 

Bahh. Amen. 

Marg. And God keep him out of my sight, when 
the dance is done !— Answer, clerk. 

Balth. No more \\ irds: the clerk is answered. 

Urs. I know you well enough; you are signior 

Ant. At a word, I am not. [Antonio. 

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 

Ant. To tell vou true, I counterfeit him. 

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless you 
were the very man: Here 's his dry hand up and 
down; you are he, you are he. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

Urs. Come, come; do you think I do not know you 
by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself? Go 
to, inum, j'ou are he: graces will appear, and there 's 
an end. 

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? 

Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 

Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? 

Bene. Not now. 

Beat. That I was disdainful,— and that I had my 
good wit out of the ' Hundred merry Tales;'— Well, 
this was signior Benedick that said so. 

Bene. What 's he? 

Beat. I am sure you know him well enough. 

Bene. Not I, believe me. 

Beat. Did he never make you laugh? 

Bene. 1 pray you, what is he? 

Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull 
fool; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: 
none but libertines delight in him; and the commen- 
dation is not in his wit but in his villainy; for lie 
both pleases men and angers them, and then they 
laiigh athim and beat him: lam sure he is in the 
fleet: I would he had boarded me. 

Bene. When I know the gentleman, I 'II tell him 
what you say. 

Beat. Do, do: he 'II but break a comparison or two 
on me; which, peradventure, not marked, or not 
laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then 
there 's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool Will eat 
no supper that night. [Music within.] We must fol- 
low the leaders. 

Bene. In every good thing. 

Beat. Nay. if they lead to any 111, I will leave them 
at the next turning. 

[Dance. Then exennt all hut Don John, 
Borachio, and Claudio. 

D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, 
and hath withdrawn her father to break with him 
about it: The ladies follow her, and but one visor 
remains. [bearing. 

Bora. And that is Claudio: I know him by his 

D. John. Are not you signior Benedick? 

Claud. You know me well; I am he. 

I). John. Signior, you are very near my brother 
in his love: he is enamour'd on Hero; I pray you dis- 
suade him from her, she is no equal for his birth; 
you may do the part of an honest man in it. 

Claud. How know you he loves her? 

J). John. I heard him swear his affection. 

Bora. So did I too; and he swore he would mai-rj' 
her to-night. 

D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. 

[V.xeunt Don John at^d Borachio. 

Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick. 
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. 
'T is certain so;— the prince woos for himself. 
Friendship is constant in all other things. 
Save in the office and affairs of love: 
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues;' 
Let every eye negoclate for itself, 
And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch. 
Against wliose charms faith melteth into blood. 
This is an accident of hourly proof 
Which I mistrusted not: Farewell, therefore, Hero! 
Re-enter Benedick. 

Bene. Count Claudio? 

Claud. Yea, the same. 

Bene. Come.will you go with me? 

Claud. Whither. 

Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
business, count. What fashion will you wear the gar- 
land of? About your neck, like an usurer's chain? or 
under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? You must 
wear it one way, for the prince hath got your Hero. 
Claud. I wish him joy of her. 

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover; 
so the.y sell bullocks. But did you think the prince 
would have served you thus? 
Claud. I pray you, leave me. 

Bene. Hoi now you strike like the blind man; 't 
was the boy that stole your meat and you '11 beat 
the post. 
Claud. If it will not be, I '11 leave you. [Exit. 

Bene. Alas! poor hurt fowl! Now will lie creep 
into sedges. But that my lady Beatrice sliould know 
me, affd not know me! The prince's fool!— Ha, it 
may be I go under that title, because I am merry.— 
Yea; but so; I am apt to do myself wrong: I am 
not so reputed: it is the base though bitter disposi- 
tion of Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, 
and so gives me out. Well, I '11 be revenged as I 
ma.y. 

Re-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Pedro. Now, signior, where 's the count; Did 
you see him? 

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of 
lady Fame. I found him here us melancholy as a 
lodge in a warren; I told him, and I think told him 
true, that your grace had got the will of this young 
lady; and I offered him my company to a willow- 
tree, eithertomalcehimaga'rland, as being forsaken, 
or to bind him a rod, as being worthy to be vhipped. 

I). Pedro. To be whipped! What 's his fault? 

Bene. The flat transgression of a schooboy; who 
being overjoy'd with finding a bird's nest shows it 
his companion, and he .steals it. 

D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression? 
the transgression is in the stealer. 

Bene. Yet it had not been amiss the rod had been 
made, and the garland too; for the garland he 



might have worn himself; and the rod he might 
have bestowed on you, who, as I take it, have 
stolen his bird's nest. 

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and re- 
store them to the owner. 

Bene. It their singing answer your saying, by my 
faith, you say honestly. 

D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to 
you: the gentleman that danced with her told her 
she is much wrong'd tiy you. 

Bote. O, she mlsusecl me past the endurance of a 
block: an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would 
have answer'd her; my very visor began to assume 
life and scold with her: She told me, not thinking 
I had been myself, that I was the prince's jester, 
and that I was duller than a great thaw; huddling 
jest upon jest, with such impossible conveyance up- 
on me, that I stood like a man at a mark, with a 
whole army shooting at me: She speaks poniards, 
and every word stabs: if her breath »' ere as terrible 
as her terminations, there were no living near her; 
she would infect to the north star. I would not 
marry her though she were endowed with all that 
Adam had left him before he transgressed: she 
would have made Hercules have turned spit; yea, 
and have cleft his club to make the fire too. Come, 
talk not of her: you shall find her the infernal Ate 
in good apparel. I would to God some scholar would 
conjure her; for, certainly, while she is here, a man 
may live as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary; and peo- 
ple sin upon purpose because they would go thitner; 
so, indeed, all disquiet, horror, and perturbation fol- 
low her. 
Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leonato, an<Z Hero. 

D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 

Bene.. Will your grace command me any service to 
the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand 
now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send 
me on; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the 
farthest inch of Asia; bring you the length of Prester 
.lohn's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's 
beard; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, — rather 
than hold three words conterence with this harpy: 
you have no employment for me? 

D. Pedro. None^ but to desire your good company. 

Bene. O God, sir, here 's a dish I love not; I can- 
not endure my lady Tongue. [LMt. 

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the 
heart of signior Benedick. 

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while; and 
I gave him use for it— a double heart for a single 
one: marry, once before he won it of me with false 
dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost 
it. 

D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you have 
put him down. 

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, 
lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have 
brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. 

D. Pedro. Why, how now, count? wherefore are 

Claud. Not sad, my lord. [you sad? 

I). Pedro. How then? sick? 

Claud. Neither, my lord. 

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, normerry 
nor well: but civil, count; civil as an orange, arid 
something of that jealous complexion. 

D. Pedro. I' faith, lady, I think your blazon to be 
true; though I '11 be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is 
false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and 
fair Hero is won; I have broke witli her fatlier, and 
his good will obtained: name the day of marriage, 
and God give thee joy! 

I^on. Count, take of me my daughter, and with her 
my fortunes; his grace hath made the match, and all 
grace say Amen to It ! 

Beat. Speak, count, 't is your cue. 

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I 
were but little happy if I could say how much. lady, 
as you are mine, I am yours: I give away myself for 
you, and dote upon the exchange. 

Beat. Speak, cousin: or, if yon cannot, stop his 
mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak neither. 

D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. 

Beat. Yea, my lord, I thank it; poor fool, it keeps 
on the windy side of care:— My cousin tells him in his 
ear that he is in her heart. 

Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 

Beat. Good lord, for alliance!— Thus goes every one 
to the world but I, and I am sunburned; I may sit in 
a corner, and cry, heighho for a husband! 

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 

Beat. I would rather have one of your father's get- 
ting: Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you? 
Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could 
come by them. 

D.Pedro. Will you have me, lady? ' 

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another for 
working-days; your grace is too costly to wear every 
day: But, 1 beseech your grace, pardon me; I was 
born to speak all mirth, and no matter. 

D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to be 
merry best becomes you: for, out of question, you 
were born in a merry hour. 

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then 
there was a star danced, and underthat was I born.— 
Cousins, God give you joy! [you of? 

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle.— By yourgrace's par- 
don. [/J.rit Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. 

Leon. Tnere's little of the melanchol.v element in 
her, my lord: she is never .sad, but when she sleeps; 
and not ever sad then; fori have heard my daughter 
say she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and wak- 
ed herself with laughing. 

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a hus- 
band, [of suit. 

L'on, O, by no means; she mocks all her wooers out 

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedlcji. 

I^on. O lord, my lord, if tliey were but a week 
married they would talk themselves mod. 

D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go to 
church? 

Claud. To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on crutches 
till love have all his rites. 

Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is hence 
a just seven-nigiit; and a time too brief too, to have 
all things answer my mind. 

D. Pedro. Come, jou shake the head at so long a 
breathing; but I warrant thee, Claudio, the time 
shall not go dully by us; I will, in the interim, un- 
dertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to bring 
signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a moun- 



TOENK I.] 



MCVH AI)0 ABOUT .VOTIIIXG. 



tain of affection, the one wi'"i the othoi'. I would 
fain have It a inatoh; and I doubt not but to fashion 
It, If you three will but minister such assistance as I 
shall givt you direction. 

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me ten 
night's watchings. ClaiuJ. And I, my lord. 

D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero';' 

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to help 



iiy cousin to a good husband. 
2). ~ ■ ■• • • 



Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest 
husband that I know: thus far can I prai.se him; he 
is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and con- 
firmed honest.v. I will teach you how to humour 
your couslii, that she shall fall in love with Bene- 
dick:— and I, with your two helps, will so practise 
on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and 
his queasy stomach, he shall fall in love with Bea- 
tnce. If we can do tills, Cupid is no longer an arch- 



that he hath wronged his honour in marrying the re 
nowned Claudio (whose estimation do you mightily 
hold lip) to a contaminated stale, such a one as Hero. 

/;. John. What proof shall I nu>ke of that? 

Bora. Proof enougli to misuse the prince, to vex 
Claudio. to undo Hero, and kill Leonato: Look you 
for :ui\' (tthrr issue? [anything. 

/>. Juhit. Only to despite them, I will endeavour 

Bord. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don 
Pedro and the count Claudio, alone: tell them that 
you know that Hero loves me: intend a kind of 
zeal both to tlie prince and Claudio, as— In a love of 
your brother's honour, who hath made this match; 
and his friend's reputation, who Is thus like to be 
cozened with the semblance of a maid,— that you 
liave discovered thus. They will scarcely believe 
this without trial: otter them Instances; which shall 
bear no less likelihood than to see nie at her cham- 



love: and su(^h a man is Claudio. I have known 
when there was no music with him but the drum and 
the life; and now had he rather hear the tabor and 
the pipe: I have known when he would have walked 
ten mile afoot, to see a good arnu>ur: and now will 
he He ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a 
new doublet. He was wont to speak plain, and to 
the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; and 
now is he turned ortliographer; his words are a 
very fantastical banquet, ]ust so many strange 
dishes. Ma.y I be so converted, and see with these 
eyes? I cannot tell; 1 think not: I will not be 
sworn but love may transform me to an oyster; but 
I '11 take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster 
of nie, he shall never make me su3h a fool. One 
woman is fair; yet I am well: another is wise; yet I 
am well: another virtuous; yet I am well: but till 
all graces be iu one woman, one woman shall not 




[act rn.— scene i.] 



Urs. So angle we for Beatrice; who even now is couched in the woodbine coverture. 



er; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love- 
gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you ray drift. 

[li'xeitnt. 
Scene II. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
Enter Don John and Borachio. 

D. John. It is so; the count Claudio shall marry 
the daughter of Leonato. 

Bora. Yea, my lord, but I can cross it. 

1). John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will 
l>e medieinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to 
him; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, 
ranges evenly witli mine. How canst thou cross 
this marriage? 

Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly that 
no dishonesty shall appear in me. 

D. John. Show me briefly how. 

Bora. I think I told your lordship, a year since, 
how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the 
waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. 

D. .John. I remember. 

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the 
night, appoint iter to look out at her lady's chamber- 
window. 

D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of 
this marriage? 

Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. Go 
you to the prmce your brother; spare not to tell him, 



ber-window; hear me call Margaret, Hero; hear 
Margaret term me Claudio; and bring them to see 
this, the very night: before the intended wedding: 
for, in the meantime, I will so fashion the matter, 
that Hero .shall be absent; and there shall appear 
such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jeal- 
ousy shall be called assurance, and all the prepara- 
tion overthrown. 

D. .John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 
I will put it in practice: Be cunning in the working 
this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 

Bora. Be thou con.stant in the accusation, and my 
cunning shall not shame me. 

D. .John. I will presently go learn their day of 
marriage. \Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Leonato's Garden. 
Enter Benedick and a Boy. 

Bene. Boy! Bon. SIgnlor. 

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book; bring it 
hither to me in the orchard. 

Boy. I am here alreadv, sir. 

Bene. I know that;— but I would have thee hence, 
and hero again. [Ex-ir. Boy.J— I do much wonder 
that one man seeing how much another man Is a fool 
when he dedicates his behaviours to l"ve, will, after 
he hath laughed at such shallow follies In others, 
become tlie argument of his own scorn, by falling in 



come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that 's cer- 
tain; wise, or I '11 none; virtuous, or I "11 never 
cheapen her; fair, or I '11 never look on her; mild, 
or come not near me; noble, or not I for an angel; 
of good discourse, an excellent musiclKn, and her 
hair shall be of what colour it please God. Ha: the 
prince and monsieur Love! 1 will hide me in the 
arbour. [Withdraws. 

Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio. 

7). Pcdi'o. Come, shall we hear this music? 

Claud. Yea, my good lord:— How still the evening 
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony! [is, 

D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid him- 
self? 

Claud. O, very well, my lord: the music ended. 
We '11 fit the kid fox with a pennyworth. 
Enter Balthazar, with miisie. 

D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we '11 heai- that song 
again. 

Balth. O good m.y lord, tax not so bad a voice 
To slander music any more than once. 

D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, 
To put a strange face on his own perfection:- 
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no inore. 

Ballh. Because you talk of wooing. 1 will sing: 
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
To her he thinks not worthy; yet he woos: 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTirmo. 



[Act in. 



Yet win he Bwear, he loves. 

D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come: 

Or, If thou will hold longer argument 
Do It ill notes. 

Batth. Note this l>efore my notes, 

There" 's not a note of mine that 's worth the noting. 

!). Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he 
speaks; 
Note, notes, forsooth, and noting! [Music. 

Bene. Now, ' Divine air !' now is his soul ravished ! 
—Is it not strange that sheep's guts should hale 
souls out of men's bodies?— Well, a horn for my 
money, when all 's done. 

Balthazar sings. 

I. 

Balth. Sigh no more, ladles, sigh no more; 
Men were deceivers ever; 
One foot in sea, and one on shore; 
To one thing constant never; 
Then sigh not so. 
But let them go. 
And be you blithe and bonny; 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 

II. 

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo 

Of dumps so dull and heavy; 
The fraud of men was ever so. 

Since summer first was leavy. 
Then sigh not so, &c. 

3. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 

Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 

jD. Pedro. Ma? uo: no, faith; thou slngest well 
•nough for a shift. 

Bene. [Aside.] An he had been a dog that should 
kave howled thus they would have hanged him: and, 
I pray God, his bad voice bode no mischief ! I had 
as lief liave heard the night-raven, come what plague 
•ould have come after it. 

D. Pedro. Yea, marry; [to Claudlo.]— Dost thou 
hear Balthazar? I pray thee, get us some excellent 
music; for to-morrow night we would have It at the 
lady Hero's chamber-window. 

Balth. The best I can, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exit Balthazar.] Come 
hither, Leonato: What was It you told me of to-day? 
that your niece Beatrice was in love with signior 
Benedick? 

Claud. O, ay;— Stalk on. stalk on: the fowl sits. 
(Aside to Pedro. ] I did never think that lady would 
nave loved any man. 

Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that 
she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she 
hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to 
abhor. 

Bene. Is 't possible? Sits the wind in that corner? 

[Aside. 

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to 
think of it; but that she loves him with an enraged 
affection.— it is past the infinite of thought. 

D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 

Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 

Leon. O God! counterfeit! There was never coun- 
terfeit of passion came so near the life of passion, as 
she discovers it. 

X). Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she? 

Claud. Bait the hook well; this flsh will bite. 

[Aside. 

Leon. What effects, my lord! She will sit you,— 
Tou heard my daughter tell you how. 

Claud. She did, indeed. 

X>. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze me: 
1 would have thought her spirit had been invincible 
against all assaults of affection. 

Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord; espe- 
cially against B,^nedick. 

Bene. [Aside.] I should think this a gull, but that 
the white-bearded fellow speaks it: knavery cannot, 
sure, hide itself in such reverence. 

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up. 

[Aside. 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to 
Benedick? [torment. 

Leon. No; and swears she never wilh that's her 

Claud. 'T is true Indeed; so your daughter says: 
'Shall I,' says she, ' that have so oft encountered him 
with scorn, write to him that I love him?' 

Leon. This says she now when she is beginning to 
write to him: for she'll be up twenty times a night : 
and there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ 
a sheet of paper:— my daughter tells us oil. 

Claud. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remem- 
ber a pretty ,iest your daughter told us of. 

Leon. O!- When she had writ It, and was reading it 
over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between the 
sheet? Claud. That. 

I^on. O! she tore the letter into a thousand half- 
pence; railed at herself, that she should be so im- 
modest to write to one that she knew would flout 
her: ' I measure him,' savs she, ' by my own spirit; 
for I should flout him, if he writ to me; yea, though 
I love him, I should.' 

Claud. Then down upon her knees .she falls, weeps, 
sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses:— 
■ O sweet Benedick! God give me patience!' 

Leon. She doth indeed; my daughter says so: and 
the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that m.v 
daughter is sometime afeard she will do a desperate 
outrage to herself. It Is very true. 

D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew of it by 
some other, it she will not discover it. 

Claiul. To what end? He would but make a sport 
of It, and torment the poor lady worse. 

p. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang 
him: Slie's an excellent sweet lady; and, out of all 
suspicion, she is virtuous. 

Claud. And .she is exceeding wise. 

X). Pedro. In everything, but in loving Benedick, 

Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in 
so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one that 
blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have 
Justcause, being her uncle and her guardian. 

B. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage 
on me; I would have daff'd all other respects, and 
made her half myself: I pray you tell Benedick of 
it, and liear what he will .say. 

Leon. Were it good, think you? 

Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die; for she 
says she will die if he love her not; and she will die 
ere she make her love known: and she will die if he 



woo her, rather than she will 'bate one breath of 
her accustomed crossness. 

I). Pedro. She doth well: if she should make tender 
of her love 't is very possible he '11 scorn it: for the 
man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. 

Claud. He is a very proper man. [ness. 

D. fedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward happi- 

Claud. 'Foi'e God, and in my miud, very wise. 

J). Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that 
are like wit. 

L,eon. And I take him to be valiant. 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you: and in the 
managing of quaiTels you may see he is wise; for 
either he avoids them with great discretion, or un- 
dertakes them with a Christian-like fear. 

Leon. If he do fear God he must necessarily keep 
peace; if he break the peace he ought to enter into a 
quarrel with fear and trembling. 

D. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth 
fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some 
large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your 
niece: Shall we go seek Benedick, and tell him of 
her love? 

Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear itout 
with good counsel. [heart out first. 

Leon. Nay, that 's impossible; she may wear her 

D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it by your 
daughter. Let it cool the while. I love Benedick 
well: and I could wish he would modestly examine 
himself to see how much he is unworthy to have so 
good a lady. 

Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. 

Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will 
never trust my expectation. [Aside. 

I). Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for 
her: and that must your daughter and her gentle- 
woman carry. The sport will be, when they hold 
one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such 
matter; that 's the scene that I would see, which 
will be merely a dumb show. I^et us send her to call 
him in to dinner. [Aside. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 

Benedick advances from the arbour. 

Bene. This can be no trick: The conference was 
sadly borne.— They have the truth of this from 
Hero. They seem to pity the lady; it seems her 
affections have their full bent. Love me! why, it 
must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they 
say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love 
come from her; thej; say too, that she will rather 
die than give any sign of affection.— I did never 
think to marry— I must not seem proud:— Happy 
are they that hear their detractions, and can put 
them to mending. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a 
truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous— 't is 
so, I cannot re[)rove it; and wise, but for loving me: 
—By my troth, it is no addition to her wit;— nor no 
great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in 
love with her.— t may chance have some odd quirks 
and remnants of wic broken on me, because 1 have 
railed so long against marriage: But doth not the 
appetite alter? A man loves the meat in his youth 
that he cannot endure in his age: Shall quips, and 
sentences, and these paper bullets of the brain, awe 
a man from the career of his humour? No: The 
world must be peopled. When I said I would die a 
bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were 
married.— Here comes Beatrice: By this day, she's 
a fair lady: I do spy some marks of love in her. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come 
in to dinner. 

Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 

Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than 
you take pains to thank me: if it had been painful 
I would not have come. 

Bene. You take pleasure, then, in the message? 

Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a 
knife's point, and choke a daw withal:— You have 
no stomach, signior; fare you well. [Exit. 

Bene. Ha! ' Against m.y will I am sent to bid you 

come in to dinner'— there 's a double meaning in 

that: 'I took no more pains for those thanks, than 

you took pains to thank me'— that 's as much as to 

say. Any pains that I take for you is as easy as 

thanks:— If I do not take pity of her I am a villain; 

if I do not love her I am a Jew: I will go get her 

picture. [Exit. 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— Leonato's Garden. 

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the parlour; 
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
Proposina with the prince and Claudio: 
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us; 
And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
AVhere honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun. 
Forbid the sun to enter;— like favourites. 
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
Against that power that bred it:— there will she hide 

her. 
To listen our propose: This is thy office. 
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 

Marg. I '11 make her come, 1 warrant you, pre- 
sently. [Exit. 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come. 
As we do trace this alle.v up and down. 
Our talk must only be of Benedick: 
When I do name liim, let it be thy part 
To praise him more than ever man did merit. 
My talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
Is sick in love with Beatrice: Of this matter 
Is little Cupid's craft.v arrow made, 
That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin; 

Enter Beatrice, behind. 
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground to hear our conference. 

Urs. 'The pleasantest angling is to see the flsh 
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream. 
And greedily devour the treacherous bait: 
So amrle wvtov Beatrice; who even now 
Iscouclic il 111 the woodbine coverture: 
Fear you not my part of the dialogue. [thing 

Uero. Then go we near her, that her car lose no- 
Of the false sweet bait that we la.v for it.— 

[The!/ advance to the bower. 
No, truly, Ursula, she Is too disdainful; 



I know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
As haggards of the rock. 

Urs. But are vou sure. 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely? 

Hero. So says the prince, and my newtrothed lord. 

Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? 

Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of It: 
But I persuaded them, if they lov'd Benedick, 
To wish him wrestle with affection. 
And never to let Beatrice know of it. 

Urs. Why did you so? Doth not the gentleman 
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, 
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? 

Hero. O God of love! I know he doth deserve 
As much as may be yielded to a man: 
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart 
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice: 
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes. 
Misprising what they Iook on; and her wit 
Values itself so highly, that to her 
All matter else seems weak: she cannot love, 
Nor take no shape nor project of affection. 
She is so self-endeared. Urs. Sure, I think so; 

And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 

Hero. Why, you speak truth: I never yet saw maa. 
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, 
But she would spell him backward: if fair fac'd. 
She would swear the gentleman should he her sister; 
If black, why nature, drawing of an antic. 
Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance, HI headed; 
If low, an agate very vilely cut: 
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds; 
If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
So turns she every man the wrong side out; 
And never gives to truth and virtue that 
Which slmpleness and merit purchaseth. 

!7rs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. 

Hero. No, not; to be so odd, and from all fashions. 
As Beatrice Is, cannot be commendable: 
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak. 
She would mock me into air; O, she would langhme 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd Are, 
Consume away in sighs, waste Inwardly: 
It were a better death than die with mocks; 
Which is as bad as die with tickling. 

i7i-8. Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say. 

Hero. No; rather I will go to Benedick, 
And counsel him to fight against his passion: 
And, truly, I '11 devise some honest slanders 
To stain my cousin with: One doth not know 
How much an ill word may empoison liking. • 

Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
(Having so swift and excellent a wit 
As she Ispriz'd to have,) as to refuse 
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. 

Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
AI'vays excepted my dear Claudio. 

Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam. 
Speaking my fancy; signior Benedick, 
For shape, for bearing, argument and valour. 
Goes foremost in report through Italy. 

Hero. Indeed, he harh an excellent good name. 

Urs. His excellence did earn It, ere he had it. 
When are you married, madam? 

Hero. Why, ever.y day:— to-morrow: Come, go in; 
I '11 show thee some attires; and have thy counsel, 
Whicli is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 

Urs. She 's ta'en I warrant you; we have caught 
her, madam. 

Hero. It it prove so, then loving goes by haps: 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 

(Exeimt Hero and Ursula. 
Beatrice advances. 

Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? 
Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much? 
Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! 

No glory lives behind the back of such. 
And, Benedick, love on, Iwill requite tljee; 

'JTaming my wild heart to thy loving hand; 
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 

To bind our loses up in a holy band: 
For others say thou dost deserve; and I 
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. 

Scene II.— ,-1 Poom m Leonato's House. 

Enter Bon Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and Leonato. 

J5. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be con- 
summate, and then I go toward Arragon. 

Claud. I '11 bring you thitner, my lord, if you 11 
vouchsafe me. 

D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in the 
new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child his , 
new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only be 
bold with Benedick foi- his company; for, from the 
crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all 
mirth; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bowstring, 
and the little hangman dare not shoot at him: he 
hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the 
clapper; for what his heart thinks his tongue speaks. 

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 

Leon. So sav I: methinks you are sadder. 

Cla\(d. I hope he be in love. 

I). Pedro. Hang him, truant; there 's no true drop 
of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love; if he 
be sad, he wants money. 

Bene. I have the tooth-ach. 

D. Pedro. Draw it. Bene. Hang it! 

Cla ud. You must hang it first, and draw it af ter- 

D. Pedro. What? sigh for the tooth-ach? [wards. 

lAion. Where is but a humour, or a worm! 

Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but he 
that has it. 

Claud. Yet, say I, he is in love. 

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fanc.v in him, 
unless it be a fanc.v that he hath to strange disguises; 
as, to be a Dutchman to-day; a Frenchman to-mor- 
row; [or in the shapfe of two countries at once, as, a 
German from the waist downward, all slops; and a 
Spaniard from the hip upward, no doublet:! Unless 
he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, 
he is no fool for fancy, as you would nave it to ap- 
pear he is. 

Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, there 
is no believing old signs: he brushes his hat o' morn- 
ings: What should that bode? 

D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? 

Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen 
with him; and the old ornament of his cheek tiath 
already stuffed tennis-balls. 



Scene ii.l 



Ml'ClI ADO AISOIT .\UTIII.\(i. 



Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by 
the loss of a beard. 

D. Pedro. Say. he rtibs himself ^vlth civet. Can 
Tou smell him out by that? 

Claud. That 's as much as to say, The sweet 
Touth 's In love. 

D. Pedro. The greatest note of It is his melancholy. 

Ctai'd. .\nd when was he wont to wash his face? 

/). Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the which, 
I hear what they say of him. 

Claud. Nav, but liis jesting spirit: whicli is now 
crept Into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. 

r>. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: 
Conclude he is in love. 

Cla''d. Nav, but I know who loves him. 

D. Pedro, that would I know too; I warrant, one 
that knows him not. 

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite 
of all. dies for him. [wards. 

D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up- 

Bene. Yet is this no charm for tlie tooth-ach.— Old 
slgnior, walk aside with me; I hav« studied eight or 
nine wise woids to speak to you, which these hobby- 
horses must not hear. | Ex. Bene, and Leon. 

D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about 
Beatrice. 

Claud. 'T is even so: Hero and Margaret have by 
this played their parts with Beatrice; and then the 
two bears will not bite one anotlier when they meet. 
JEnti^r Don John. 

X>. John. My lord and brother, Glod save you. 

D. Pedro. Good den, brotlier. 

D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak with 

D. Pe'lro. In private? [you. 

D. John. If it please you:— yet count Claudio may 
hoar; for what I would speak of concerns him. 

D. Pedro. What "s the matte-? 

D. John. Means yoiu- lordship to be married to- 
morrow? [ro Claudio. 

D.Pedro. You know he does. [know. 

D. John. I know not that, when he knows what I 

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you dis- 
cover it. 

D. John. You may think I love you not; let that 
appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I 
now will manifest. For my brother, I think he holds 
you well: and indearness of heart hath liolp to effect 
your ensuing marriage: surely, suit 111 spent, and 
labour ill bestowed! 

D. Pedro. Why, what 's the matter? 

D. John. I came hither to tell you: and, circum- 
stance shortened, (for she hath been too long a talk- 
ing of,) the lady is disloyal. 

Claud. Who? Hero? 

D. John. Even she; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, 
every man's Hero. Claud. Disloyal? 

D. John. The word is too good to paint out her 
wickedness; I could say she were worse: think you 
of a worse title, and I will tit her to it. Wonder not 
till further warrant: go but with me to-night, you 
shall see her chamber-window entered; even the 
night before her wedding-day; if you love her then, 
to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit your 
honour to change your mind. 

Claud. May this be so? 

D. Pedro. I will not think it. 

D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, confess 
not that you know: if you will follow me, I ^vill 
show you enough: and when you have seen more, 
and heard more, proceed accordingly. 

Claud. If I see anything tonight why Ishould not 
marry her tomorrow, in the congregation, where I 
should wed, there will I shame her. 

D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, 
X will join with thee to disgrace her. 

X>. John. 1 will disparage her no farther, till you 
are my witnesses: bear it coldly but till night, and 
let the issue show itself. 

D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned! 

Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting! 

D. John. O plague right well prevented! 
So will you say when you have seen the sequel. 

lExeunt. 
Scene 111.-4 Street. 
Enter Dogberry aiid Verges, icith the Watch. 

Dogh. Are you good men and true? 

Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should 
suffer salvation, body and soul. 

Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
them, if they should have any allegiance m them, 
being cho«en for the prince's watch. [Dogberry. 

Verg. Well, give them thfeir charge, neighbour 

Dogb. First, who think you the most desartiess 
man to be constable? 

1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal; for 
they can write and read. 

Dogb. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal: God hath 
blessed you with a good name: to be a well favoured 
man is the ptift of fortune; but to write and read 
comes by nature. 

2 Watch. Both which, master constable, 

Dogb. Vou have; 1 knew it would be your answer. 

Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God thanks,and 
make no boast of it; and for your writing and read- 
ing, let that appear when there is no need of such 
vanity. You are thought here to be the most sense- 
less and fit man for the constable of the watch; 
therefore, bear you the lantern. This is your charge: 
You shall comprehend all vagrora men; you are to 
bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 

2 Watch. How if a will not stand? 

Dog'). Why then, take no note of him, but let him 
go; and presently call the rest of the watch together, 
and thank God you are rid of a knave. 

Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he is 
none of the prince's subjects. 

Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but 
the prince's subjects:— You shall also make no' noise 
m the streets; for, for the watch to babble and talk, 
is most tolerable and not to be endured. 

2 Watch. We wul rather sleep than talk; we know 
what belongs to a watch. 

J)ogh. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping 
should offend: only, have a care that your bills be 
not stolen:— Well, you are to call at all the ale- i 
houses, and bid them thataredrunkgetthemtobed. 

2 Watch. How, if they will not' 

Dogh. Why then, let them alone till they are sober; 
Ir they make you not then the better answer, you I 
may say tlicy £.10 not the men you took them 1 
for. 



j 2 Watch. Well, sir. 

i Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by 
1 virtue of your office, to be no true ma!i; and, for 
i such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with 
them, wh}', the more is for your honesty. 

2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not 
lay hands on him? 

Dogb. Truly, byyourofHce, you may; but I think 
they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peacea- 
ble way for you. if you do take a thief, is to let him 
show himself what he is, and steal out of your com- 
pany, [partner. 

Verg. You havebeenalwayscalledamerciiul man, 

Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog b.v my will; 
mucli more a man who hath any honesty In him. 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you 
must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 

2 Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, aud will not 
hear us? 

Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let the 
child wake her with crying: for the ewe that will 
not hear her Iamb when it baes will never answer a 
calf when he bleats. Verg. 'T is very true. 

Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con- 
stable, are to present the prince's own person; it 
you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. 

Verg. Nay by 'r lady, that, I think, a cannot. 

Dogb. Five shillings to one on 't, with any man 
that knows the statues, he may stay him: marry, not 
without the prince be willing: for, indeed, the watch 
ought to offend no man; and it is an offence to stay 
a man against his will. 

T>r<7. By 'r lady, I think it be so. 

Doob. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: an 
there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: 
keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and good 
night.— Come, neighbour. 

2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let us 
go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and then 
all to bed. 

Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours: I pray 
you, watch about signior Leonato's door; for the 
wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great coil 
to-night: Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. 

lF.eeunt Dogberry aiid Verges. 
Enter Borachio and Courade. 

Bora. What! Conrade, — 

Watch. Peace, stir not. [Aside. 

Bora. Conrade, I say! 

Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. 

Bora. JIass, and my elbow itched; I thought there 
would a scab follow. 

Cun. I will owe tnee an answer for that; and now 
forward with thy tale. 

Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-house, 
for It drizzles rain; and I will, like a true drunkard, 
utter all to thee. [close. 

Wotch. [aside.'] Some treason, masters; yet stand 

Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John 
a thousand ducats. 

Con. Is it possible that any villainy should be so 
dear? 

Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were possible 
any villainy should be so rich; for when rich villains 
have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what 
price they will. Co)i. I wonder at it. 

Bora. That shows thou art unconilrmed: Thou 
knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or 
a cio£.k, is nothing to a man. 

Con. Yes, it is apparel. 

Bora. I mean, the fashion. 

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 

Bora. Tush! I may as well say, the fool 's the fooL ■ 
But seest thou not what a deformed thief this 
fashion is? 

Watch. I know that Deformed; a has been a vile 
thief this seven year; a goes up and down like a 
gentleman: I rememlier hisname. 

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody? 

Con. Xo; 't was the vane on the house. 

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief 
this fashion is? how giddily he turns about all the 
hot bloods, between fourteen and flve-and-thirty'^ 
sometime, fashioning them like Pharoh's soldiers in 
the reechy painting; sometime, like god Bel's priests 
in the old church window; sometime, like the shaven 
Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, 
where his cod-piece seems as massy as his club? 

Con. AH this I see; and see that the fashion wears 
out more apparel than the man: But aft not thou 
thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou hast 
shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the fashion? 

Bora. Not so neither: but know, that I have to- 
night wooed JIargaret, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, 
by the name of Hero; she leans me out at her mis- 
tress' chamber-window, bids me a thousand times 
good-night,— I teU this tale vilely:— I should first 
teli thee how the prince, Claudio, and my master, 
planted, and placed, and possessed by my master 
Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable 
encounter. 

Coil. And thought thy Margaret was Hero? 

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio: 
but the devil my master knew she was JIargaret; 
aud partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, 
partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, 
but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any 
slander that Don John had made, away went Claudio 
enraged; swore he would meet her as he was ap- 
pointed, ne.xt morning at the temple, and there, be- 
fore the whole congregation, shame her with what 
he saw o'er-night, and send her home again without 
a husband. [stand. 

1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's namei 

2 Watch. Call up the right master constable: we 
have here recovered the most dangerous piece of 
lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. 

1 Watch. .\nd one Deformed is one of them; I I 
know him, a wears a lock. 

Con. Masters, masters. 

2 Watch. You '11 be made bring Deformed forth, I 
warrant you. Con. Masters,— 

1 Watch. Never speak; wo charge you, let us obey 
you to go with us. 

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity, 
being taken up of these men's bills. 

Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. 

Come, we '11 obey you. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— a Boom in Leonato's House. 

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and 
desire her to rise. Vrs. 1 will, lady. 



Hero. -Vnd bid her come hither. 

Urs. Well. [£x« Ursula. 

Marg. Troth, I think your other rabato were better. 

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I 'II wear this. 

3Iarg. By my troth. It 's not so good; and I warrant 
your cousin will say so. 

Hero. My cousin 's a fool, and thou art another; I'll 
wear none but this. 

Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, If the 
hair were a thought browner: and your gown 's a 
most rare fashion, i' faith. I saw the duchess of 
Milan's gown, that they praise so. 

Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. 

3Iarg. By my troth, it 's but a night-gown In re- 
spect of yours: Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced 
with silver; set with pearls down sleeves, side- 
sleeves, and skirts, round underbome with a blueish 
tinsel: but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent 
fashion, yours is worth ten on 't. 

Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart Is 
exceeding heavy! 

3Iarti. "T will be heavier soon, by the weight of a 

Hero. Fie upon thee! art not ashamed? [man. 

3Iarg. Of what, lady? of speaking honourably? Is 
not marriage honourable in a beggar? Is not your 
lord honourable without marriage? I think, you 
would have me say,— saving your reverence,—' a 
husband:' an bad thinking do not wrest true speak- 
ing, I '11 offend nobody: Is there any harm in, 'the 
heavier for a husband?' None, I think, an it be the 
right husband, and the right wife; otherwise 't is 
light, and not heavy: Ask my lady Beatrice else, 
here she comes. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Hero. Good morrow, coz. 

Beat. Good morrow, swret Hero. [tune? 

Hero. Why, how now! do you speak in the sick 

Beat. 1 am out of all other tune, methinks. 

Marg. Clap us into— 'Light o' love:' that goes with- 
out a burden; do you sing it, and I 'll dance it. 

Beat. Yea, 'Light o'flove,' with your heels!— then 
if your husband have stables enough, you '11 look he 
shall lack no barns. 

3Iarg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn that 
with my heels. 

Beat. 'T is almost five o'clock, cousin: 't is time 
you were ready By my troth I am exceeding ill: 
hey ho! 

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband? 

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 

Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there 's no 
more sailing by the star. 

Beat. What means the fool, trow? 

Marg. Nothing I; but God send every one their 
heart's desire! 

Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an 
excellent perfume. 

Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. 

3Iarg. A maid, and stuffed^ there 's goodly catch- 
ing of cold. 

Beat. O, God help me! God help roe! how long have 
you profess'd apprehension? 

Marg. Ever since you left it: doth not my wit be- 
come me rarely? 

Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear It in 
your cap.— By my troth, I am sick. 

Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 
Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only 
thing for a qualm. 

Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 

Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some 
moral in this Benedictus. 

Marg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral 
meaning; I meant, plain holy -thistle. You may think, 
perchance, that! think you are in love: nay, by'r 
lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list; nor I 
listnotto think what I can; nor, indeed, I cannot 
think, if I would think my heart out of thinking,that 
you are in love, or that you will be in love, or that 
you can be in love: yet Benedick was such another, 
and now he is become a man: he swore he would 
never marry; and yet now, in despite of his heart, he 
eats his meat without grudging: and how you may 
be converted, 1 know not; but, methinks, you look 
with your eyes as other women do. 

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps? 

Marg. Not a false gallop. 

Re-enter Ursula. 

Dj-s. Madam, withdraw; the prince, the count, 
signior Benedick, Don John, and all the gallants of 
the town, are come to fetch you to church. 

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Mee, good 
Ursula. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. — Another Room in Leonato's House, 
Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges. 

Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour? 

Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence 
with you that decerns you nearly. 

Leon. Brief, I pray you; for, you see, 'tis a busy 
time with me. Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. 

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 

Leon. What is it, my good friends? 

Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the 
matter; an old man, sir, and his wits are not so 
blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were; but, 
in faith, honest, as the skin between his brows. 

Verg. Yes, I thank God, 1 am as honest as any man 
living, that is an old man, and nohonester than I. 

Dogb. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neigh- 
bour Verges. 

Ijion. Neighbours, you are tedious. 

Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so.but we are 
the poor duke's officers; but, truly, for mine own 
part, if I were as tedious as a king I could find in 
my heart to bestow it all of your worship. 

Leon. All thy tediousness on me! ah? 

Dogh. Yea, an 't were a thousand times more than 
't is: for I hear as good exclamation on your wor- 
ship, as of any man in the city; and though I be but 
a poor man I am glad to hear it. 

Verg. And so am I. 

Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. 

Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting 
your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as 
arrant knaves as any in Messina. 

Dogb. Agood old man, sir; he will be talklnir; as 
they say. When the age is in, the wit is out: God 
help us! it is a world to see!— Well said, i' faith, 
neighbour Verges:— well, God 's a good man; an 
two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind:— An 
honest soul, i' faith, sir; by my troth he is, as ever 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act IV. 



broke bread: but God is to be worshipped: AH men 
are not alike; alas, Kood neighbour! 

I^on. Indeed, nelKhbour, he comes too sliort of y ou. 

DiHfb. Gifts thai God gives. 

Lean. I must leave you. 

Jioijb. One word, sir: our watcli, sir, have, Indeed, 
eonipri'hended two asplcious persons, and we would 
have them this morning examined before your wor- 
ship. 

Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring 
it to me; I am now in great haste, as may appear 
unto you. Dogb. It shall be sufBganee. 

Leon. Drink some wine ere you go: fare you well. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your 
daiigliter to lier husband. 

Leon. I will wait upon them; I am ready. 

[Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. 

Dog'). Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis Sea- 
«oal, hid him bring hLs pen and inkliorn to the gaol: 
■»o are now to examination these men. 

Vcrg. And we must do it wisely. 

Jor/b. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you 
here's tliat [touching his forehead] shall drive some 
of them to a non come: only get the learned writer 
to set down our excommunication, and meet me at 
the gaoL [ Exe u nt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene l.~TIie inside of a Church. 

Znter i)on Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar, Claudio, 
Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice, &c. 

Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the 
plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 
particular duties afterwards. 

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry this 

Claud. No. flady? 

Leon. To be married to her: friar, you come to 
marry her. 

F)-iar. Lady, you come hither to be married to this 

Hero. I do. [count? 

Friar. If either of you know any inward impedi- 
ment wliy you should not be conjoined, I cliarge 
you. on your souls, to utter it. 

Claud. Know you any. Hero? 

Hero. None, my lord' 

Friar. Know you any, count? 

Leon. I dare make ills answer, none. 

Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do! 
what men daily do! [not knowing what they do!J 

Bene. How now! Interjections? Why, then some 
be of laughing, as ha! lia.' he! 

Claud. Stand thee by, friar:— Father, by your leave; 
Will you with free and unconstrained soul 
Give me this maid, your daughter? 

Leo>i. As freely, son, as God did give her me. 

Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose 
worth 
May counterpoise this ricli and precious gift? 

D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. 

Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble tliankful- 
There. Leonato, take her back again; [ness. 

Give not this rotten orange to your friend; 
She's but tlie sign and semblance of her honour: 
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here: 
O, what authority and show of truth 
Can cunning sin cover itself withal! 
Comes not tliat blood, as modest evidence, 
To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, 
All you that see her, that she were a maid. 
By these exteriorshows? But slie is none: 
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed: 
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 

Leon. What do you mean, my lord? 

Claud. Not to be married, 

Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 

Leon. Dear my lord, If you, in your own proof, 
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youtli. 
And made defeat of her virginity, [known her, 

Claud. I know what you would say: If I have 
You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband. 
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin: 
No, Leonato, 

I never tempted her witli word too large; 
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd 
Bashful sincerity, and comely love. 

Hero. And seem'd I ever otlierwise to you? 

Claud. Out on the seeming! I will write against it. 
You seem to me as Dian in her orb; 
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown; 
But you are more intemperate in youi blood 
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals 
That rage in savage sensuality. 

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide? 

Claud. Sweet prince, why speak not you? 

D. Pedro. What should I speak? 

I stand dishonour'd that have gone about 
To link my dear friend to a common stale. 

Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream? 

D. John. Sir, they are spoken and these things are 

Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. [true. 

Hero. True? O God! 

Claud. Leonato, stand I here? 
Is this the prince? Is tills the prince's brother? 
Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own? 

Leon. Ail this is so: But what of this, my lord? 

Claud. Let me but move one question to your 
And, by that fatherly and kindly power [daughter; 
That .you have in her, bid her answer truly. 

Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. 

Hero. O God defend me! how am I beset!— What 
kind of catechising call you this? 
Claud. To make you answer trul.y to your name. 

Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name 
With any just reproach? 

Claud. Marry, that can Hero; 

Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
What man was he taik'd witli you yesternight 
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one? 
Now, if you are a maid, answer to thi.s. 

Hero. I taik'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 
J). Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden.— Leonato, 
I am sorry you must hear: Upon mine honour, 
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count. 
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night. 
Talk with a rufBan at her chamber-window; 
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had 
A thousand times in secret. 

D. John. Fie, fle! they are 

Kot to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoken of; 
There is not chastity enough In language, 



1 Without offence, to utter them: Thus, pretty lady, 
I I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 
; Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou been, 
j If half thy outward graces had been placed 
About tliy thoughts, and counsels of thy iieart! 
But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, 
Thou pure Impiety, and impious purity! 
For thee I '11 lock up all the gates of love, 
.\nd on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, 
j To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
And never shall it more be gracious. 

Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me? 

(Hero swoons. 

Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink you 
down? 

D. John. Come, let us go: these things come thus 

.Smother her spirits up. [to light, 

[Exeunt Von Pedro, Von John, and Claudio. 

Bene. How dotii the lady? 

Beat. Dead, I tliink;— help, uncle;— 

Hero! why. Hero!— Uncle!— Signior Benedick!— 
friar! 

Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand! 
Death is the fairest cover for her shame 
That may be wish'd for. 

Beat. . How now, cousin Hero? 

Friar. Have comfort, lady. 

Leon. Dost thou look up? 

Friar. Yea: Wherefore should she not? [thing 

Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly 
Cry shame upon her! Could she here deny 
The story that is jjrinted in her blood? 
Do not live. Hero; do not ope thine eyes: 
For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, 
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames. 
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches 
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one? 
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame? 
O, one too much by thee! Why had I one? 
Why ever wast thou lovel.v In my eyes? 
Why had I not, with charitable hand, 
Toole up a beggar's issue at my gates; 
Who, smirched thus, and mired with infamy, 
I might have said, ' No part of it is mine. 
This shame derives itself from unknown loins?' 
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd. 
And mine that I was proud on; mine so much. 
That I myself was to myself not mine, i 
Valuing of her; why, sfie— O, siie is fallen 
Into a pit of inlc. tiiat the wide sea 
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again; 
And salt too little, which may season give 
To her foul tainted flesh! 

Bene. Sir, sir, be patient: 

For my part I am so attir'd in wonder, 
I know not what to say. , 

Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied! 

Bene. Lady, were you lier bedfellow last night? 

Beat. No, truly not; aitiiough until last night 
I have this twelvemontli been her bedfellow, [made, 

Leon. Conflrm'd, conflrm'd ! O, that is stronger 
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of Iron! 
Would the two princes lie? and Claudio lie? 
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 
Wash'd It with tears? Hence from her; let her die. 

Friar. Hear me a little. 
For I have only silent been so long. 
And given way unto tliis course ot fortune. 
By noting of the lady; I liave mark'd 
A thousand blushing apparitions start 
Into her face: a thousand innocent shames 
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes; 
And in her eye there hath appear'd a flre. 
To burn the errors that these princes hold 
Against her maiden truth:— Call me a fool; 
Trust not my reading, nor my observations, 
Which with experimental seal dotli warrant 
The tenour of my book; trust not my age, 
My reverence, calling, nor divinity. 
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some biting error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be: 

Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left 
Is, that s'le will not add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury; she not denies it: 
Why seek'st thou tlien to cover with excuse 
That whicli appears in proper nakedness? 

Fr'ar. Lady, what man is he you are aceus'd of? 

Hero. They know that do accuse me; I know none: 
If I know more of any man aiive 
Than tliat which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
Let all my sins lack mercy!— O my father. 
Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternisht 
Maintain'd the change of words ^vith any creature. 
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. 

Friar. There is some strange misprision in the 
princes. 

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour; 
And if there wisdoms be misled in this. 
Tile practice of it lives in John the bastard, 
Wiiose spirits toil in frame of villainies. 

Leon. I know not: if they speak but truth of her, 
Thesehands shall tear her; if they wrongher honour. 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine. 
Nor age so eat up my invention, 
Nor fortune made such havoc of my means. 
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
But they shall find, awak'd in sucli a kind, 
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, 
.Ability in means, and choice of friends. 
To quit me of them throughly. 

Friar. Pause a while, 

And let my counsel sway you in tliis case. 
Your daughter here the princes left for dead; 
Let her a while be secretly kept in, 
And publish it that she is dead indeed: 
.Maintain a mourning ostentation; 
And on your family's old monument 
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
That appertain unto a burial. > 

Leon. What shall become of this? What will this 
do? [half 

Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her be- 
Change slander to remorse; that is some good: 
But not for that dream I on this strange course. 
But on this travail look for greater birth. 
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd. 
Upon the instant that she was aceus'd, 
Sliall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd. 
Of every hearer: For it so falls out. 
That what we have wc prize not to the worth 



Whiles we enjoy it; but being laek'd and lost, 

Why then we rack the value, then we find 

The virtue that possession would not show us 

Whiles it was ours: So will it fare with Claudio: 

When he shall hear she died upon his words. 

The idea ot her life shall sweetly creep 

Into his study of imagination; 

And every lovely organ of her life 

Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit. 

More moving -delicate, and fullof life, 

into the eye and prospect of his soul, 

Thau when she liv'd indeed:— then shall he mourn, 

(It ever love had interest in his liver,) 

And wish lie had not so accused her; 

No, though he thought his accusation true. 

Let this be so, and doubt not but success 

Will fashion the event in better shape 

Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 

But if all aim but this be ievell'd false. 

The .supposition of tlie lady's death 

Will quench tlie wonder of her infamy: 

And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 

(As best befits her wcunded reputation,) 

In some reclusive and religious life. 

Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 

Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you. 
And though, you know, my inwardness and love 
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this 
As secretly and justly as your soul 
Should with your body. 

Leon. Being that I flow in grief. 

The smallest twine may lead me. 

Friar. 'T is well consented; presently away; 

For to strange sores strangely they strain the 

cure. 

Come, lady, die to live: this wedding-day, [endure. 

Perhaps, is but prolong'd; have patience, and 

[Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leonato. 

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while? 

Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 

Bene. I will not desire that. 

Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. 

Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is 
wronged. 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me 
that would riglit her! 

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship? 

Beat. Avery even way, but no such friend. 

Bene. May a man do it? 

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as yon; 
Is not that strange? 

Beat. As strange as the thing I know not: It were 
as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as 
you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not: I con- 
fess nothing, nor I deny nothing:— I am soiTy for 
my cousin. 

Be)ie. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 

Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. 

Bene. I will swear by it that you love me; and I 
will make him eat It that says I love not you. 

Beat. Will you not eat your word? 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it: I 
protest I love thee. 

Beat. Why then, God forgive me! 

Bt^ie, What offence, sweet Beatrice? 

Beat. You Iiave staid me in a happy hour; I was 
about to protest I loved .vou. 

Bene. And do it witii ail my heart. 

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that 
none is left to protest. 

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 

Beat. Kill Claudio. 

Bene. Ha! not for the wide world. 

Beat. You kill me to deny: Farewell. 

Betie. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 

Beat. I am gone, though I am here:— There is no 
love in you:— Nay, I pray you, let me feo. 

Bene. Beatrice,— 

Beat. In faith, I will go. 

Bene. We '11 be friends first. 

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me than 
fight with mine enemy. 

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy? 

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, 
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kins- 
woman?—©, tliat I were a man!— What! bear her in 
hand until they come to take hands; and then with 
public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated 
rancour,— O God, that I were a man! I would eat his 
heart in the marketplace. 

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice;— [saying. 

Beat. Talk with a man out at a window?— a proper 

Bene. Nay but, Beatrice;— 

Beat. Sweet Hero!— she is wronged, she Is slander 
ed, she is undone. Bene. Beat 

Beat. Princes, and counties! Surely, a princely 
testimony, a goodly couut-confect; a sweet gallant, 
surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that 
I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But 
manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into com- 
pliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and 
trim ones too: he Is now as valiant as Hercules that 
oniv tells a lie, and swears it:— I cannot be a man 
with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with 
grieving. [thee. 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice: By this hand, I love 

Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
swearing bv It. 

Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio 
hath wronged Hero? 

Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. 

Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge him; 
I will kiss your hand, and so leave you: By this 
hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account: As 
you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your 
cousin; I must say she is dead; and so, farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

ScBN^ II.— .4 Prison. 

Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton in goums; and 
, the Watch, with Conrade, and Borachlo. 

Vogb. Is our whole dlssembly appeared? 

Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton! 

Sexton. Whicii be the malefactors? 

Vogi). Marry, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, that 's certain; we have the exhibition 
to examine. 

Sexton. But which are the offenders tliat are to be 
examined? let them come before master constable. 

Vogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me.— 
What is your name, friend? Bora. Borachlo. 



Scene n.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



45 



Dogb. Pray, write down, Borachio.— Yours, sirrah? 
Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Con- 

' Dogb. Write down, master gentleman Conrade.— 
Kasters, do you serve God? 

Con. Bora. Yra, sir, we liope. 

Log'). Write down tliat they hope they serve God: 
[—and write God first; for God defend but God should 
go before such villains!—] Masters, it is proved al- 
readv that vou are little better than false knaves; and 
It will go near to be thought so shortly. How an- 
swer you for yourselves? 

Con. Marrv, sir, we say we are none. 

J)ogh. A marvellous witty fellow, I asssure you; but 
I will go about with him.— Come you hither, sirrah; 
a word in your ear, sir; I say to you. It is thought 
you are false knaves. 

Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 

Dogh. Well, stand aslde.-Fore God, they are both 
in a tale: Have you writ down, that the.v are none? 

Scvton. Master constable, you gp not the way to 
examine; you must call forth the watch that are 
their accusers. 

Dogl>. Yea, marry, that 's the eftest way:— Let the 
watch come forth:— Masters, I charge you, in the 
prince's name, accuse these men. 

1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the 
prince's brother, was a villain. 

Dogh. Write down, prince John a villain:— Why, 
this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother villain. 

Bora. Master constable,— 

Dogh. Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like thy 
look, I promise thee. 

Sexton. What heard you him say else ? 

2 Watch. Marry.that he had received a thousand 
ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero 
wrongfully. 

Dogh. Flat burglars', as ever was committed. 

Verg. Yea, bv the mass, that it is. 

Sexton. What else, fellow? 

1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon 
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assem- 
bly, and not marry her. 

Dogb. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into ever- 
lasting redemption for this. 

Sexton. What else ? 2 Watch. This is all. 

Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can 
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen 
away; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very 
manner refused, and upon the grief of this suddenly 
died.— Master constable, let these men be bound, and 
brought to Leonato; I will go before, and show him 
their examination. ^Exit. 

Dogh. Come, let them be opinioned. 

Verg. Let them be la the hands — 

Con. Off, coxcomb ! 

Dogh. God 's my life ! where 's the sexton? let him 
write down the prince's officer, coxcomb. Come, 
bind them: — Thou naughty varlet 1 

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 

Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou 
not suspect my years?- O that he were here to write 
me down, an ass ! Out, masters, remember, that I am 
an ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not 
that I am an ass:— No, thou villain, thou art full of 
piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good witness. 
I am a wise fellow; and, which is more, an officer; 
and, which is more, a householder; and, which is 
more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any in Messina; 
and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow 
enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; 
and one that hath two gowns and everything hand- 
some about him:— Bring him away. O, that I had 
been writ down, an ass i IKveunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— Before Leonato's Hotise. 

Enter Leonato ajid Antonio. 

Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
And 't is not wisdom thus to second grief 
Against yourself. 

Leon. I pra.v thee, cease thy counsel, 

Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel; 
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear. 
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. 
Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child. 
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, 
And bid liim speak of patience; 
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine. 
And let it answer every strain for strain; 
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, 
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: 
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard; 
And, -sorrow wag' cry; hem, when he should groan; 
Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk 
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me, 
And I of him will gat her patience. 
But there is no such man: For, brother, men 
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief 
Which they themselves not feel; but tasting it 
Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
Would give preceptial medicine to rage. 
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread. 
Charm ach with air, and agony with words: 
No, no; 't is all men's office to speak patience 
To those that wring under the load of sorrow; 
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency. 
To be so moral, when he shall endure 
The like himself: therefore give me no counsel; 
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 

Ant. Therein do men from children nothing differ. 

Leon. I pray thee, peace; I will be flesh and blood; 
For there was never yet philosopher 
That could endure the tooth-ach patiently; 
However they have writ the style of gods. 
And made a push at chance and sufferance. 

Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
Make those that do offend you suffer too. 

Leon. There thou speak'st reason: nay, I will do so: 
My soul doth tell me Hero is belled; 
And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince. 
And all of them, that thus dishonour her. 
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. 

Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily. 

D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 

Claud. Good day to both of you. 

Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 

D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 

Leon. Some haste, my lord !— well, fare you well. 
Are you so hasty now?— well, all is one. [my lord.— 

D. Pedro, Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. 



Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling. 
Some of us would lie low. 

Cland. Who wrongs him? 

Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler. 
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, [thou:— 
I fear thee not. 

Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand. 

If it should give your age such cause of fear: 
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 

Leon. Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me: 
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool; 
As, under privilege of age, to brag 
What have I done being young, or what would do 
Were I not old: Know, Claudio, to thj; head. 
Thou hast so wrong'd my innocent child and me, 
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by; 
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days. 
Do challenge thee to trial of S. man. 
I say, thouliast belied mine innocent child; 
Thy slander hath gone through and through her 
And she lies buried with her ancestors: [heart, 

; in a tomb where never scandal slept. 
Save this of hers, fram'd by thy villainy. 

Claud. My villainy! 

Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. 

D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 

Leon. My lord, mv lord, 

1 'II prove it on his body, if he dare; 
Despite his nice fence and his active practice. 
His May of youth, and bloom of lustinood. 

Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you. 

Leon. Canst thou so daft me? Thou hast kill'd my 
child: 
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 

Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men Indeed; 
But that 's no matter; let him kill one first;- 
Win me and wear me,— let him answer me, — 
Come follow me, boy; come sir boy, come follow me: 
Sir boy, I 'U' whip you from .vour foining fence; 
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 

Leon. Brother,- [niece; 

Ant. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my 
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villaLns: 
That dare as well answer a man indeed. 
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue: 
Boys, apes, braggarts. Jacks, milksops ! 

Leon. Brother Antony, — 

Ant. Hold your content: What, man! I know 
them, yea. 
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple: 
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boys. 
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander, 
Go anticly, and show outward hideousness. 
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words. 
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst, 
And this is all. Leon. But, brother Antony, — 

Ant. Come; 't is no matter; 

Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. 

D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your 
patience. 
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death; 
But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing 
But what was true, and very full of proof. 

Leon. My lord, my lord,— 

D. Pedro. I will not hear you. Leon. No! 

Come, brother, away :— I will be heard; — 

Ant. And shall. 

Or some of us will smart for it. [Ex. Leon, and Ant. 

Enter Benedick. 

D. Pedro. See, see; here comes the man we went to 

Claud. Now, signior! what news? [seek. 

Bene. Good day, my lord. 

D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: You are almost come 
to part almost a fray. 

Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
snapped off with two old men without teeth. 

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: What think'st 
thou? Had we fought, I doubt we should have been 
too young for them. 

Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour: I 
came to seek you both. 

Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; 
for we are high proof melancholy, and would fain 
have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit? 

Bene. It is in my scabbard: Shall I draw it? 

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? 

Claud. Never any did so, though very many have 
been beside their wit.— I will bid thee draw, as we do 
the minstets; draw, to pleasure us. 

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale: — 
Art thou sick, or angry? 

Claud. What! courage, man! What though care 
killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill 
care. 

Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an 
you charge it against me:— I pray you clioose an- 
other subject. 

Cland. Nay then, give him another staff; this la.st 
was broke cross. 

D.Pedro. By this light, he changes more and more: 
I think he be angry indeed. 

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. 

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? 

Claud. God bless me from a challenge! 

Bene. You are a villain;— I jest not— I will make it 
good how you dare, with what you dare, and when 
you dare:— Do me right, or I will protest your cow- 
ardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death 
shall tall heavy on you: Let me hear from you. 

Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good 

D. Pedro. What, a feast? a feast? [cheer. 

Claud. I' faith, I thank him; he hath bid me to a 
calf's head and a capon, the which if I do not carve 
most curiously, say my knife 's naught.— Shall I not 
find a woodcock, too? 

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well; it goes easily. 

D. Pedro. I '11 tell thee how Beatrice praised thy 
wit the other day: I said thou hadst a fine wit; 'True,' 
says she, 'a fine little one:' 'No,' said I, 'a great 
wit;' 'Right,' says she, 'a great gross one:' 'Nay,' 
said I, 'a good wit;' 'Just,' said she, 'it hurts no- 
body:' 'Nay,' said I, 'the gentleman is wise;' 'Cer- 
tain,' said she, 'a wise gentleman:' 'Nay,' said I, 
'he hath the tongues;' 'That I believe,' said she, 
'for ho swore a thing to me on Monday night, which 
he forswore on Tuesday morning; there 's a double 
tongue: there 's two tongues.' Thus did she, an 
hour together, trans-shape thy particular virtues; 
yet, at last, she concluded with a sigh, thou wast the 
properest man in Italy. 

Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said, 
she cared not. 

D. Pedro. Yea, that she did; but yet for all that, 



an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love 
him dearly: the old man's daughter told us all. 

Claud. All, all; and moreover, ' God saw him when 
he was hid In the garden.' 

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's 
horns on the sensible Benedick's head? 

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, ' Here dwells 
Benedick the married man?' 

Bene. Fare you well, boy! you know my mind; I 
will leave you now to your gossip-like humour: you 
break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, 
God be thanked, hurt not.— My lord, for your manv 
courtesies I thank you:— I must discontinue your 
company: your brother, the bastard, is fled from 
Messina: you have, among you, killed a sweet and 
innocent lady For my lord Lack-beard there, he 
and I shall meet; and till then peace be with him. 

lExit Benedick. 

Z>. Pedro. He is In earnest. 

Claud. In most profound earnest; and I '11 warrant 
you for the love of Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee? 

Claud. Most sincerely. 

D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he 
goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit! 

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape: but then is an 
ape a doctor to such a man. 

D. Pedro. But, soft you, let me be; pluck up, my 
heart, and be sad! Did he not say my brother was 
fled? 

[Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with 
Conrade and Borachio. 

Dogb. Come, you, sir; if justice cannot tame you, 
she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance: 
nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must 
be looked to. 

D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men 
bound! Borachio one! 

Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord! 

D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men 
done? 

Dogb. Marry, sir, thev have committed false re- 
port; moreover, they have spoken untruths; se- 
condarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they 
have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verifled un- 
just things; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. 

D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done: 
thirdly, I ask thee what 's their offence; sixth antl 
lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude, 
what you lay to their charge? 

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and In his own division; 
and, by my troth, there 's one meaning well suited. 

D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that 
you are thus bound to your answer? this learned 
constable is too cunning to be understood: What 's 
your offence? 

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine 
answer; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. 
I have deceived even your very eyes: what your 
wisdoms could not discover these shallow fools have 
brought to light; who, in the night, overheard me 
confessing to this man, how Don John your brother 
incensed me to slander the lady Hero; how you 
were brought into the orchard, and saw me court 
Margaret in Hero's garments; how you dirgraced 
her, when you should marry her: my villainy they 
have upon record; which I had rather seal with ray 
death, than repeat over to my shame: the lady is 
dead upon mine and my master's false accusation; 
and, briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a 
villain. [your blood? 

D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 

Claud. I have drunk poison wliiles he uttered it. 

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this? 

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of It. 

D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of trea- 
And fled he is upon this villainy. [chery: — 

Claud. Sweet Hero! now thy image doth appear 
In the rare semblance that I lov'd it first. 

Dogh. Come, bring away the plaintiffs; by this 
time our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of 
the matter: And, masters, do not forget to specify, 
when time and space shall serve, that I am an ass. 

Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato, 
and the sexton too. 

Be-enter Leonato and Antonio, with the Sexton. 

Leon. Which Is the villain? Let me see his eyes; 
That when I note another man like him 
I may avoid him: Which of these is he? [me. 

Bora. If you would know your wronger, look on 

Leon. Art thou— thou— the slave that with thy 
breath hast kill'd 
Mine innocent child? Bora. Yea, even I alone. 

Leon. No, not so, villain: thou beliest thyself ; 
Here stand a pairof honourable men, 
A third is fled, that had a hand in it: 
I thank you, princes, for m> daughter's death; 
Record it with your high and worthy deeds; 
'T was bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 

Claud. I know not how to pray your patience, 
Yet I must speak; Choose your revenge yourself; 
Impose me to what penance your invention 
Can lay upon my sin; yet sinn'd I not. 
But in mistaking. 

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I; 

And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
I would bend under any heavy weight 
That he '11 enjoin me to. 

Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live. 
That were Impossible; but I pray you both, ■ 
Possess the people In IVIesslna here 
How innocent she died: and, if your love 
Can labour aught in sad in\-ention. 



Hang her an epitaph upon her to.nb. 

And sing it to her bones; sing it to-night: — 

To-morrow morning come you to my house; 



And since you could not be my .son-in-law. 

Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter. 

Almost the copy of my child that 's dead. 

And she alone is heir to both of us; 

Give her the right you should have given her cousin. 

And so dies my revenge. 

Claud. O, noble sir. 

Your over kindness doth wring tears from me! 
I do embrace your offer; and dispose 
For henceforth of poor Claudio. 

Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your coming; 
To-night I take my leave.— This naughty man 
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
Who, I believe; was pack'd in all this wrong, 
Hir'd to it by your brother. 

Bora. No, by my soul, she waa not; 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



[Act I, 



Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me; 
But always hath been Just and virtuous, 
In anything that I do know by her. 

Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under 
white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offender, 
did call me ass: I beseech you let It be remembered 
in his punishment: And also, the wat2h heard them 
talk of one Deformed: they say, he wears a key in 
his ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows 
money In God's name; the which he hath used so 
long, and never paid, that now men grow hard- 
hearted, and will lend nothing tor God's sake: Pray 
you, examine him upon that point. 

L€07i. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. 

Dogh. Your worship speaks like a most thankful 
and reverend youth; and I praise God for you. 

Leon. There 's for thy pains. 

Dogb. God save the foundation! • 

Leon. Go, I discharge tliee of thy prisoner, and I 
thank thee. 

Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship; 
which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, 
for the example of others. God keep your worship; 
I wish your worship well! God restore you to health: 
I humbly give you leave to depart; and if a merry 
meeting may be wished, God prohibit it.— Come, 
neighbour. 

[Exeunt Dogberry, Verges, and Watch. 

Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. 

Ant. Farewell, my lords; we look for you to-mor- 

D. Pedro. We will not fail. [row. 

Clmud. To-night I 'U mourn with Hero. 

[Exeunt Don Pedro and Claudlo. 

Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we 'U talk with 
Margaret, 
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd fellow. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Leonato's Garden. 
Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. 

Bene. Pra.v thee, sweet mistress Margaret, deser\'e 
Tfell at my bands, by helping me to tlie speech of 
Beatrice. [my beauty? 

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise of 

Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man liv- 
ing shall come over it; for, in most comely truth, 
thou deserves! it. 

Marg. To have no man come over me? wliy, shall I 
always keep below stairs? [it catches. 

Bini: Thy wit isasquickas the greyhound's mouth 

Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, 
which hit, but hurt not. 

Bene. A. most manly wit, Margaret, it will not hurt 
a woman; and so, I pray thee, call Beatrice; I give 
thee the bucklers. [own. 

Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of our 

Bene. It you use them, Margaret, you must put in 
the pikes with a vice; and they are dangerous wea- 
pons for maids. 

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I think, 
hath legs. Exit Margaret. 

Bene. And therefore will come. 

The god of love, [Singing. 

That sits above. 
And know s me, and knows me. 
How pitiful I deserve, — 
I mean, in singing; but in loving. — Leander the good 
swimmer, Troiius the first employer of panders, and 
a whole book full of these quondam carpet-mongers, 
whose names yet run smoothly in tlie even road of a 
blank verse, why, they were never so truly turned 
over and over as my poor self, in love: Marry, I 
cannot show it in rhyme; I have tried; I can find 
out no rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby,' an innocent 
rhyme; for 'scorn,' 'horn,' a hard rhyme: for 
'school,' 'fool,' a babbling rhyme; very ominous 
ending: No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, 
nor I cannot woo in festival terms. 

Enter Beatrice. 
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called 
thee? 

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. 

Bene. O, stay but till then! 

Beat. Then, Is spoken; fare you well now:— and 
yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, which 
IB, with knowing what hath passed between you and 
Claudio. [thee. 

Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will kiss 

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is 
but loul breath, and foul breath is noisome; there- 
fore I will depart unkissed. 

Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his right 
sense, so forcible is thy wit: But, I must tell tliee 

Flainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; and eitlier 
must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him 
a coward. And, ' pray thee now, tell me, for which 
of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me? 

Beat. For them all together; which maintained so 
politic a state of evil, that they \vill not admit any 
good part to intermingle with them. But for which 
of my good parts did you first suffer love for me? 

Bene. ' Suffer love;' a good epithet! I do suifer love 
Indeed, for I love thee against my will. ! 

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think; alas! poor 
heart! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for 
yours; for I will never love that which my friend 

Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. 
Beat. It appears not in this confession; there 's not 
•ne wise man among twenty that will praise himself. 



Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that lived 
in the time of good neighbours; if a man do not 
erect In this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall 
live no longer in monument than the bells ring, and 
the widow weeps. 

Beat. And how long is that, think you? 

Bene. Question?— Why, an hour in clamour, and a 
quarter in rheum: Therefore it is most expedient for 
tne wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no im- 
pediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of his 
own virtues, as I am to myself: So much for praising 
myself, (who, 1 myself will bare witness, is praise- 
worthy,) and now tell me, How doth your cousin? 

Beat. Very ill. 

Bene. And how do you? Beat. Very ill too. 

Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there will I 
leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 
Enter Ursula. 

Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; yonder 
's old coil at homo: it is proved, my lady Hero hath 
been falsely accused; the prince and Claudio mightily 
abused; and Don John is the author of all, who is 
fled and gone: w ill you come presently? 

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior? 

Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be 
burled in thy eyes; and, moreover, I will go with 
thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— The In.ilde of a Church. . 
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with 
music and tapers. 
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato? 
Atten. It is, my lord. 
Claud. [Reads from a scroll.^ 

'Done to death by slanderous tongues 

Was the Hero that here lies: 
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs. 

Gives her fame which never dies; 
So the life that died with shame 

Lives in death with glorious fame. 
Hang thou there upon the tomb. 
Praising her when I am dumb. 
Now, music sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 
SONG. 

' Pardon, Goddess of the night. 
Those that slew thy virgin knight; 
For the which, with songs of woe, 
Kound about her tomb they go. 
Midnight, assist our moan; 
Help us to sigh and groan. 

Heavily, heavily: 
Graves, yawn, and yield your dead. 
Till death be uttered. 
Heavenly, heavenly. 
Claud. Now unto thy bones goodnight! 
Yearly will I do this rite. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your torches 

out: 
The wolves have pray'd: and look, the gentle day. 
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 

Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray: 
Thanlcs to you all, and leave us; lare you well. 
Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several 
way. [weeds; 

D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other 
And then to Leonato's we will go. 

Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue speeds 
Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— ^1 Room m Leonato's House. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, Ursula, 

Friar, and Hero. 

Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent? 

Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who aceus'd 
Upon the error that you heard debated: [her. 

But Margaret was in some fault for this; 
Although against her will, as it appears 
In tlie true course of all the question. 

Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. 

Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 

Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all. 
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves; 
And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd; 
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour 
To visit me:— You know your office, brother; 
You must be father to your brother's daughter. 
And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. 

Ant. Which I will do with eonfirm'd countenance. 

Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 

Friar. To do what, signior? 

Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. 
Signior Leonato. trutli it is. good signior. 
Your niece regards me witli an eye of favour, [true. 

Leon. That eye my daughter lent her: 'T is most 

Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 

Leon. The sight whereof i I think, you had from me. 
From Claudio, and the prince. But what 's your will? 

Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: 
But, for my will, my will is, your good will 
May stand with ours, this da y lo be conjoin'd 
In the estate of honourable marriage; 
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 

Leon. My heart is with your liking. 

Friar. And my help. 

[Here comes the prince, and Claudio.] 

Jinter Don Pedro and Claudio with Attendants. 



D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 

Leon. Good morrow, prince; good morrow, Claudio; 
We here attend you. Are you yet determln'd 
To-day to many Nvlth my brother's daughter? 

Claud. I 'II hold my mind were she an Ethlope. 

Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar 
ready. [Exit Antonio. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick: Why, what's 
That you have such a February face, [the matter. 
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness? 

Claud. I think he thinks upon the savage bull:— 
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold. 
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee; 
As once Europa did at lusty Jove, 
When he would play the noble beast in love. 

Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; 
And some such strange bull leap'd your father's cow. 
And got a calf in that same noble feat. 
Much like to you, for you have Just his bleat. 

Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladles masked. 

Claud. For this I owe you: here come other reckon- 
Whlch is the lady I must seize upon? [ings. 

Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 

Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see 
your face. [hand 

Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her 
Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 

Claud. Give me jour hand before this holy friar; 
I am your husband, if you like of me. 

Hero. And when I liv'd, I was your other wife: 

[Unmasking. 
And when you lov'd you were my other husband. 

Claud. Another Hero? 

Hiro. Nothing certalner; 

One Hero died [defll'd;] but I do live, 
And. surely as I live, I am a maid. 

D. Pedro. The former Hero! Hero that is dead! 

Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander 

Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; [llv'd. 
When, after that the holy rites are ended, 
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death: 

eantime, let wonder seem familiar. 
And to the chapel let us presently. 

Bene. Soft and fair, friar.— Which Is Beatrice? 

Beat. I answer to that name; [Unmasking] what is 

Bene. Do not you love me? [your will? 

Beat. Why no, no more than reason. 

Bene. Why then your uncle, and the prince, and 
Claudio, 
Have been deceived; for they swore you did. 

Beat. Do not you love me? 

Bene. Troth no, no more than reason. 

Beat. Why then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula, 
Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did. 

Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me. 

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for 
me. [me? 

Bene. 'T is no such matter: — Then you do not love 

Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 

Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gentle- 
man. 

Claud. And I'll be sworn upon 't, that he loves 
For here's a paper, written in his hand, [her; 

A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashioned to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here's another. 

Writ in my cousin s hand, stolen from her pocket. 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 

Bene. A miracle; here's our own hands against our 
hearts!— Come, I will have thee; but, by this light, I 
take thee for pity. 

Beat. I would not deny you;— but, by this good 
day, I yield upon great persuasion; and, partly, to 
save your life, for 1 was told you were in a consump- 
tion. 

Bene. Peace, I will stop j'our mouth. [Kissing her. 

D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick the married 
man? 

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince; a college of wit- 
crackers cannot flout me out of my humour: Dost 
thou think I care for a satire, or an epigram? No- if 
a man will be beaten witn brains, he shall wear 
nothing handsome about him: In brief, since I do 
purpose to marry, I will tliink nothing to any pur- 
pose that the world can say against it; and therefore 
never flout at me for what I have said against it; for 
man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion.- For 
thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten thee; 
but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, live un- 
bruised, and love my cousin. 

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have denied 
Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out of thy 
single life, to make thee a double dealer; which, out 
of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin do not look 
exeeeeding narrowly to thee. 

Bene. Come, come, we are friends: — let's have a' 
dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our 
own hearts, and our wives heels. 

Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. 

ISene. First, o' my word; therefore, play music- 
Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: 
there is no staff more reverend than one tipped 
with horn. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in flight. 
And brought with armed men back to Messina. 

Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow; I'll devise 

thee brave punishments for him.— Strike up, pipers. 

[Dance. Exeunt. 



LOVKS LABOUR'S LOST. 



Ferdinand, King of Navarre. 
lSv.lle.J^'-'^' "-ttending on the 

liOYET, ) Lords, attending on the 
llEECADE, J Princess of France. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Don Adrianode Armado, a fantastical 
Spaniard. 

Sir Nathanial, a curate. 
IIolofernes, a schoolmaster. 
Dull, a constable. 
C0ST.UID, a clown. 



Moth, page to Armado. 

A Forester. 

Princess op France. 

ROSALINE, ) Ladies, attending on the 



Maria, 

1 liATIIEniXE, ) 



Jaquenetta, a country wench. 

Officers, and others. Attendants on the 
King and Princess. 



Princor 



Scene i.] 



10V£:'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



47 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— Navarre. A Pari; with a Palace in it. 

Enter the King, Blron, Longavllle, aiw/ Duiiiain. 

King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives. 
Live reglster'd upon our brazen tombs. 
And then grace us in the disgrace of death; 
When, spite of cormorant devouring time. 
The endeavour of this present breath may buy 
That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, 
And make us heirs of all eternity. 
Therefore, brave conquerorsi— for so you are, 
That war against your own affections. 
And the huge army of the world's desires.— 
Our late edict shall strongly stand in t^rce: 
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world; 
Our court shall be a little Academe, 
Still and contemplative in living art. 
You three, Blron, Dumain, pnd Longaville, 
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me. 
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, 
Tliat are recorded in this schedule here: 
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names; 
That his own hand may strike his honour down. 
That violates the smallest branch herein: 
If you are armed to do, as sworn to do. 
Subscribe to vour deep oath, and keep it too. 

Long. I amresolv'd: 't is but a three years' fast: 
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine: 
Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits 
Make rich the ribs, but bankerout the wits. 

Diim. My loving lord. Dumain is mortified. 
The grosser manner of these world's delights 
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves: 
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die; 
With all these living in philosophy. 

Biron. I can but say their protestation over. 
So much, dear liege. I have already sworn. 
That is. To live and study here three years. 
But there are other strict observances: 
As, not to see a woman in that term; 
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there: 
And, one day in a week to touch no food. 
And but one meal on every day beside; 
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there: 
And then to sleep but three hours in the night. 
And not be seen to wink of all the day: 
(When I was wont to think no harm all night. 
And make a dark night too of half the day;) 
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there: 
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep; 
Not to see ladies,— study,— fast,— not sleep. 

King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. 

Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please; 
I only swore, to study with your grace. 
And stay here in your court for three years' space. 

Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest. 

Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore In jest. 
What is the end of study? let me know. 

King. Why, that to know, which else we should 
not know. 

Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from 
common sense? 

i' . ^.r, that is study's godlike recompense. 

Bii.,.:. Come on then, I will swear to study .so. 
To know the thing I am forbid to know: 
As thus,— To study where I well may dine, 

When I to feast expressly am forbid; 
Or, study where to meet some mistress fine, 

When mistresses from common sense are hid 
Or, having sworn too hardakeeping oath, 
Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
If study's gain be thus, and this be so. 
Study knows that, which yet it doth not know: 
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no. 

King. These be the stops that hinder study quite. 
And train our Intellects to vain delight. [vain, 

Biron. Why, all delights are vain; and that most 
Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain: 
As, painfully to pore upon a book. 

To seek the light of truth; while truth the while 
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look: 

Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile: 
So, ere you flna where light in darkness lies. 
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
Stud.y me how to please the eye indeed, 

By fixing it upon a fairer eye; 
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed. 

And give him light that it was blinded by. 
Study is like tlie heaven's glorious sun, 

That win not be deep-seareh'd with saucy looks; 
Small have continual plodders ever won, 

Save base authority from others' books. 
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 

That give a name to every fixed star. 
Have no more profit of their shining nights. 

Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. 
Too much to know is, to know nought but fame; 
And every godfather can give a name. fing! 

King. How well he's read, to reason against read- 

Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! 

Long. He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the 
weeding. fa breeding. 

Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are 

Dum. How follows that? 

Biron. Fit In his place and time. 

Dum. In reason nothing. 

Biron. Something then in rhyme. 

King. Biron is like an envious sneaping frost, 
That bites the first-born infants of the spring. 

Biron. Well say 1 am; why should proud summer 
boast. 
Before the birds have any cause to sing. 
Why should I join in an abortive birth? 
At Christmas I no more desire a rose. 
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; 
But like of each thing that in season grows. 
So you, to study now it is too late. 
Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. 

King. Well, sit you out; go home, Biron; adieu: 

Biron. No, my good lord; 1 have sworn to stay 
with you: 
And, though I have for barbarism spoke more. 

Than for that angel knowledge you can say. 
Yet, confident I "11 keep what I have swore. 

And bide the penance of eacli three years' day. 
Give me the paper, let me read the same; 
.And to the strictest decrees I '11 write my name 

King. How well this yielding rescues thee from 
shame! 

Biron. [Reads.\ 

Item, That no woman shall come within a mile of 
my court- 



Hath this been proclaim'd? 

Long. Four days ago. 

Biron. Let 's see the penalty. \I{eadi<.\ 

—On pain of losing her tongue.— 
Who devls'd this penalty? 

Long. Marry, that did I. 

Biron. Sweet lord, and why? [penalty. 

Long. To frlglit them hence with that dread 

Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. 

{ReadsA 

Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman 
within the term of three years, he shall endure such 
public shame as the rest of the court shall possibly 
devise.— 
This article, my liege, yourself must break; 

For, well you know, here comes in embassy 
The French king's daughter, with yourself to 
speak, — 

A maid of grace and complete majesty,— 
About surrender-up of Aqintain 

To her decrepit, slpk, and bed-rid father: 
Therefore this article is made in vain. 

Or vain'y comes the admired princess hither. 

King. What say .you, lords? why, this was quite 

Biron. So study evermore is overshot. [forgot. 

While it doth study to have what It would. 
It doth forget to do the thing it should: 
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
'T is won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost. 

King. We must, of force, dispense with this decree; 
She must lie here on mere necessity. 

Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 
Three thousand times within this three years' 
For every man with his affects is bom; [space: 

Not by might master'd, but by special grace. 
If I break faith, this word snail speak for me, 
I am forsworn on mere necessity. — 
So to the laws at large I write my name: 

[Sttbscribes. 

And he thait breaks them in the least degree. 
Stands in attainder of eternal shame: 

Suggestions are to others, as to me: 
But,! believe, although I seem so lotn, 
I am the last that will last keep his oath. 
B litis there no quick recreation granted? 

King. Ay, that there is; our court, you know, is 
With a refined traveller of Spain; [haunted 

A man in all the world's new fashion planted. 

That hath a mint of phrases In his brain: 
One whom the music of liis own vain tongue 

Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony; 
A man of complements, whom right and wrong 

Have chose as umpire of their mutiny: 
This child of fancy, that Armado hight 

For interim to our studies, shall relate. 
In high-born words, the worth of many a knight 

From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. 
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I; 
But, 1 protest, I love to hear him lie. 
And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 

Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 

Long. Costard, the swain, and he, shall be our sport; 
And, so to study, three years is but short. 

Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. 

Dull. Which is the duke's own person? 

Biron. 1 his, fellow; What would'st? 

Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I am 
his grace's tharborough: but I would see his own 
person in flesh and blood. Biron. This is he. 

Dull. Signior — Arme — Arme — commends you. 
There's villainy abroad; this letter will tell you more. 

Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touchingme. 

King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 

Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God 
for high words. 

Long. A high hope for a low heaven- Godgrantus 
patience! 

Biron. To hear? or forbear hearing? 

Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moder- 
ately; or to forbear both. 

Biron. Well, sir, be It as the style shall give us 
cause to climb m the merriness. 

Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Ja- 
quenetta. The matter of it Is, I was taken with 
tne manner. 

Biron. In what manner? 

Cost. In manner and form following, sir; all those 
three: I was seen with her In the manor-house, 
sitting with her upon the form, and taken following 
her into the park; which, put together. Is in manner 
and form following. Now, sir, for the manner,— it Is 
the manner of a man to speak to a woman: for the 
form,— in some form. 

Biron. For the following, sir? 

Cost. As it shall follow in my correction; And God 
defend the right! 

King. Will you hear this letter with attention? 

Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 

Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken 
after the flesh. 

King. [Reads."] 

" Great deputy, the welkin's vicegerent, and sole 
dominator of Navarre, my soul's earth's God, and 
body's fostering patron,— 

Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 

King. 

" So it Is,— 

Cost. It may be so; but if he say it Is so, he is, in 
telling true, but so. 

King. Peace! 

Cost, —be to me, and every man that dares not 

King. No words ! [fight ! 

Cosi. —of other men's secrets, I beseech you. 

King. 

" So it is, besieged with sable-coloured melancholy, 

I did commend the black-oppressing humour to tlie 

! most wholesome physic of thy health-giving air: 

1 and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to walk. 

I The time when? About the sixth hour; when beasts 

most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to 

that nourishment which Is called supper. So much 

for the time when: Now for the ground which; 

which, I mean, I walked upon: it is ycleped thv 

park. Tl en for the place where; where, I mean, I 

I did encounter that obscene and most preposterous 

event, that draweth from my snow-white pen the 

ebon-coloured ink, which here thou viewest, be- 

holdest, surveyest, or seest. But to the place where, 

—It standeth north-north-east and by east from the 

west corner of thy curious -knotted garden. There 

did I see that low-spirited swain, that base minnow 

, of thy mirth. 



Cost. Me? 

King. 
—"that unletter'd small-knowing soul, 

Cost. Me? 

King. 
—" that shallow vassal. 

Cost. Still me? 

King. 
—" which as I remember, hight Costard, 

Cost. Ome! 

King. 
— " sorted, and consorted, contrary to thy estab- 
lished proclaimed edict and continent canon, wltk 
— with,— O with— but with this I passion to say 
wherewith. 

Cost. With a wench. 

King. 
—"with a child of our grandmother Eve, a female; 
or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman. 
Him I (as my ever esteemed duty pricks me on) 
have sent to thee, to receive the meed of punish- 
ment, by thy sweet grace's officer, Antony Dull; a 
man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and estima- 
tion. [DulL 

Bull. Me, an 't shall please you; I am Antony 

King. 

" For Jaquenetta. (so is the weaker vessel called, 
which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain,)! 
keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury; and shall, at 
the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial. 
Thine, In all compliments of devoted and heart- 
burning l^eat of duty,— Don Adiiiano de Armado." 

Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but tht 
best that ever I heard. 

King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, what 
say you to this? 

Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. 

King. Did you hear the proclamation? 

Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but llttla 
of the marking of it. 

King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, t« 
be taken with a wench. 

Cost. I was taken with none, sir; I was taken witfc 
a damosel. 

King. Well, it was proclaimed damosel. 

Cost. This was no damosel, neither, sir; she was a 
virgin. fvlrgin. 

King. It is so varied too; for It was proclaimed 

Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity; Iwas takem 
with a maid. 

King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 

Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 

King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence; You 
shall fast a week vnth. bran and water. [porridge. 

Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and 

King. And Don Armado shall be your keeper. — 
My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er. — 
And go we, lords, to put In practice, that 

Which each to other hath so strongly sworn.- 

[Exeimt King, Longaville, and Dumain. 

Biron. I '11 lay my head to any good man's hat. 
These oaths and lords will prove an idle scorn. — 
Sirrah, come on. 

Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir: for true It Is, I was 
taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta Is a true 
girl; and therefore. Welcome the sour cup of pros- 
perity! Affliction may one day smile again, and un- 
tU then. Sit down. Sorrow! [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Another part of the same. 

Armado's House. 

Enter Armado and Moth. 

Arm. Boy, what sign is It, when a man of great 
spirit grows melancholy? 

Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 

Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self -same thing, 
dear imp. 

Moth. No, no; O lord, sir, no. 

Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan- 
choly, my tender iuvenal? 

Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the working, 
my tough senior. 

Arm. Why tough senior? why tough senior? 

Moth. Why tender Juvenal? why tender juvenal? 

Arm. I spoke It, tender juvenal, as a congruent 
epltheton, appertaining to thy young days, which 
we may nominate tender. 

Moth. And 1, tough senior, as an appertinent title 
to your old time, which we may name tough. 

Arm. Pretty, and apt. 

Moth. How mean you, sir; I pretty, and my saying 
apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty? 

Arm. Thou pretty, because little. 

Moth. Little pretty, because little: Wherefore apt? 

Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 

Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master? 

Arm. In thy condign praise. 

Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. 

Arm. What? that an eel is Ingenious? 

Moth. That an eel is quick. 

Ai-m. I do say, thou art quick in answers: 
Thou heatest my blood. 

Moth. I am answered, sir. 

Arm. I love not to be crossed. 

Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love 
not him. [Aside. 

Arm. I have promised to study three years with 

Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. [the duke. 

Arm. Impossible. 

Moth. How many is one thrice told? rtsipster. 

Arm. I am 111 at reckoning; it fits the spirit of a 

Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gai. ester, s'r. 

Arm. I confess both; they are both the >aruioh of 
a complete man. 

Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the 
gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 

Arm. It dot- amount to one more than two. 

Moth. Which the base vulgar call, three. 

At^i. True. 

Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? 
Now here is three studied, ere you '11 thrice wink: 
and how easy it is to put years to the word three, 
and study three years in two words, the dancing 
horse will tell you. 

Arm. A most fine figure! 

Moth. To prove you a cipher. [Aside. 

Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love: and, 
as it is base for a soldier to love, so am 1 in love with 
a base wench. It drawing my sword against the 
humour of affection would deliver me from the re- 
P'Obate thought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, 
and ransom him to any French courtier for a new 
devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh; methlnks, 



48 



LOVE'S LABOUirS LOST. 



[Act II. 



I should outswcar Cupid. Comfort me, boy; What 
great men have been In love? 

Moth. Hercules, master. 

Artn. Most sweet Herculcsl— More authority, dear 
boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let tnera be 
men of good repute and carriage. 

Moth. Sampson, master; lie was a man of good 
carnage, great carriage; for he carried the town- 
gates on his back, like a porter: and he was in love. 

Ann. O well-knit Sampson! strong-jointed Samp- 
son ! 1 do excel thee In my rapier, as much as thou 
didst me In carrying gates. I am in love too, — Who 
was Sampson's love, my dear Moth? 

Moth. A woman, master. 

Ar»i. Of what complexion? 

Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the tveo; or 
one of tlie four. 

Ann. Tell me precisely of what complexion? 

Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir.- 

Ann. Is that one of the four complexions? 

Moth. As I have read, sir; and the best of them too. 

Ann. Green, Indeed, is the colour of lovers; but to 
have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had 
small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for her 
•wit. 

Moth. It was so, sir; for she had a green wit. 

Ann. My love is most immaculate white and red. 

Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked 
under such colours. 

Ami. Define, define, well-educated Infant. 

Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, 
assist me. 

Ann. Sweet Invocation of a child: most pretty, 
and pathetical ! 

Moth.. If she be made of white and red, 
Her faults will ne'er be known; 
Fo)' blushing checks by faults are bred. 

And fears by pale-white shown: 
Then, if she fear, or be to blame. 

By this you shall not know; 
For still her cheeks possess the same, ' 
Which native she doth owe. 
A. dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of 
white and red. [the Beggar? 

Ann. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and 

Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad 
some three ag;es since: but, I think, now 't is not to 
be found; or. If it were, it would neither serve for 
the writing, nor the tune. 

Ann. I will have that subject newly writ o'er, that 
I ma.v example my digression by some mighty pre- 
cedent. Boy, I do love that countr.v girl, that I 
took in the park with the rational hind Costard; she 
Reserves well. 

Moth, To be whipped; and yet a better love than 
my master. [Aside. 

Ann. Sing, boy; my spirit grows heavy in love. 

Moth. And that 's great marvel, loving a light 
wench. Ann. I say, sing. 

Moth. Forbear till this company be past. 

Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. 

Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is that you keep 
Costard safe: and you must let him take no delight, 
nor no penance; but a' must fast three days a-week. 
For this damsel, I must keep her at the park; she is 
allowed for the day-woman. Fare you well. 

Ann. I do betray myself with blushing.— Maid. 

Jaq. Man. 

Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. 

Jai. That's hereby. 

Arm. 1 know where it is situate. 

Jaq,. Lord, how wise you are! 

Arm. I will tell thee wonders. 

Jaq. With that face? Arm. I love thee. 

Jag. So I heard you say. 

Arm. And so farewell. 

Jag. Fair weather after you \ 

DiM. Come, Jaquenetta, away. [Ex. Dull and Jaq. 

Ann. Villain, thou Shalt fast for thy offences ere 
tiiou be pardoned. 

Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I d it, I shall do It on 
a full stomach. 

Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. 

Cost. I am more bound to you, than yom- fellows, 
tor they are but lightly rewarded. 

Arm. Take away this villain; shut him up. 

Moth. Come, you transgressing slave; away. 

Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, being 
loose. [to prison. 

Moth. No, sir; that were fast and loose: thou Shalt 

Cost. Well, it ever I do see the merry days of deso- 
lation that I have seen, some shall see— 

Moth. What shall some see? 

Cost. Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they 
look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent In 
their words; and, therefore, I will say nothing: I 
thank God, I have as little patience as another man; 
and, therefore, I can be quiet. [Ex. Moth and Cost. 

Arm.. I do affect the very ground, which is base, 
where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, 
which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, 
(which is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love; 
And how can that be true love, wliich is falsely at- 
tempted? Love is a familiar; love is a devil: there 
is no evil angel but love. Yet Sampson was so 
tempted; and he had an excellent strength: yet was 
Solomon so seduced; and he had a very good wit. 
Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, and 
therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. 
The first and second cause will not serve my turn; 
the passado he respects not, the duello he regards 
not: his disgrace is to be called boy; but his glory 
Is to subdue men. Adieu, valour! rust rapier! be 
still drum ! for your manager is in love; yea, he 
loveth. Assist me some extemporal god of rhyme, 
for, I am sure, I shall turn sonnet. Devise wit; 
write pen; for I am for whole volumes in folio. 

[Exit. 

ACT ir. 

Scene I.— Another part of the Park. A 
tavUion and Tents at a distance. 
Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria, Ka- 
tharine, Boyet, Lords, and other Attendants. 

Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest 
spirit.s; 
Consider who the king your father sends; 
To whom he sends; and what's his embassy: 
Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, 
To parley with the sole inlieritor 
Of all perfections that a man may owe. 
Matchless Navarre: the plea of no less weight 



Than Aquitaln; a dowry for a queen. 

Be now as prodigal of all dear grace. 

As nature was in making graces dear. 

When she did starve the general world beside, 

And prodigally gave them all to you. [mean, 

Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but 
Needs not the painted ilourisli of your praise; 
Beauty Is bougnt by judgment of the e.ve. 
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues: 
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth. 
Than you much willing to be counted wise 
In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
But now to task the tasker,— Good Boyet, 
You are not ignorant, all telling fame 
Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow. 
Till painful study shall outwear three years. 
No woman may approach his silent court: 
Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course. 
Before we enter his forbidden gates. 
To know his pleasure; and in that behalf, 
Bold of your worthiness, we single yon 
As our best-moving fair solicitor: 
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, 
On serious business, craving quick despatch. 
Importunes personal conference with nis grace: 
Haste, signify so mucli; while we attend. 
Like liumble visag'd suitors, his high will. 

Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. [Exit. 

Prtn. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. 
Who are the votaries, my loving lords. 
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? 

1 Lord. Longavllle is one. 

Prin. Know you the man? 

Mar. I know him, madam; at a marriage feast, 
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir 
Of Jacques Falconbridge solemnised. 
In Normandy saw I this Longaville: 
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd; 
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms: 
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. 
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss. 
(It virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,) 
Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will; 
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills 
It should hone spare that come within his power. 

Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike^ is 't so? 

Jlfar. They say so most, that most his humours 
know. 

Prin. Such short-Uv'd wits do wither as they grow. 
Who are the rest? 

Kath. The young Dumain, a well-acbomplished 
Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd: [youth, 

Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill, 
For he hath wit to make an ill shape (rood. 
And shape to win grace though he haa no wit. 
I saw him at the duke Alenson's once; 
And much too little of that good I saw. 
Is my report, to his great worthiness. 

Ros. Another of these students at that time 
Was there with him: If I have heard a truth, 
Biron they call him; but a merrier man. 
Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
I never spent an hour's talk withal: 
His eye begets occasion for his wit: 
For every object that the one doth catch. 
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; 
Which his fair tongue fconceit's expositor) 
Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 
That aged ears play truant at his tales. 
And younger hearings are quite ravished; 
So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 

Prin. God bless my ladies! are they all in love; 
That every one her own hath garnished 
With such bedecking ornaments of praise? 

ilfar. Here comes Boyet. 

Re-enter Boyet. 

Prin. Now, what admittance, lord? 

Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach; 
And he, and his competitors in oath. 
Were all address'd to meet you, gentle lady. 
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt. 
He rather means to lodge you in the field, 
(Like one that come here to besiege his court,) 
Then seek a dispensation for his oath. 
To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
Here comes Navarre. [The Ladies mask. 

Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and 
Attendants. 

King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of 
Navarre. 

Prin. Fair, I give you back again; and, welcome I 
have not yet: the roof of this coui-t is too high to be 
yours; and welcome to the wild fields too base to be 
mine. 

King. You shall be welcome.madame, to my court. 

Prm. I wiU be welcome then; conduct me t&ither. 

King. Hear me, dear lady, I iiave sworn an oatli. 

Prin. Our lady help my lord! he '11 be forsworn. 

King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. 

Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing 

King. Your lad.vship is Ignorant what it is. (else. 

Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise. 
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. 
I hear, your grace hath sworn-out houseJceeping: 
'T is deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord. 
And sin to break it: 
But pardon me, I am too sudden bold, 
To teach a teacher ill-beseemeth me. 
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming. 
And suddenly resolve me In my suit. 

[Gii'es a paper. 

King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. 

Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away; 
For you '11 prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. 

Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? 

Ros. Didnotldance with you in Brabant once? 

Biron. I know you did. 

Ros. How needless was it then 

To ask the question! 

Biroti. You must not be so quick. 

Ros. 'T is long of you that spur me with such ques- 
tions. 

Biron. Your wit 's too hot, it speeds too fast, 't will 

Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. [tire. 

Biron. AVhut time o'day? 

Ros. Tile hour that fools should ask. 

Biron. Now fair befall your mask! 

Ros. Fair fall tlie face it covers! 

Biron. And send you many lovers! 

Ros. Amen, so you be none. 

Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. 

King. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; 



Being but the one half of an entire sum. 

Disbursed by my father in his wars. 

But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,) 

Kecelv'd that sum; yet there remains unpaid 

A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which 

One part of Aquitaln is bound to us. 

Although not valued to the money's worth. 

If then the king your father will restore 

But that one half which is unsatisfied. 

We will give up our right in Aquitaln, 

And hold fair frlendsliip with nis majesty. 

But that, it seems, he little purposeth. 

For here he doth demand to tiave repaid 

A hundred thousand crowns; and not demands. 

On payment of a hundred thousand crowns. 

To nave his title live in Aquitaln; 

Which we much rather had depart withal. 

And have the money by our father lent. 

Than Aquitaln so gelded as it is. 

Dear princess, were not his requests so far 

From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 

A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast. 

And go well satisfied to France again. 

Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong. 
And wrong the reputation of your name, 
In so unseeniing to confess receipt 
Of that which liath so faithfully been paid. 

King. I do protest, I never heard of it; 
And, if you prove it, I '11 repay it back. 
Or yield up Aquitaln. 

Pi'in. We arrest your word: — 

Boyet, you can produce acquittances. 
For such a sum, from special officers 
Of Charles his father. 

King. Satisf.v me so. 

Boyet. So please your grace, the pacltet is not coma 
Where that and other specialties are bound; 
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 

King It shall sufBce me: at wdiich interview. 
All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
Meantime, receive such welcome at my hand 
As honour, without breach of honour, may 
Make tender of to thy true worthiness: 
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates; 
But here without you shall be so receiv'd. 
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart. 
Though so denied fair harbour in my house. 
Your own good thoughts excuse me: and farewell: 
To-morrow we shall visit you again. [grace! 

Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort .your 

King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place! 

[Exeunt King and his train. 

Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. 

Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations; I would be 

flad to see it. 
would, you heard it groan. 

Ros. Is the fool sick? Biron. Sick at the heart. 

Ros. Alack, let it blood. 

Biron. Would that do It good? 

Ros. My physic says, I. 

Biron. Vi ill you prick 't with your eye? 

Ros. No poynt, with my knife. 

Biron. Now, God save thy life! 

Ros. And yours from long living! 

Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring. 

Sum. Sir, I pray you a word: What lady is that 
same? 

Boyet. The heir of Alenson, Rosaline her name. 

Bum. A gallant lady! Monsieur, fare you well. [Er. 

Long. I beseech you a word; What is she in the 
white? nighl. 

Boyet. A woman sometimes, if you saw her in the 

Long. Perchance, light in the ' light: I desire her 
name. [were a shame. 

Boyet. She hath but one for her.self ; to desire that. 

Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? 

Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. 

Long. God's blessing on your beard! 

Boyet. Good sir, be not offended: 
She is an heir of Falconbridge. 

Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 
She is a most sweet lady. 

Boyet. Not unlike, sir; that maybe. [Ex. Long. 

Biron. What 's her name, in the cap? 

Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. 

Biron. Is she wedded, or no? 

Boyet. To her will, or so. 

Biroti. You are welcome, sir; adieu! 

Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. 

[Exit Biron. — Ladies unmask: 

Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord; 
Not a word with liira but a jest. 

Boyet. And every jest but a word. 

Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his 
word. [board. 

Boyet. 1 was as willing to grapple, as he was to 

Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry! 

Boyet. And wherefore not ships?, 

No sheep, sweet lamb, unless we feed on your lips. 

Jlfar. You sheep, and I pasture; Shall that finish 

Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. [the jest? 

[Offering to kiss her. 

Mar. Not so, gentle beast. 

My lips are no common, though several they be. 

Boyet. Belonging to whom? 

Mar. To my fortunes and ine. 

Prin. Good wits will be jangling: but, gentles, 
agree; 
This civil war of wits were much better us'd 
On Navarre and his book-men; for here 't is abus'd. 

Boyet. If my observation, (which ver.v seldom lies,) 
By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes. 
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 

Prin. With what? 

Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. 

Prin. Your reason. [retire 

Boyet. Wliy, all his behaviours did make their 
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire: 
His heart like an agate, with your print impressed. 
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed: 
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see. 
Did stumble with hfiste in his eyesight to be; 
Ail senses to that sense did make their repair. 
To feel only looking on fairest of fair: 
Methought all his senses were lock'd in his e.ve. 
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; 
Who, tend'rlng tlieir ov/ii worth, from whence they 

were glaxs'd. 
Did point out to buy them, along as you pass'd. 
His face's own margent did quote such amazes. 
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes: 
I'll give you Atjuitain, and all that is his. 
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. 
Piin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd— 



Scene i.] 



LOVKH LAB OUR- S LOST. 



49 



Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye 
hath discios'ii: 
I only have made a mouth of his eye. 
By adding a tongue wliich Ilcnow will not lie. 
Ro3. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st 
skilfully. [of him. 

Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news 
Ros. Then was Venus like her mother; for lier 

father is but grim. 
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad wenche.=? 
y.ar. No. Boyet. What, then, do you see? 

Ros. Ay, our way to be gone- 
Boyet. You are too hard for me. [,E.ccunt. 

AC r III 

Scene 1.— Another pai-t of the Park. 
£n(er Armado add Moth. 
Ann Warble child- -nake passionate my sense of 
hearing 



and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you 
forgot your love? 

Arm. Almost I had. 

Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart. 

Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. 

Moth. And out of heart, master: all those three I 
will prove. Arm. Wliat wilt thou prove? 

Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and 
without, upon the instant: By heart you love her, 
because your Ixeart cannot come by her: in heart 
yon love her, because your heart is in love with 
her: and out of heart you love her, being out of 
heart that you cannot enjoy her. 

Arm. I am all these three. [nothing at all. 

Moth. And three times as much more, and yet 

Arm. Fetch hither tlie swain; he must carry me 
a letter. 

Moth. A message well sympathized; a horse to be 
ambassador for an ass! 

A.I II Hi ha what sayest thou? 



Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy 
silly thought, my spleen; the heaving of my lungs 
provokes me to ridiculous smiling: O, pardon me, 
my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for 
I'enrou, and the word Venvoy for a salve? 

Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not Venvoy 
a salve? [make plain 

Arm. No, page: It is an epilogue or discourse, to 
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. 
I will example It: 

The fox, the ape, and the humble bee, 
Were still at odds, belng.but three. 
There 's the moral: Now the Venuoy. 

Moth. I will add the Venvoy; say the moral again. 

Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee. 
Were .still at odds, being but three. 

Moth. Until the goose came out of door. 
And stay 'd the odds by adding four. 
Now Willi begin your moral, and do you follow with 
ray Vencoy. 



\ 




[ACT V. — SCENE H.] 



King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, 



The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! 



Moth. Concolinel ^Singing. 

Arm. Sweet air! Go, tenderness of years! take 
this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him 
festmately hither; I must employ him in a letter to 
my love. [French brawl? 

Moth. Master, will you win your love with a 

Arm. How meanest thou? brawling in French? 

Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off a tune 
at the tongue's end, canary to it witli your feet, 
humour it with turning up your evelids: sigli a note, 
and sing a note; sometime through the throat, as if 
you swallowed love with singing love; sometime 
through the nose, as if you snuffed up love by smell- 
ing love; with your hat. penthouse-like, o'er the shop 
ot your eyes; with your arms crossed on vour thin- 
belly doublet, like a rabbit on a spit; or vbur hands 
in your pocket, like a man after the old painting; 
and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and 
away; These are comph'ments, these are humours; 
these betray nice wenches, that would he betrayed 
without these; and make them men of note, (do 
you note, men?) that most are alTected to these. 

Arm. Fow hast thou purchased this experience? 

Moth, by my pennv of observation. 

Arm. But O,— but O— 

.Voth. —the hobby-horse is forgot. 

-l)-m. Caliest thou my love, hobbv-horse? 

Mo h. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt. 



Moth. Marr.v, sir, you must send the ass upon the 
horse, for he is very slow-gaited: But I go. 

Ann. The way is but -short; away. 

Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 

Arm. Thy meaning, pretty Ingenious? 
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow? [no. 

Moth. Minime, honest master; or rather, master. 

Arm. I say, lead is slow. 

Motli. You are too swift, sir. to say so. 

Is that lead slow which is Jlred from a gun? 

Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric! 
He reputes me a cannon; and the bullet, that's he; — 
I shoot thee at the swain. 

Moth. Thump then, and I flee. [,Exit. 

Arm. A most acute juvenal; voluble and free ot 
grace! 
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face: 
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. 
My lierald is returned. 

Re-enter Moth and Costard. 

Moth. A wonder, master; here 's a Costard broken 
in a shin. 

Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come,— thy 
V Prtoo//,-- begin. 

Cost. No egma, no riddle, no Venvoy; no salve in 
them all, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain; no 
Venvoy, no Venvoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain! 



Tlie fox, the ape, and the humble-bee. 
Were still at odds, being but three: 
Ai-m. Until the goose came out of door, 

Staying the odds by adding four. 
Moth. A good Venvoy, ending in the goose; 
.Would you desire more? 

Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, 
that 's flat:— 
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be f at.— 
To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose; 
Let me see a fat Venvoy; ay, that 's a fat goose. 
Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this ar- 
gument begin? 
Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a 
Then call'd you for the Venvoy. [shin. 

Cost. True, and I for a plantain: Thus came your 
argument in; 
Then the boy's fat Venvoy, the goose that yon bought. 
And he ended the market. 

Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard 
broken in a shin? 
Moth. I will tell yon sensibly. [that Venvoy. 

Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it. Moth; I will speak 
I. Costard, running out, that was safely within. 
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. 
Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 
Arm. Marry, Costard, I will enfranchise thee. 



OO 



LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 



LAot rv. 



Cost. O, marry me to one Frances;— I smell some 
Venvoy, some goose In this. 

Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at 
liberty, enfreedoming thy person; thou wert immur- 
ed, restrained, captivated, bound. 

Cost. True, true; and now you will be my purga- 
tion, and let me loose. 

Attn. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur- 
ance; and, in lieu thereof. Impose on thee nothing 
but this: Bear this signifioant to the country maid 
Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; [giving him 
moneif] for the best ward of mine honour is reward- 
ing mv dependants. Moth, follow. [Exit. 

Moth. Like the sequel, I.— Signer Costard, adieu. 

Coxt. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony 
Jew! [Exit Moth. 

Now will I look to his remuneration. Kemunera- 
tlon! O, that 's the Latin word for three farthings: 
three farthings— remuneration.— What 's the price 
of this Inkle? a penny:— No, I '11 give you a re- 
muneration: why, it carries it.- Remuneration!— 
why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will 
never buy and sell out of this word. 
Enter Blron. 

Biron. O, my good knave Costard! exceedingly 
well met. 

Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon 
may a man buy for a remuneration? 

Biron. What is a remuneration? 

Cost. Marry, sir, halfpenny farthing. 

Biron. O, why then, tliree-farthings-worth of silk. 

Cost. I thank your worship: God be with you! 

Biron. O, stay, slave; I must employ thee: 
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave. 
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 

Cost. When would you have it done, sir? 

Biron. O, this afternoon. 

Cost. Well, I will do it, sir: Fare you well. 

Biron. O, thou knowest not what It is. 

Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. 

Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 

Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow morn- 
ing, [it is but this;— 

Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, slave. 
The princess comes to hunt here in the park, 
And in her train there is a gentle lady; 
When tongues speak sweetl.y, then they name her 
And Rosalme they call her: ask for her; [name. 

And to her white hand see thou do commend 
This seal'd-up counsel. There 's thy guerdon; go. 

[Gives him monej/. 

Cost. Garden,— O sweet gai-don! better than re- 
muneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most 
sweet gardon!— I will do it, sir, in print. — Gardon— 
remuneration. [F.rit. 

Biron. O!— And I, foi-sooth, in love! I, that have 
been love's whip; 
A very beadle to a humorous sigh; 
A critic; nay, a night-watch constable; 
A domineering pedant o'er the boy. 
Than whom no mortal so magnificent! 
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy; 
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid: 
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents. 
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces. 
Sole imperator, and great general 
Of trotting paritors, O my little heart!— 
And I to be a corporal of his field. 
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop! 
What? Hove! I sue! I seek a wife! 
A woman that is like a German clock. 
Still a repairing; ever out of frame; 
And never going aright, being a watch, 
But being watch'd that it may still go right? 
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all; 
And, among three, to love the worst of all; 
A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, 
With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes; 
Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed, 
Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard! 
And I to sigh for her! to watch for her. 
To pray for her? Go to; it is a plague 
That Cupid will impose for my neglect 
Of his almighty dreadful little might. 
Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan; 
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Ex. 

ACT IV. 

SCESE I.— Another part of the Park. 

Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, 
Boyet, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester. 

Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so 
Against the steep uprising of the nlli? piard 

Boyet. I know not; but, I think, it was not he. 

Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting 
mind. 

Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch; 
On Saturday we will return to France. — 
Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush. 
That we must stand and play the murderer in? 

For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice; 
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. 

Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot. 
And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. 

For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 

Prin. What, what! first praise me, and then again 
say, no? 
O short-liv'd pride! Not fair? alack for woe! 

For. Yes, madam, fair. 

Pi-in. Nay, never paint me now; 

Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true; 

[Giving him. money. 
Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 

For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. 

Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. 
O heresy in fair, fit for these days! 
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. — 
But come, the bow:— Now mercy goes to kill, 
And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: 
Not wounding, pity would not let me do 't; 
If wounding, then it was to show my skill. 
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. 
And, out of question, .so it is sometimes; 
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes; 
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, 
We bend to that the working of the heart: 
As I, for praise alone, now .seek to spill 
The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no 111. 



Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sovereign- 
Only for praise' sake when they strive to be [ty 

Lords o'er tlieir lords? 

Fiin. Only for praise: and praise we may afford 
To any lady that subdues a lord. 

Enter Costard. 

Boyet. Here comes a member of the commonwealth. 

Cost. God dig-you-den all! Pray you, which is the 
head lady? 

Piin. Thou Shalt know her, fellow, by the rest 
that have no heads. 

Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest? 

Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. [is truth. 

Cost. The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth 

An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, 

One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be 

fit. [here. 

Are not you the chief woman? you are the thickest 

Prin. What 's your will, sir? wnat 's your will? 

Cost. I have a letter from Monsieur Biron to one 
lady Rosaline. [of mine: 

Prin. O, thy letter, thv letter: he 's a good friend 
Stand aside, good bearer,— Boyet, you can carve; 
Break up this capon. 

Boyet. I am bound to serve.— 

This letter is mistook, it importeth none here; 
It is writ to Jaquenetta. 

Prin. We will read it, I swear; 

Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. 

Boyet. [Beads.] 

" By heaven, that thou art fair is most infallible; 
true, that thou art beauteous; truth Itself, that thou 
art lovely: More fairer than fair, beautiful than 
beauteous, truer than truth Itself, have commisera- 
tion on they heroical vassal! The magnanimous and 
most illustrate king Cophettia set eye upon the pei'- 
nicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon; and he 
it was that might rightly say veni, vidi, vici; which 
to annotanize in the vulgar, (O base and obscure 
vulgar!) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame; he 
came, one; saw, two; overcame, three. Who came? 
the king; Why did he come? to see; Why did he 
see? to overcome; To whom came he? to the beg- 
gar; What saw he? the beggar; Who overcame he? 
the beggar: The conclusion is victory; On whose 
side? the king's: the captive Is enrlch'd; On whose 
side? the beggar's: The catastrophe iff a nuptial: 
On whose side? the king's?— no, on both In or^e, or 
one in both. I am the king; for so stands the com- 

fiarison: thou the beggar; for so witnesseth thy 
owllness. Shall I command thy love? I may: 
Shall I enforce thy love? I could: Shall I entreat 
thy love? I will: What shalt thou exchange for 
rags? robes; For tittles, titles; For thyself, me. 
Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my lips on thy 
foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy 
every part. 
" Thine, in the dearest design of industry, 

"Don Adrlano de Arjiado." 

Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 

'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey; 
Submissive fall his princely feet before. 

And he from forage will Incline to play: 
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then? 
Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 
Prin. What plume of feathers is he that indited 
this letter? [better? 

What vane? what weather-cock? did you ever hear 
Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the 

style. 

Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere- 

while. [in court; 

Boyet. This Arniado is a Spaniard, that keeps here 

A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport 

To the prince, and his book-mates. 

Prin. Thou, fellow, a word: 

Who gave thee this letter? 
Cost. I told you; my lord. 

Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it? 
Cost. From my lord to my lady. 

Prin. From which lord, to which lady? 
Cost. From my lord Blron, a good master of mine; 
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline, [away. 
Prin. T'hou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, 
Here, sweet, put up this; 't will be thine another 
day. [E.vit Princess and train. 

Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor? 
Ros. Shall I teach you to know? 
Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 
Ros. Why, she that bears the bow. 

Finely put off! 

Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns; but, if thou marry. 
Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. 
Finely put on! 
Eos. Well then, I am the shooter. 
Boyet. And who is your deer? 

Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come 
Finely put on, indeed!— [not near. 

Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she 
strikes at the brow. [now? 

Boyet. But she herself Is hit lower: Have I hit her 
Ros. Shall I come upon thee %vlth an old saying, 
that was a man when king Pepin of France was a 
little boy, as touching the hit it? 

Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that 
was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain was 
a little wench, as touching the hit it? 
Ros. [Singing.] 

Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it. 
Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
Boyet. 

An I cannot, cannot, cannot. 
An I cannot, another can. 

[Exeunt Ros. and Kath. 
Cost. By my troth, most pleasant! how both did 
fit It! [did hit it. 

Mar. A mark marvellous well shot; for they both 
Boyet. A mark! O, mark but that mark; A mark 
says my lady- 
Let the mark have a prick in 't to mete at, if it may 
be. 
Mar. Wide o' the bow hand ! I' faith, your hand 
is out. [hit the clout. 

Cost. Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er 
Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your 
hand is in. [pin. 

Cost. Tlien will she get the upshot by cleaving the 
Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips 

grow foul. 
Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; challenge 
her to bowl. 



Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night, my 

good owl. [Exeunt Boyet and Maria. 

Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! 

Lord, lord! how the ladles and I have put him 

down! [wit.' 

O' my troth, most sweet Jests! most Incony vulgar 
When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as li 

were, so fit. 
Armado o' the one side,— O, a most dainty man. 
To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan. 
To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly a' 

will swear! 
And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit! 
Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetlcal nit! 
Sola, sola! [Shouting within. 

[Exit Costard, running. 

Scene II.— The same. 
Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Nath. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in the 
testimony of a good conscience. 

Bol. The deer was, as .von know, sanguis,— In blood; 
ripe as a pomewater, who no^v hangeth like a Jewel 
In the ear of ccelo,—ttie sky, the welkin, the heaven; 
and anon falleth like a crab, on the face of terra,— 
the soil, the land, the earth. 

Nath. Truly, master Holoferenes, the epithets are 
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least: But, sir, 
I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, hand credo. 

Dull. 'T was not a hand credo; 't was a pricket. 

Hoi. Most barbarous intimation! yet a kind of in- 
sinuation, as it were m wa, in way, of explication ; 
facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, 
to|show,|as it were.Jhis inclination,- after his undress- 
ed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, 
or rather unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed 
fashion,- to insert again my hand credo for a 
deer. [was a pricket. 

Dull. I said, the deer was not a hand credo ; 't 

Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus.'—O thou mon- 
ster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look! 

Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that 
are bred In a book; he hath not eat paper, as it 
were; he hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not 
replenished; he is only an animal, only sensible in 
the duller parts; 
And such barren plants are set before us, that we 

thankful should be 
(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts 

that do fructify in us more than he. 
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, 
or a fool, [a school: 

So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in 
But omne bene, say I; being of an old father's mind. 
Many can brook the weather, that love not the 
wind. [wit, 

Dull. You two are bookmen: Can you tell by your 
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five 
weeks old as yet? 

Hoi. Dictvnna, good man Dull; Dictynna, good man 
Dull. Dnll. What Is Dictynna? 

Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 

Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam was 
no more; 
And raught not to five weeks, when he came to flve- 
The allusion holds in the exchange. [score. 

Dull. 'T is true Indeed; the collusion holds jn the 
exchange. 

Hoi. God comfort thy capacity! I say, the allusion 
holds in the exchange. 

Dull. And I say the polluslon holds in the ex- 
change; for the moon is never but a month old: 
and I say beside, that 't was a pricket that the 
princess killed. 

Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humour 
the ignorant, I have called the deer the princess 
killed, a pricket. 

Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge; so it 
shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 

Hoi. I will something affect the letter; for it argues 
facility. 

The praiseful princess pierc'd and prick'd a pretty 
pleasing pricket; 

Some say a sore; but not a sore, till now made 
sore with shooting. 
The dogs did yell; put 1 to soi-e, then sorel Jumps 
from thicket; 

Or pricket, sore, or else sorel: the people fall a 
hooting. 
If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores; O 

sore L! 
Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one 
more L. 

Nath. A rare talent! ' 

Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws him 
with a talent. 

Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; a 
foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, 
shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, re- 
volutions: these are begot in the ventricle of me- 
mory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and de- 
livered upon the mellowing of occasion: But the 
fift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am 
hankful for it. 

Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you; and so may 
my parishioners; for their sons are well tutored by 
you, and their daughters profit very greatly under 
you: you are a good member of the commonwealth. 

Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they 

shall want no instruction: if their daughters be 

capable, I will put it to them: But, vir saxiit qui 

pauca loquitur. A soul feminine saluteth us. 

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 

Jon. God give you good morrow, master person. 

Ho). Master person, quasi person. And If one 
should be pierced, whicn is the one? 

Co.'it. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest 
to a hogshead. 

Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead! a good lustre of 
conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, 
pearl enough for a swine: 't Is pretty; it is well. 

Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me 
this letter; It was given me by Costard, and sent 
me from Don Armado; I beseech you, read it. 

Hoi. Fauste, precor gelidda quando pectis omne suli 
^tnibra 
Ruminat,— and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan! 
I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice: 

Vinegia, Vinegia, 

Chi nan te vede, ei non te pregia. 



Scene ii.] 



LOVE'S LABOVM'S LOST. 



51 



Old Mantuan! old Mantuan! Who understandeth 
thee not, loves thee not.— CT, re, sol, la, mi, fa. — 
Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? Or, 
rather, as Horace says in his— What, my soul, verses? 

Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. 

Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse; Lege, 
domine. 

Nath. 
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? 

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! 
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; 

Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers 
bowed. 
Study his bias leaves, and makes his books thine eyes, 

Where all those pleasures live, that art would com- 
prehend: rsufllce: 
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall 

Well learned is that tongue, that well can. thee 
commend: 
All tenorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder: 

(Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts ad- 
mire;) ' [ful thunder. 
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread- 

Whfch, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet Are. 
Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong. 
That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 
tongue.' 

Hoi. You And not the apostrophes, and so miss the 
accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here are 
only numbers ratifled; but, for tlie elegancy, facility, 
and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso 
was the man: and why, indeed, Naso; but for smell- 
ing out the oderiferous flowers of fancy, the jerks of 
invention? Imitari, is nothing: so doth the hound 
his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his 
rider. But damosella virgin, was this directed to 
you? 

JoQ. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of the 
strange queen's lords. 

Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. "To the 
snow-white hand of the most beauteous lady Rosa- 
line." I will look again on the intellect of the letter, 
for the nomination of the party writing to the per- 
son written unto: 

"Your ladyship's in all desired employment, 
BmoN." Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the 
votaries with the king; and here he hath framed a 
letter to a sequent of the stranger queen's, which, 
accidentally, or by the way of progression, hath 
miscarried.— Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this 
paper into the royal hands of the king; it may con- 
cern much: Stay not thy compliment; I forgive thy 
duty; adieu. [your life! 

Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.— Sir, God save 

Coat. Have with thee, my girl. lEx. Cost, and Jaq. 

Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, 
very religiously; and, as a certain father saith 

Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear col- 
ourable colours. But, to return to the verses; Bid 
they please you, sir Nathanlnel? 

Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. 

Hoi. I do dine today at the father's of a certain 
pupil of mine; where if, before repast, it shall 
please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, 
on my privilege I have with the parents of the afore- 
said child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; 
where I will prove those verses to be very unlearn- 
ed, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor Invention: 
I beseech your society. 

Nath. And thank you too: for society (salth the 
text) is the happiness of life. 

Hoi. And, certes, the text most Infallibly con- 
cludes It.— Sir, \to Dull] I do invite you too; you 
shall not say me, nay: pauca verba. Away; the 
gentles are at their game, and we will to our recrea- 
tion. [Exewnt. 

Scene HI.— Another part of the same. 
Enter Biron, with a paper. 

Biron. The king he is hunting the deer; I am 
coursing myself: they have pitched a toil; I am 
tolling In a pitch; pitch that defiles; defile! a foul 
word. Well, Sit thee down, sorrow! for so they sav 
the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. Weil 
proved, wit! By the Lord, this love Is as mad as 
Ajax: It kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: Well 

E roved again on my side! I will not love: If 1 do, 
ang me; 1' faith, I will not. O, but her eye,— by 
this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; 
yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the 
world but lie, and Ue in my throat. By heaven, I 
do love: and it hath taught ipe to rhyme, and to be 
melancholy; and here is part of my rhyme, and 
here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my 
sonnets already: the clown bore It, the fool sent It, 
and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fooi, 
sweetest lady! By the world, I would not care a pin 
If the other three were in: Here comes one with a 
paper; God give him grace to groan. 

[Gets up into a tree. 
Enter the King, with a paper. 

King. Ah me! 
Biron. [4s/<Je.] Shot, by heaven! — Proceed, sweet 
Cupid; thou hast thump'd him with thy blrd-bolt 
under the left pap:— I' faith secrets.— 

King. [Reads.^ 
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 

To those tresh morning drops upon the rose, 
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smot 

The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: 
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 

Through the transparent bosom of the deep. 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light: 

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep; 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee. 

So rldest thou triumphing in my woe: 
Do but behold the tears that swell in me. 

And they thy glory through my grief will show: 
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
My tears forglasses, and still make me weep. 
O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel! 
No thought can think, nor tongue of Tnortal tell.— 
How shall she know my griefs? I '11 drop the paper; 
Sweet leaves shade folly. Who is he comes here? 

[Steps aside. 
Enter LongavlUe, with a paper. 
What, Longaville! and reading! listen, ear. 

Biron. Now, In thy likeness, one more fool, appear! 

Long. Ah me! I am forsworn. 
Biron. Why, he comes in Uke a perjure, wearing 
papers. lAside, 



King. In love, I hope; Sweet fellowship in shame! 

[Aside. 

Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. 

[Aside. 

Long. Am I the first that have been perjur'd so? 

Biron. [Aside.'] I could put thee in comfort; not by 
two, that I know: 
Thou mak'st the triumvlry, tlie corner cap of society. 
The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity. 

Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to 
O sweet Maria, empress of my love! [move: 

These numbers will I tear and write in prose. 

Biron. [Aside.] O, rhymes are guards on wanton 
Disfigure not his slop. [Cupid's hose: 

iMng. This same shall go.— 

[He reads the sonnet. 
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 

('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I forswore; but, I will prove, 

Thou being a goddess, I forswear not thee: 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; 

Thy grace being gaiu'd, cures all disgrace in me. 
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is: 

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost sWne, 
Exhal'st tills vapour vow; in thee it is: 

If broken then, it is no fault of mine. 
If by me broke. What fool is not so wise. 
To lose an oath to win a paradise? 

Biron. [Aside.'] This is tne liver vein, which makes 
flesh adeit.v: 
A green goose, a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. 
God amend us, God amend! we are much out o' the 
way. 

Enter Dumaln, with a paper. 

Long. By whom shall I send this?— Company! stay. 
[Stepping aside. 

Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play: 
Like a demi-god here sit I in the sk.v. 
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 
More sacks to the mill! O heavens, I have my wish; 
Dumain transform'd: tour woodcocks In a dish! 

Bum. O most divine Kate! 

Biron. O most profane coxcomb! [Aside. 

Bum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye! 

Biron. By earth she is not, corporal: there you 
lie. [Aside. 

Bum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. 

Biron. An amber-colour'd raven was well noted. 

[Aside. 

Dnm. As upright as the cedar. 

Biron. Stoop, I say; 

Her shoulder is with child. [Aside. 

Bum. As fair as day. 

Biron. Ay, as some days; but then no sun must 
shine. [Aside. 

Bum. O that I had my wish! 

Long. And I had mine! [Aside. 

King. And I mine too, good lord! [Aside. 

Biron. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good 
word? [Aside. 

Bum. I would forgot her; but a fever she 
Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. 

Biron. A fever In your blood! why, then, incision 
Would let her out in saucers; Sweet misprision! 

Bum. Once more I '11 read the ode that I have writ! 
Biron. Once more I '11 mark how love can vary 
wit. [Aside. 

Bum. On a day, (alack the day!) 

Love, whose month is ever May, 

Spied a blossom, passing fair. 

Playing in the wanton air. 

Through the velvet leaves the wind. 

All unseen, 'gan passage find; 

That the lover, sick to death, 

Wlsh'd himself the heaven's breath. 

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 

Air, would I might triumph so! 

But, alack, my hand is sworn 

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: 

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; 

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 

Do not call It sin in me. 

That I am forsworn for thee: 

Thou for whom Jove would swear 

Juno but an Ethioo were; 

And deny himself for Jove, 

Turning mortal for thy love. 
This wUl I send; and something else more plain. 
That shall express my true love's fastlngpaln. 
O, would the King, Biron, and LongavUle, 
Were lovers too! Ill, to example ill. 
Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note; 
For none offend, where all alike do dote. 

Long. Dumain, [advancing] thy love is far from 
That in love's grief desir'st society: [charity. 

You may look pale, but I should blush, I know. 
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. 
King. Come, sir, [advancing'^ you blush; as his 
your case Is such; 
You chide at him, offending twice as much: 
You do not love Maria; Loiigaville 
Did never sonnet for her sake compile; 
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. 
I have been closely shrouded in this bush. 
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. 
I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion;- 
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion; 
Ah me! says one; O Jove! the other cries; 
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes: 
You would for paradise break faith and troth: 

[To Long. 
And Jove, for your love, would Infringe an oath. 

[To Dumain. 
What will Biron say, when that he shall hear 
Faith infringed, which such zeal did swear? 
How will he scorn! how will he spend his wit! 
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it! 
For all the wealth that ever I did see, 
I would not have him know so mucli by me. 

Biron. Now step I fortli to whip hypocrisy. — 
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee, pardon me: 

[Descends from the tree. 
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove 
These worms for loving, that art most in love? 
Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears. 
There is no certain princess that appears: 
You 'U not be perjured, 't is a liateful thing; 
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. 
But are you not ashamed? nay, are you not. 



All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? 
You found his mote; the king your mote did sec; 
But I a beam do find in each of three. 

0, what a scene of foolery have I seen, 

Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen! 

me, with what strict patience have I sat. 
To see a king transformed to a gnat! 

To see great Hercules whipping a gig, 
And profound Solomon tuning a jig. 
And Nestorplay at push-pin with the boys, 
And critic Timon laugh at Idle toys! 
Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain? 
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain? 
And where my liege's? all about the breast:— 
A caudle, ho! King. Too bitter is thy Jest. 

Are we betray'd thus to thy overview? 
Biron. Not you to me, but I betray'd by you: 

1, that am honest; I, that hold it sin 
To break the vow I am engaged in; 

1 am betray'd, by keeping company 

With men like men, of strange inconstancy. 
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme? 
Or groan for Joan? or spend a minute's time 
In pruning me? When shall you hear that I 
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
A leg, a limb?— 

King. Soft; whither away so fast? 

A true man, or a thief, that gallops so? 

Biron. I post from love; good lover, let me go. 

Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 
■Tag. God bless the king! 

King. What present hast thou there? 

Cost. Some certain treason. 

King. What makes treason here? 

Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 
King. If it mar nothing neither. 

The treason, and you, go in peace away together. 
Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read; 
Our parson misdoubts it; it was treason, he said. 

Kinij. Biron, read it over, [Giving him the letter. 
Where hadst thou it? Jaq. of Costard. 

King. Where hadst thou it? 
Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. 
King. How now! what Is in you? why dost thou 

tear it? 
Biron. A toy, my liege; a toy; your grace needs not 

fear It. 
Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore 

let 's hear It. 
Bum. It Is Blron's writing, and here Is his name. 

[Picks vp the pieces. 
Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [to Costard] 
you were born to do me shame. — 
Guilty, my lord, guilty; I confess, I confess. 
King. What? 
Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make 

up the mess; 
He, he, and you; and you, my liege, and I, 
Are vick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. 
Bum. Now the number is even. 
Biron. True, true; we are four:— 

Will these turtles be gone? 
King. Hence, sirs; away. 

Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitor 
stay. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaq. 

Biron. Sweetlords, sweet lovers, O let us embrace! 
As true we are, as flesh and blood can be: 
The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his face; 

Young blood doth not obey an old decree: 
We cannot cross the cause why we are born; 
Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. 
King. What, did these rent lines show some love 

of thine? 
Biron. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heaven- 
ly Rosaline, 
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 

At the first opening of the gorgeous east. 
Bows not his vassal head: and.strucken blind, 

Ki.sses the base ground vnth obedient breast? 
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 

Dares look upon the heaven of her brow. 
That is not blinded by her majesty? 

King. What zeal, what fury hath inspir'd thee now? 
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; 
She, an attending star, scarce seen a iight. 
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron; 
O, but for my love, day would turn to nightt 
Of all complexions, the cull'd sovereignty, 
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheeic; 
Where several worthies make one dignity; 

Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. 
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,— 
Fie, painted rhetoric! O, slie needs it not: 
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs; [blot. 

She passes praise: then praise too short doth 
A wither'd hermit, flve-score winters worn. 
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye: 
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born. 

And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 
O, 't is the sun that maketh all things shine! 
King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony! 
Biron. Is ebony like her? O wood divine! 
A wife of such wood were felicity. 
O, who can give an oath? where is a book? 

That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack: 
If that she learn not of her eye to look: 
No face is fair, that is not full so black. 
King. O paradox! Black is the badge of hell. 
The hue of dungeons, and the school of night! 
And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. 

Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits of 
O, if in black my lady's brows be deck'd, [light. 

It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair. 
Should ravish doters with a false aspect; 

And therefore Is she born to make black fair. 
Her favour turns the fashion of the days; 

For native blood is counted painting now; 
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise. 
Paints itself black to imitate her brow. 
Bum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black. 
Long. And since her time, are colliers counted 
bright. [crack. 

King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion 
Lr(m. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. 
Biron. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, 

For fear their colors should be wash'd away. 

King. 'T were good, yours did; for, sir, to tell you 

I '11 find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. [plain, 

Biron. 1 'U prove her fa,r, or talk till dooms day 

here. [she. 

King, No devil wiU fright thee then so much, as 



LOVk's LA li aril's LOST. 



i.A'cr 



Ptirn. I never knew man hold vile stuff so (lear. 

Long. Look, here 'sthy love; my foot and her 
face see. IShowing h is shoe. 

SIron. O, It the streets were paved with tliineeycs, 
Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. 

Dvm. O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies. 
The street should see as she walk'd over head. 

King. But what of this? Are we not all In love? 

Biron. O, nothing so sure; and thereby all for- 
sworn, [prove 

King. Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now 
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn. 

T>iim. Ay, raarry, there;— some flattery for this 

Long. O. some authority how to proceed; [evil. 
Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. 

Ihim. Some salve for perjury. 

Biron, O, 't is more than needy- 

Have at you then, affection's men at arms: 
Consider, what you first did swear unto;— 
To fast,— to study,— and to see no woman;— 
Fiat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
Bay, fan you fast? your stomachs are too young? 
And abstmcnce engenders maladies. 
And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 
In that each of you hatli forsworn his book: 
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look? 
For when would you, my lord, or you, or you. 
Have found the ground of study's excellence, 
Without the beauty of a woman's face? 
From women's e.yes this doctrine I derive: 
They are the ground, the books, the academes. 
From whence doth spring the true Promethean lire. 
Why, universal plodding prisons up 
The nimble spirits in the arteries; 
As motion, and long-durlng action, tires 
The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 
Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 
You have in that forsworn the use of eyesj 
And study too, the causer of your vow: 
For where is any author in the world. 
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? 
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself. 
And where we are, our learning likewise is. 
Then, when ourselves we see In ladies' eyes, 
With ourselves, — 

Do we not likewise see oar learning there? 
O, we have made a vow to study, lords; 
And in that vow we have forsworn our books: 
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, 
In leaden contemplation, have found out 
Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes 
Of beauty's tutors have enrich'd .vou with? 
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain; 
And therefore finding barren practisers, 
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil: 
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
Lives not alone immured in the brain; 
But with the motion of all elements, 
Courses as swift as thought in every power; 
And gives to every power a double power, 
Above their functions and their offices. 
It adds a precious seeing to the eye: 
A lever's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; 
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound. 
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd; 
Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; 
Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: 
For valour, is hot love a Hercules, 
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? 
Subtle as sphinx; as sweet, and musical. 
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; 
And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods 
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
Never durst poet touch a pen to write. 
Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs. 
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears. 
And plant in tyrants mild humility. 
i"rom women's eyes this doctrine I derive: 
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; 
They are the books, the arts, the academes. 
That show, contain, and nourish all the world; 
Else, none at all in aught proves excellent: 
Then fools you were these women to forswear; 
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools 
For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love; 
Or for love's sake, a word that loves ail men; 
Or for men's sake, the authors of these women; 
Or women's sake, by whom we men are men; 
Let us onoe lose our oaths, to find ourselves, 
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths: 
It is religion to be thus forsworn: 
For charity Itself fulfils the law; 
And who can sever love from charity? 

King. Saint Cupid, then! and soldiers, to tlie field! 

Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, 
lords; 
Pell mell, down with them! but be fli-st advis'd, 
In conflict that you get the sun of them. 

Long. Now to plain-dealing; lay these glozes by; 
Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France? 

King. And win them too: therefore let us devise 
Some entertainment for them in their tents. 

Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them 
thither; 
Then, homeward, every man attach the hand 
Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon 
We will with some strange pastime solace them. 
Such as the shortness of the time can shaiHs; 
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours. 
Fore run fair Love, strewing her way with llowers. 

King. Away, away! no time shall be omitted, 
That will be time, and may by us be fitted. 

Biron. Allans! Allons.'—Sow'd cockle reap'd no 
corn; 

And Justice always whirls in equal measui-e: 
Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; 

If so, our copper buys no better treasure. {Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— Another part of the same. 

Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 

Bol. Satis qiiod sufflcit. 

Nath. I praise God for you, sir: your reasons at 
dinner have been sharp and sententious; pleasant 
without scurrility, witty without affection, audacious 
without Impudency, learned without opinion, and 
Btrange without heresy. I did converse this quon- 
dam day with a companion of the king's who is 
intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de 
Armado. 

Hot. Novi homlnem tanqxam te: His humour is 



lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his 
eye ambitious, his gait majestlcal, and his general 
behaviour vain, rlillculous, and thrasonical. He is 
too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it 
were, too peregrinate, as I maj' call it. 

Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 

ITakes out his table-book. 

Hoi. He di'aweth out the thread of his verbosity 
finer tlian the staple of his argument. I abhor such 
fanatical fantasms,such insociable and point-devise 
companions; such rackers of orthography, as to 
speak, dout, fine, when he should say, doubt; det, 
when he should pronounce debt;— n, e, b, t; not 
d, e, t;— he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neigh- 
bour, vocati<r, nebour; neigh, abbreviated, ne: This 
is abhominable, (which he would call abominable,) 
it insinuateth me of insanie; Ke inteUigis domine? 
to make frantic, lunatic. 

Nath. Laiis Deo bone intelligo. 

Hoi. Bone? bone for bene: Piiscian a little 

scratch'd; 't Avill serve. 

Enter Armado, Jloth, and Costai'd, 

Nath. Videsne qiijs venit? 

Hoi. Video et gaudeo. Arm. Chirra! [To Moth. 

Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah? 

Arm.. Men of peace, well encounter'd. 

Hoi. Most military sir, salutation. 

Moth. They have been at a great feast of languages 
and stolen the scraps. [To Costard aside. 

Cost. O, they have lived long on the aims-basket of 
words! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee for 
a word; for thou are not so long by the head as ho- 
noriflcabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier swallowed 
than a flap-dragon. 

Moth. Peace; the peal begins. 

Arm. Monsieur, [to Hol.l are you not letter'd? 

Moth. Yes, yes; he teaches boys the horn-book;— 
What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his head? 

Hoi. Ba, puerltia, with a horn added. 

Moth. Ba; most siil.y sheep, with a horn:— 
You hear his learning. 

Hoi. Quis.quis, thou consonant? 

Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat 
them! or the fifth, if L 

Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i.— 

Moth. The sheep: the other two concludes it; o, u. 

Arm. Now,by the salt wave of the Mediterraneunj, 
s sweet touch, a quick venew of wit; snip«,snap,quiclc 
and home; it rejoiceth my Intellect: true wit. 

Moth. OfCer'd by a child to an old man; which is 
wlt.old. 

Hoi. What is the figure? what is the figure? 

Moth. Horns. [gig. 

Hoi. Thou disputest like an infant: go, wliip thy 

Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I will 
whip about your infamy cireum circa; A gig of a 
cuckold's horn! 

Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou 
should'st have it to buy gingerbread: hold, there is 
the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou 
halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discre- 
tion. O, an tile heavens were so pleased that thou 
wert but my bastard! what a joyful father wouldst 
thou make me! Goto; thou hast It ad dunghill, at 
the fingers' ends, as they say. 

Hoi. O, I smell false Latin; dungliillfor iingnem. 

Arm. Arts-man, pra;ambula; we will be .si.igled 
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youtfi at 
the charge-house on the top of the mountain? 

Hot Or, mons, the hill. 

Ai-m. At your sweet pleasure, for the moimtain. 

Hoi. I do, sans question. 

Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and 
affection,to congratulate the princess at her pavilion 
In the posteriors of this day; which the rude multi- 
tude call the afternoon. 

Hoi. llie posterior of the day, most generous sir, is 
liable, congruent, and measurable tor the after- 
noon: the word is well cuii'd, chose; sweet and apt, 
I do assure you, sir, I do assure. 

Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman; and my 
familiar, I do assure you, very good friend:— For 
what is inward between us, let it pass:— I do be- 
seech thee, remember thy courtesy: — I beseech thee, 
apparel thy head:— And among other importunate 
and most serious designs,— and of great import in- 
deed, too;— but let that pass: — for I must tell thee, it 
will please his grace (by the world) sometimes to lean 
upon my poor shoulder; and with his royal finger, 
tiius, dally ^vlth my excrement, with my mustachio: 
but, sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I re- 
count no fable; some certain special honours it 
pieaseth his greatness to impart to Armado, a 
soldier, a man of travel, that hath seen the world: 
but let that pass. — The very all of all is,— but, sweet 
heart, I do implore secrecy,— that the king would 
have me present the princess, sweet chuck, with 
some delightful ostentation, or show, or pageant, or 
antic, or fire-work. Now, understanding tliat the 
curate and your sweet self are good at such erup- 
tions, and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I 
have acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your 
assistance. 

Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine 
worthies.— Sir Natlianiel, as concerning some enter- 
tainment of time, some show in the posterior of this 
day, to be rendered by our assistance, — the king's 
command, and tliis most gallant, illustrate, and 
learned gentleman,— before the princess; I say, none 
so fit as to present tlie nine worthies. 

Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough to 
present them? 

Hoi. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant gen- 
tleman, Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because of 
his great limb or joint, shall ijass Pompey the Great; 
the page, Hercules. 

Arm, Pardon, sir, error: he is not quantity enough 
for that worthy's thumb; he is not so big as the end 
of his club. 

Hoi. Shall I have audience? he shall present Her- 
cules in minority, his enter and exit shall be strang- 
ling a snake; and I will have an apology for that 
purpose. 

moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the audi- 
ence hiss, you ma.v cry: Well done, Hercules! now 
thoucrushest the snake! that is the way to make an 
offence gracious; though few have the grace to dolt. 

Arm. For the rest of the worthies? — 

Hoi. I will play three myself. 

Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman! 

Aitn. Shall I tell you a thing? Hoi. We attend. 

Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. I 
beseech you, follow. 



Hoi. Via, goodman Dull! thou hast spoken no woni 
all this while. 

Dull. Nor understand none neither, sir. 

Hoi. Allans! we will employ thee. 

Diill. I '11 make one in a dance, or so; or I will 
play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them 
dance tlie hay. 

Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away. 

[Exevnt. 

Scene 11.— Another part of the same. Before the 

Princess's Pavilion. 

Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, and Maria. 

Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, 
If fairings come thus plentifully in: 
A lady wall'd about with diamonds! 
Look you, what I have from the loving king. 

Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that? 

Prin. Nothing, but this? yes, as much love in 
rhyme, 
As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper. 
Writ on both sides of the leaf, margent and all; 
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 

iJos. That was the way to make his godhead wax; 
For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 

Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 

Bos. You '11 ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd 
your sister. 

Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy; 
And so she died: had she been light, like you. 
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit. 
She might have been a grandam ere she died; 
And so may you; for a light heart lives long. 

Sos. What 's your dark meaning, mouse, of this 
light word? 

Kath. A Tight condition In a tieauty dark. 

Ros. We need more light to find your meaning out. 

Kath. You 'U mar the light, by taking it in snuff; 
Therefore, I '11 darkly end the argument. 

Ros. Look, whatyoudo; you do it still 1' the dark. 

Kath. So do not you; for you are a light wench. 

Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you; and therefore light. 

Kath. You weigh me not,— O, that 's you care not 
for me. 

Ros. Great reason; for. Past cure is still past care, 

Pi-in. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd. 
But, Rosaline, you have a favour too: 
Who sent it? and what is it? 

-Ros. I would, you knew; 

An if my face were but as fair as yours. 
My favour were as great; be witness this. 
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron: 
The numbers true; and, were the numb'rlng too, 
I were the fairest goddess on the ground: 
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. 
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter! 

P>-in. Anything like? 

Ros. Much, in the letters; nothing in the praise, 

Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion. 

Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 

Ros. 'Ware pencils! Ho! let me not die your debt- 
My red dominical, my golden letter: [ot, 

that your face were not so full of O's! 

Kath. A pox of that jest! and I beshrew all shrows! 

Prin. But, Katharine, what was sent to you from 

Kath. Madam, this glove. [fair Dumain? 

Prin. Did he not send you twain? 

Kath. Yes, madam; and moreover. 
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover; 
A huge translation of hypocrisy. 
Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. 

3Iar. This, and these pearls, tome sent Longaville; 
The letter is too long by half a mile. 

Prin. I think no less: Dost thou not wish in heart. 
The chain were longer, and the letter short? 

Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never part. 

Pnn, We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so. 

iJos. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. 
That same Biron I '11 torture ere I go. 
O, that I knew he were but in by the week! 
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek; 
And wait the season, and observe the times. 
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes; 
And shape his service wholly to my behests; 
And make him proud to make me proud that jests! 
So portent-like would lo'ersway his state. 
That he should be my fool, and I his fate, [catch'd. 

P)-in. None are so surely caught, when they are 
As wit turn'd fool: folly, in wisdom hatch'd. 
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school; 
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 

Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such ex- 
As gravity's revolt to wantonness. |cess. 

Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note. 
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; 
Since all the power thereof it doth apply. 
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. ' 

Enter Boyet. 

Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 

Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where 'a 

Prin. Thy news, Boyet? [her grace? 

Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare!— 

Arm, wenches, arm! encounters mounted are 
Against your peace: Love doth approach disguis'd. 
Armed in arguments; you '11 be surpris'd: 
Muster your wits; stand in your own defence; 
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 

Pi-in. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! \Vhat are they. 
That charge their breath against us? say, scout, say. 

Boyet. Under tlie cool shade of a sycamore. 

1 thought to close mine eyes some half an hour; 
When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest. 
Toward that shade I might behold address'd 
The king and his companions: warily 

I stole into a neighbour thicket by. 
And overheard what you shall overhear; 
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. 
Their herald is a pretty knavish page. 
That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage: 
Action, and accent, did they teach him there; 
'"Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear:" 
And ever and anon they made a doubt. 
Presence majestlcal would put him out; 
" For," quoth the king, " an angel shalt thou see; 
Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously." 
The boy replied, " An angel is not evil; 
I should have fear'd her.nad she been a devil." 
With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoul- 
der; 
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. 
One rubb'd his elbow, thus; and fleer'd, and swore, 
A better speech was never spoke before: 
Another with his flnger and his thumb, 



:SCENE II.] 



LOVKi: LAliOUirs LOST. 



•Cried, " Via! we will do 't. come what will come;" 
The third he caper'd and cried, " All goes well." 
The fourth turii'd on the toe, and down he fell. 
With that, they all did tumble on the ground. 
With such a zealous laughter, so profound, 
That In this spleen ridiculous appears. 
To check their foUv, passion's solemn tears. 

Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit lis!* 

Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,— 
Like Muscovites, or Russians, as I guess. 
Their purpose Is, to parle. to court, and dance: 
And every one his love-feat will advance 
Unto his several mistress; which they '11 know 
Bv favours several, which thev did bestow. 

Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be 
For. ladles, we will every one be mask'd; [task'd:— 
And not a man of them shall liave the grace. 
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. 
Hold Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear, 
And then the king will court thee for his dear; 
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine; 
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline.— 
.And change your favours too; so shall your loves 
Woo contrary, decelv'd by these removes. 

Ros. Come on then; wear the favours most in sight. 

Kath. But, In this changing, what Is your intent? 

Pern. The effect of my Intent is, to cross theirs: 
They do it but in mocking merriment; 
Anci mock for mock is only my intent. 
Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
To loves mistook; and so be mock'd withal. 
Upon the next occasion that we meet, 
with visages dlsplay'd, to talk and greet. 

Ros. But shall we dance. If they desire us to 't? 

Prin. No; to'the death we will not move a foot; 
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace: 
But, while 't is spoke, each turn away her face. 

Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's 
And quite divorce his memory from his part, [heart, 

Prin. Therefore I do it; and, I make no doubt. 
The rest will ne'er come In, if he be out. 
There 's no such sport as sport by sport o'erthrown; 
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own: 
So shall we stay, mockmg intended game; 
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 

[Trumpets sound within. 

Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the mask- 
ers come. [The ladies mask. 
Enter the King, Biron, LongaviUe, and Dumain, in 

Riissian habits and masked; Moth, Musicians and 

Attendants. 

Moth. " All hail the richest beauties on the earth!" 

Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffata. 

Xoth. "A holy parcel of the fairest dames," 

[The ladies turn their backs to him. 
" That everturn'd their"— backs— " to mortal views!" 

Biron. " Their eyes," villain, " their eyes!" 

Moth. " That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal 

Boyet. True; out. Indeed. [views! Out"— 

Moth. " Out of your favours, heavenly spirits. 
Not to behold"— [vouchsafe 

Biron. " Once to behold," rogue. 

Moth. "Once to behold with your sun-beamed 
eyes," " with your sun-beamed eyes" — 

Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet. 
You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes. [out. 

Moth. They do not mark me, and that brmgs me 

Biron. Is this your perfectness? begone, you 
rogue. [minds, Boyet: 

Ros. What would these strangers? know their 
If they do speak our language, 't is our will 
That some plain man recount their purposes: 
Know what they would. 

Boyet. What would you with the princess? 

Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 

Ros. What would they, say they ? 

Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 

Ros. Why, that they have; and bid them so be 
gone. 

Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. 

King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles. 
To tread a measure vrtth her on the grass. 

Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many a 
To tread a measure with you on this grass. [mile, 

Ros. It is not so; ask them now many inches 
Is in one mile: it they have meastir'd many. 
The measure then of one is easily told. 

Boyet. If, to com" hither you have —easur'd miles. 
And many miles, tiie princess bids yo.» tell, 
How many inches do fill up one mile. 

Biron. Tell her, we m,-asure them by weary steps. 

Boyet. She hears herself. - 

Ros. How many weary steps, 

Of manj' weary miles you have o'ergoue. 
Are numbered in the travel of one mile ? 

Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you; 
Our duty Is so rich, so infinite. 
That we may do it still without accompt. 
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of yoiu" face. 
That we, like savages, may ^^ orship it. 

Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 

King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do ! 
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine 
(Those clouds remov'd) upon our watery eyne. 

Ros. O vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter; 
Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. 

JSTinfl. Then, in our measure, vouchsafe but one 
change: 
Thou bidd'st me beg; this begging is not strange. 

Ros. Play, music, then: nay, you must do it soon. 

[Music plays. 
Not yet;— no danc^:— thus change I like the moon. 

King. Will you lOt dance? How come you thus 
estrang'd? [chang'd. 

Bos. You took the moon at full; but now she 's 

King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. 
The music plays; vouchsafe some motion to it. 

Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 

King. But your legs should do it. 

Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by 
chance. 
We '11 not be nice: take hands;— we will not dance. 

King. Why take we hands, then ? 

■Ros. Only to pa)t friends:- 

Court'sy, sweet hearts; and so the measure ends. 

King. More measure of this measure; be not nice. 

Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. 

King. Prize you yourselves; What buys your com- 

Ros. Your absence only. [pany? 

King. That can never be. 

Ros. Then cannot we be bought: and so, adieu; 
Twice to your visor, and half once to you ! 

King, u you deny to dance, let 's hold more chat. 



Ros. In private then. 

King. I am best pleas'd with that. 

[They converse apart. 

Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word 
with thee. 

Prill. Honey, and milk, and sugar; there is three. 

Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an itvou grow so nice,) 
Metheglln, wort, and malmsey;— Well run, dice ! 
There 's half a dozen sweets. 

Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu. 

Since you can cog, I '11 pla.v no more with you. 

Biron. One word in secret. 

Prin. Let it not be sweet. 

Biron. Thou grlev'st my gall. 

Prin. Gall? bitter. Biron. Therefore meet. 

[They converse apart. 

Bum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a 
word? 

Mar. Name it. Bum. Fair lady,— 

Mar. Say you so? Fair lord,— 

Take that for your fair lady. Dnni. Please it you, 
As much in private, and I '11 bid adieu. 

[Then converse apart. 

Kath. What, was your visor made without a 
tongue? 

Long. I know the reason, ladj', why you ask. 

Kath. O, for your rea.son! quickly, sir; I long. 

Long. You have a double tongue within your mask. 
And would afford my speechless visor half. [calf? 

Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman;— Is not a veal a 

Long. A calf, fair lady? Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 

Long. Let 's part the word. 

Kath. No, I '11 not be your half: 

Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. [mocks! 

iMng. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp 
Will you give horns, chasie lady? do not so. 

Kath. Tlien die a calf, before your horns do grow. 

Long. One word in private with vou, ere I die. 

Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry. 
[Tliey converse apart, 

Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keen 

As is the razor's edge invisible, 
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen; 

Above the sense of sense: so sensible 
Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings. 
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter 
things. [break off. 

Ros. Not one word more, my maids; break off, 

Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff! 

King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple- 
wits. 
[Ex. King, Lords, Moth, M-usic, and Attendants. 

Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovits. — 
Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? 

Bopet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths 
puif 'd out. [fat. 

Ros. Well-liking wits they have; gross, gross; fat, 

Prin. O poverty In wit, kingly-poor flout! 
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night? 

Or ever, but in visors, show their faces? 
This pert Biroii was out of countenance quite. 

Ros. O! they were all in lamentable cases! 
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. 

Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 

3Iar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword : 
No point, quoth I; my servant straight was mute. 

Kath. Lord LongaviUe said, I came o'er his heart; 
And trow you, what he call'd me? 

Prin. Qualm, perhaps. 

Kath. Yes, in good faith. 

Prin. Go, sickness as thou art! 

Ros. Well,!better wits have worn plain statute-caps. 
But will you hear? the king is my love sworn. 

Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me. 

Kath. And LongaviUe was for my service born. 

Mar. Dumain is mine as sure as bark on tree. 

Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: 
Immediately they will again be here 
In their own shapes; for it can never be, 
They will digest this harsh indignity. 

Prin. Will they return? 

Boyet. They will, they will, God knows, 

And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows: 
Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair. 
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. [stood. 

Prin. How blow? how blow? speak to be under- 

Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud: 
Dlsmask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown. 
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 

Prin. Avaunt, perplexity! What shall we do, 
If they return in their own shapes to woo? 

Ros. Good madam, if by me you '11 be advis'd. 
Let 's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd: 
Let,us complain to them what fools were here, 
Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; 
And wonder what they were; and to what end 
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd. 
And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
Should be presented at our tent to us. 

Boyet. Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand. 

Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. 

[Exeunt Princess, Ros., Kath., and Maria. 
Enter the King, Biron, LongaviUe, and Dumain, in 
their proper habits. 

King. Fair sir, God save you! Where is the prin- 
cess? 

Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty. 
Command me any service to her thither? [word. 

King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one 

Boyet. I will; and so will she, I know, my lord. • 

[Exit. 

Biro ■■■ This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas, 
And utters it again when Jove doth please: 
He i wit's peddler; and retails his wares 
At wakes, and wassels. meetings, markets, fairs; 
And we that sell by gross, the Loid doth know. 
Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; 
Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve: 
He can carve too, and lisp: Why, this is he. 
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy; 
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice. 
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
In honourable terms; nay, he can sing 
A mean most meanly; and, in ushering. 
Mend him who can: The ladies call him, sweet; 
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet: 
This is the flower that smiles on every one. 
To show his teeth as white as whales' bone; 
And consciences, that will not die in debt. 
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. 

King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, 
That put Armado's page out of his part! 



Enter the Princess, vshered by Boyet; Rosaline, Ma- 
ria, Katharine, and Attendants. 

Biron. See where It comes!- Behaviour, what wert 
thou. 
Tin this man show'd thee? and what art thou now? 

King. All hall, sweet madam, and fair time of day. 

Pi-in. Fair, in all hall. Is foul, as I conceive. 

King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. 

Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. 

King. We came to visit you; and purpose now 
To lead you to our court: vouchsafe it then. 

Prin. This field shall hold me; and so hold your 
Nor God, nor I, delights In perjur'd men. [vow: 

King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke; 
The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 

Prin. You nickname virtue: vice you should have 
spoke; 
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure 

As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
A world of torments though I should endure, 

I would not yield to be your house's guest: 
So much I hate a breaking-cause to be 
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 

King. O, yeu have liv'd in desolation here. 
Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 

Prin. Not so, my lord, it is not so, I swear; 
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game' 
A mess of Russians left us but of late. 

King. How, madam? Russians? 

Pi'in. Ay, in truth, my lord 

Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. 

Ros. Madam, speak true:— It is not so, my lord; 
My lady (to the manner of the days). 
In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. 
We four, indeed, confronted were with four 
In Russian habit; here they staid an hour. 
And talk'd apace; and in that hour, my lord. 
They did not bless us with one happy word. 
I dare not call them fools; but this I think. 
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. 

Biron. 'This jest is dry to me. Gentle sweet. 
Your wit makes wise things foolish; when we greet 
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye, 
By light we lose light: Your capacity 
Is of that nature, that to your huge store 
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. 

Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye, — 

Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 

Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong. 
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 

Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess. 

Ros. All the fool mine? 

Biron. I cannot give you less. 

Ros. Which of the visors was it that you wore? 

Biron. Where? when? what visor? why demand 
you this? 

Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case. 
That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. 

King. We are descried: they '11 mock us now down- 
right. 

Lum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. 

Prin. Amaz'd, my lord ? Why looks your highness 
sad? 

Ros. Help, hold his brows I he '11 swoon ! Why look 
you pale?— 
Sea-sick, I think, coming from Muscovy. [jury. 

Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for per- 
Can any face of brass hold longer out?— 
Here stand I, lady; dart thy skill at me; 

Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; 
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; 

Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit: 
And I will wish thee never more to dance. 
Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
O ! never will I trust to speeches penn'd. 

Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue; 
Nor never come in visor to my friend; 

Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song: 
Taffata phrases, silken terms precise, 

Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
Figures pedantical; these summer flies 

Have blown me full of maggot ostentation: 
I do forswear them: and I here protest, [knows D 
By this white glove, (how white the hand, God 
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 

In russet yeas, and honest kerse3' noes: 
And, to begin, wench— so God help me, la ! 
My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 

Ros. Sans sans, I pray you. 

Biron. Yet I have a trick 

Of the old rage:— bear with me, I am sick; 
I '11 leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see;— 
Write, " Lord have mercy on us," on those three; 
They are infected, in their hearts it lies; 
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes: 
These lords are visited; you are not free. 
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. [us. 

Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to 

Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us. 

Ros. It is not so. For how can this be true. 
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? 

Biron. Peace; for I will not have to do with you. 

Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I Intend. 

Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end. 

King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans- 
Some fair excuse. [gressiou 

Prin. The fairest is confession. 

Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd ? 

King. Madam, I was. 

Prin. And were you well advis'd? 

King. I was, fair madam. 

Prin, When you then were here. 

What did you whisper In your lady's ear ? [her. 

King. That more than all the world I did respect 

Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will re- 

King. Upon mine honor, no. [ject her. 

P)-in. Peace, peace, forbear; 

Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. 

King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine. 

Pi-in. I will: and therefore keep it:— Rosaline, 
What did the Russian whisper in your ear ? 

Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear 
As precious eyesight: and did value me 
Above this world: adding thereto, moreover. 
That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 

PiHn. God give thee joy of him ! the noble lord 
Most honourably doth ujihold his word. 

King. What mean you, madam? by my life, my 
I never swore this lady such an oath. [troth, 

Ros. By heaven you did; and to confirm It plain. 
You gave me this; but take it, sir, again. 

King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give- 



S4 



LOVE'S LABOVR'S LOST. 



[Act V, 



I knew her by this Jewel on her sleeve. 

JVi'n. Pardon me, sir, this Jewel did she wear; 
And lord BIron, I thank him, is my dear:— 
What; will you have me, or 3'our pearl again? 

Biron. Neither of either; I remit botlc twain. 
I see the trick on 't:— Here was a consent, 
(Knowing aforeliand of our merriment,) 
To dash it like a Christmas comedy: 
Some carry-tale, some pleaseman, some slight zany. 
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some 

Dlck,- 
That smiles his cheek in years; and knows the trick 
To make my lady laugh, when she 's dispos'd, — 
Told our intents before: which once disclos'd. 
The ladles did change favours; and then we. 
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
Now, to our perjury to add more terror. 
We are again forsworn: in will, and error. 
Much upon this It is:— And might not you 

[To Boyet. 
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue? 
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire. 

And laugh upon the apple of her eye? 
And stand between her back, sir, and the Are, 

Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? 
You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd; 
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. 
You leer upon me, do you? there 's an eye. 
Wounds like a leaden sword. Boyet. Full merrily 
Bath this brave manage, this career, been run. 

Siron. Lo, he Is tilting straight! Peace; I have 
done. 

Enter Costard. 
Welcome, pure wit! thou partest a fair fray. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know. 
Whether the three worthies shall come In, or no. 

^iron. What, are there but three? 

Coat. No, sir; but it Is vara fine. 

For every one pursents three. 

Biron. And three times thrice Is nine. 

Cost. Not so, sir: under correction, sir; I hope, it is 
not so: 
Tou cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir; we 

know what we know: 
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, — 

Biron. Is not nine. 

Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntUlt 
doch amount. 

Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. 

Cost. O Lord, sir, it were a pity you should get 
your living by reckoning, sir. 

Biron. How much is It? 

Cost. Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the actors, 
sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: for mine 
own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one man, 
In one poor man; Pompion the great, sir. 

Biron. Art thou one of the worthies? 

Cost. It pleased them to think me worthy of Pom- 
pion the great: for mine own part, I know not the 
aegree of the worthy; but I am to stand for him. 

Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 

Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir; we will take 
some care. [Exit Costard. 

King. Biron, they will shame us, let them not ap- 
proach, [some policy 

Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord: and 't is 
3o have one show worse than the king's and his 

King. I say, they shall not come. [company. 

Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you now: 
That sport best pleases that doth least know how: 
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
Die in the zeal of that which it presents. 
Their form confounded makes most form In mirth; 
When great things labouring perish In their birth. 

Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. 
Enter Armado. 

Arm. Anointed, I Implore so much expense of thy 
royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. 
[Armado converses with the King, and delivers 
him a paper. 

Prin. Doth this man serve God? 

Biron. Why ask you? 

Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. 

Arm. That 's all one, my fair, sweet, honey mon- 
arch: for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceedingly 
fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain; But we will 
put It, as they say, to fortuna delta guerra. I wish 
you the peace of mind, most royal coupiement! 

[Ji'xit Armado. 

King. Here is like to be a good presence of 
worthies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, 
Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander; 
Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Macca- 
baeus. 

And if these four worthies in their first .show thrive. 
These four will change habits, and present the other 

Biron. There is five in the first show. [five. 

King. You are decelv'd, 't is not so. 

Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest, 
the fool, and the boy:— 

Abate a throw at novum; and the whole world again 
Cannot pick out five such, take each one In his vein. 

King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes 
amain. 

[Seats iroxightfor the King, Princess, <fcc. 

Pageant of the Nine Worthies. 

Enter Costard, armed, for Pompey. 



You lie, you art not he. 



Cost. " I Pompey am,"- 

Boyet. 

Cost. " I Pompey am," 

Boyet. With libbard's head on knee. 

Biron. Well said, old mocker; I must needs be 
friends with thee. [big," 

Cost. "I Pompey am Pompey sumam'd the 

Bum. The great. [great; 

Cost. It is great, sli;— "Pompey sumam'of the 
That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my 
foe to sweat; [chance; 

And travelling along this coast, I here am come by 
And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass 
of France." [had done. 

If your ladyship would say, "Thanks, Pompey," I 

Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 

Cost. 'T is not so much worth: but, I hope, I was 
perfect; I made a little fault in ''great." 

Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the 
best worthy. 

Enter Nathaniel, armed, for Alexander. 

Nath. " When in the world 1 Ilv'd, I was the 
world's commander; 



By east, west, north, and south, I spread my con- 



quering might: 
tene • ■ • - 



My 'scutcheon plain declares that I am Allsander." 

Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it 
stands too right. 

Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender- 
smelling knight. [Alexander. 

Prin. The conquerer Is dismay'd: Proceed, good 

Nath. " When in the world I Ilv'd, I was the 
world's commander;" 

Boyet. Most true, 't is right; you were so, Ali- 

Biron. Pompey the great,— [sander. 

Cost. Your servant, and Costard. 

Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away All- 
sander. 

Cost. O, sir, [to Nath.] you have overthrown All- 
sander the conquerer I You will be scraped out of 
the painted cloth for this; your lion, that holds his 
poll-ax sitting on a close stool, will be given to A- 
Jax: he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, and 
afeared to speak ! run away for shame, Allsander. 
[Nath. retires.] There, an 't shall please you; a fool- 
ish mild man; an honest man, look you, and soon 
dash'd ! He is a marvellous good neighbour, in 
sooth; and a very good bowler: but, for Allsander, 
alas, you see how 't is;— a little o'er-parted:— But 
there are worthies a coming will speak their mind In 
some other sort. 

Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 
Enter Holofernes for Judas, and Moth for Hercules. 

Hoi. " Great Hercules is presented by this Imp, 
Whose club klU'd Cerberus, that three-headed 
caniis; 
And, when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp. 

Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus: 
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority; 
Ergo, I come with this apology."— 
Keep some state In thy exit, and vanish. 

[Moth retires. 

Hoi. " Judas, I am,"— Dum, A Judas ! 

Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir,— 
" Judas, I am, ycleped Maccabseus." 

Dum. Judas Maccabseus dipt, is plain Judas. 

Biron. A kissing traitor:— How art thou prov'd 

Hoi. " Judas, I am,"— [Judas? 

Bum. The more shame for you, Judas. 

Hoi. What mean you, sir? 

Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. , 

Hoi. Begin, sir; you are my elder. [elder. 

Biron. Well foUow'd:— Judas was haiig'd on an 

Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. 

Biron. Because thou hast no face. 

Hoi. What is this? Boyet. A cltteru-head. 

Dum. The head of a bodkin. 

Biron. A death's face In a ring. 

Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. 

Boyet. The pummel of Caesar's faulchlon. 

Dtim. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. 

Biron. St. George's half -cheek in a brooch. 

Dum. Ay, and iu a brooch of lead. 

Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer. 
And now, forward; for we have put thee in coun- 
tenance. 

Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 

Biron. False: we have given thee faces. 

Hoi. But you have out-tac'd them all. 

Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 

Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. 
And so adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou stay? 

Dum. For the latter end of his name. 

Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him:— 
Judas, away. 

Hoi. This is not generous; not gentle; not humble. 

Boyet. A light for monsieur Judas: it grows darlc, 
he may stumble. [baited ! 

Pi-i'n. Alas, poor Maccabseus, how hath he been 

Enter Armado, armed, for Hector. 

Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes Hector 
In arms. 

Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will 
uow be merry. 

King. Fector was but a Trojan in respect of this. 

Boyet. But is this Hector? 

Dum. I think Hector was not so clean timbered. 

Long. His leg is too big for Hector. 

Dum. More calf, certain. 

Boyet. No; he is best Indued In the small. 

Biron. This cannot be Hector. 

Dum. He's a god or a painter; for he makes faces. 

Arm. " The armipotent Mars, of lances the al- 
Gave Hector a gift,"— [mighty, 

Dum. A gilt nutmeg. Biron. A lemon. 

Long. Stuck with cloves. Dum. No, cloven. 

.Aviti Pg&cg ' 
" The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty. 

Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion: 
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea. 

From morn till night, out of his pavilion. 
I am that flower,"— 

Dum. That mint. Long. That columbine. 

Arm. Sweet lord Longavllle, rein thy tongue. 

Ix>ng. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs 
against Hector. 

Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. 

Arm. Tiie sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet 
chucks, beat not tlie bones of the buried: when he 
breath'd, he was a man.— But I will forward with 
my device: Sweet royalty, [to the Princess] bestow 
on me the sense of hearing. [Biron whispers Cost. 

Pi-in. Speak, brave Hector: we are much delighted. 

Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 

Boyet. Loves her by the foot. 

Dum. He may not bv the yard. 

Arm. " This Hector far surmounted Hannibal,"— 

Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone; 
she is two months on her way. 

Arm. What meanest thou? 

Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, the 
poor wench is cast away: she 's quick; the child 
brags In her belly already; 't is yours. 

Arm. Dost thou Infamouize me among potentates? 
thou shalt die. 

Cost. Then shall Hector be whipped, for Jaque- 
netta that is quick by him; and hanged, for Pompey 
that is dead by him. 

Dum. Most rare Pompey I 

Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! 

Biron. Gi'eater than great, great, great, great, 
Pompey ! Pompey, the huge ! 

Dum. Hector trembles. 

Biron. Pompey is moved:— More Ates, more Ates; 
stir them on! stir them on! 



Dum. Hector will challenge him. 

Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in 's 
belly than will sup a flea. 

Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 

Cost. 1 will not fight with a pole, like a northern 
man; I '11 slash; I '11 do it by the sword:— I pray you, 
let me borrow my arms again. 

Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. 

Cost. I 'II do it in my shirt. 

Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 

Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. 
Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? 
What mean you? you will lose your reputation. 

Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me; I will 
not combat In my shirt. 

Dum. You may not deny It; Pompey hath made 
the challenge. 

Ai-m. Sweet bloods, I both may and wiU. 

Biron. What reason have you for 't? 

Arm. The naked tnith of it is, I have no shirt; I go 
woolward for penance. 

Boyet. True, and it was enjoln'd him in Rome for 

want of linen: since when, I '11 be sworn, he wore 

none but a dishclout of Jaquenetta's; and that 'a 

wears next his heart, for a favour. 

inter Mercade. 

Mer. God save you, madam! 

Prin. Welcome, Mercade; 
But that thou Interrupt'st our merriment. 

iter. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I bring 
Is heavy in my tongue. The king, your father— 

Prin. Dead, for my life. 

Mer, Even so; my tale is told. 

Biron. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. 

Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath:- 
I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole- 
of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. 

[Exeunt Worthies.. 

King. How fares your majesty? 

Prin. Boyet, prepare; I will away to-night. 

King. Madam, not so; I do beseech you, stay. 

Prin. prepare, I say.— I thank you, gracious lords,. 
For all your fair endeavours; and entreat. 
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide. 
The liberal opposition of our spirits: 
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
111 the converse of breath, your gentleness 
Was guilty of it.- Farewell, worthy lordU 
A heavy heart bears not a nimble tongue: 
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks 
For my great suit so easily obtain'd. 

King. The extreme part of time extremely form 
All causes to the purpose of his speed; 
And often, at his very loose, decides 
That which long process could not arbitrate! 
And though the mourning brow of progeny 
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love. 
The holy suit which fain it would convince; 
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot. 
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
From what it purpos'd; since, to wail friends lost. 
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable. 
As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 

Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double.. 

Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of 
And by these badges understand the king, [grief;— 
For your fair sakes have we neglected time; 
Play 'd foul play with our oaths. Your beauty, ladies,. 
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours- 
Even to the opposed end of our Intentsi 
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, — 
As love is full of unbefitting strains; 
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain; 
Form'd by the eye, and tlieretore, like the eye 
Full of stray shapes, of habits, and of forms. 
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll 
To every varied object In his glance: 
Which party-coated presence of loose love 
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes. 
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities. 
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults. 
Suggested us to make: Therefore, ladies. 
Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false. 
By being once false for ever to be true 
To those that make us both,— fair ladies, you: 
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin. 
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. 

Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love;. 
Your favours, the embassadors of love; 
And, in our maiden council, rated them 
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy. 
As bombast, and as lining to the time: 
But more devout than this, in our respects. 
Have we not been: and therefore met your loves , 
In their own fashion, like a merriment. 

Duin. Our letters, madam, show'd much more th&tt 
Jest. 

Long. So did our looks.- 

Eos. We did not quote them so. 

King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour. 
Grant us your loves. 

Prin. A time, methinks, too short 

To make a world-without-end bargain in: 
No, no, my lord, your grace isperjur'd much. 
Full of dear guiltiness; and, therefore this,— 
If for my love (as there is no such cause) 
You will do aught, this shall you do for me: 
Your oath I will not trust; but go with speed 
To some forlorn and naked hermitage. 
Remote from all the pleasures of the world; 
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs 
Have brought about their annual reckoning: 
If this austere insociable life 
Change not vour offer made in heat of blood; 
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, 
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, 
But that it bear this trial, and last love; 
Then, at the expiration of the year. 
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts. 
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, 
I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut 
My woeful self up in a mourning house; 
Raining the tears of lamentation 
For the remembrance of my father's death. 
If this thou do deny, let our hands part; 
Neither intitled in the other's heart. 

King. If this, or more than this, I would deny. 
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, 
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye! 
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 

Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me!: 



Scene ii.] 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DUE AM. 



55 



Dum. But what to me, my love? bat what to me? 

Kath. A wife!— A beard, fair health, and honesty; 
With threefold love I wish you all these three. 

D^tm. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? 

Kath. Not so, mv lord;— a twelvemonth and a day 
I'll mark no words that smoot.i-fac'd wooers say; 
Come when the king doth to my lady come, 
Then, If I have much love, I'll give you some 

Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then. 

Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. 

Long. What says Maria? 

Itfar At the twelvemonth's end, 

I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. 

Long. I'll stay with patience; but the time Is long. 

Mar. The liker you; few taller are so young. 

Biron. Studies my lady? mistress, look on me, 
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, 
What humble suit attends thy answer there; 
Impose some service on me for thy love. 

Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, 
Before I saw you; and the world's large tongue 
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; 
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts; 
Which Tou on all estates will execute. 
That lie' within the mercv of your wit: 
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain. 
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, 
(Without the which I am not to be won,) 
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day 
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 
With groaning wretches; and your task shall be. 
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit. 
To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 

Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of 
death?" 
It cannot be; it is impossible: 
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 

Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit, 
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace 
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools: 
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
Of him that makes it: then, if sickly ears. 
Deaf 'd with the clamours of their own dear groans. 



Win hear your idle scorns, continue them. 
And I will have you, and that fault withal; 
But. If they will not, throw away that spirit. 
And I shall flnd you empty of that fault, 
Right joyful of your retormatlon. 

Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will befal, 
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 

Prin. Ay, sweet my lord; and so I take my leave. 

[To tfie King. 

King. No, madam, we will bring you on your way. 

Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play; 
Jack hath not Jill: these ladies' courtesy 
Might well have made our sport a comedy. 

King. Come, sir. It wants a twelvemonth and a 
And then 't will end. [day, 

Biron. That's too long for a play. 

Enter Armado. 

Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me,— 

Prin. Was not that Hector? 

Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. 

Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave: I 
am a votary; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold the 
plough for her sweet love three years. But, most 
esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that 
the two learned men have compiled, in praise or the 
owl and the cuckoo? it should have followed in the 
end of our show. 

King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. 

Arm. Holla! approach. 

Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costard, and 

others. 

This side is Hiems, winter; This Ver, the spring; the 

one maintained by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. 

Ver, begin. 

Song. 



Spring. 

When daisies pled, and violets blue, 
And lady-smocks all silver white, 

And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue. 
Do paint the meadows with delight, 



The cuckoo then, on every tree. 
Mocks married men, for thus sings he. 

Cuckoo; 
Cuckoo, cuckoo,— O word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear! 



When shepherds pipe on oaten straws. 
And merry larks are ploughniens clocks. 

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws. 
And maidens bleach their summer smocks. 

The cuckoo then, on every tree. 

Mocks married men, for thus sings he. 
Cuckoo; 

Cuckoo, cuckoo,— O word of fear, 

Unpleasing to a married ear! 



Winter, 

When Icicles hang by the wall, 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail. 
And Tom bears logs into tlie hall. 

And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul. 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 

To-who; 
To-whlt, tu-who, a merry note, 
Willie greasy Joan doth keel the pot 



When all aloud the wind doth blow. 
And coughing drowns the parson's saw. 

And birds sit brooding In the snow. 
And 3Iarion's nose looks red and raw. 

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 

Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
To-who; 

To-whlt, tu-who, a merry note. 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the 
songs of Apollo. You, that way; we, this way. [Ex. 



A MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Theseus, Duke o/ Athens. 
Egeus, father to Hermla. 

DeXS, h" ^'•'^ '^"•"^ Hermla. 
Philostrate, master of the revels 

Theseus. 
Quince, the carpenter. 
Snug, the joiner. 
Bottom, the weaver. 



Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Snout, the tinker. 

Starveling, the tailor. 

HiPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, be- 
trothed to Theseus. 

Hermia, daughter to Egeus, inlovewith 
Lysander. 

Helena, in love with Demetrius. 

Oberom, king of the fairies. 



Titania, queen of tliefairies. 

Puck, or Robin Goodfellow, a fairy. 

Peas-blossom, ) 

Cobweb, > fairies. 

Moth, ) 

Mustard-seed, a fairy. 

Puramus, ) characters in the Inter- 

Thisbe, > lude performed by the 

Wall, ) Clowns. 



nrnrn„ihi«^ ) characters in the Inter- 
Moonshme, f ^^^ performed by the 
^"™-' ) Clowns. 

Other fairies attending their King and 

Queen. Attendants on Theseus and 

Hlppolyta. 

SCENE.— Athens, and a Wood not far 
from it. 



ACT I. 
Scene I.— Athens. A Room in the Palace of 
Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hlppolyta, Philostrate, and 
Attendants. 

The. Now, fair Hlppolyta, our nuptial hour 
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in 
Another moon: but, oh, methlnks, how slow 
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires. 
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager. 
Long withenng out a young man's revenue, [nights; 

Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in 
Four nights will quickly dream away the time; 
And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
Of our solemnities. The. Go, PhQostrate, 

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; 
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth; 
Turn melancholy forth to funerals. 
The pale companion is not for our pomp. 

\Exii Philostrate. 
Hlppolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword. 
Ana won thy love, doing thee injuries; 
But I win wed thee in another key. 
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 

Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. 

Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke! 

The. Thanks, good Egeus: What's the news ^vith 
thee? 

Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. 
Stand torth, Demetrius: My noble lord. 
This man hath my consent to marry her. — 
Stand forth, Lysander:— and, my gracious duke. 
This man hath bewltch'd the bosom of my child: 
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes, 
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child: 
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung. 
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love; 
And stol'n the impression of her fantasy 
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits. 
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; messengers 
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth: 
With cunning hast thou flieh'd my daughter's heart; 
Tum'd her obedience, which is due to me. 
To stubborn harshness:— And, my gracious duke, 
Be it so she will not here before your grace 
Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
I bee the ancient privilege of Athens; 
As sne is mine, I may dispose of her: 
Which shall be either to this gentleman. 
Or to her death; according to our law 
Immediately provided In that case. 

The. What say you, Hermia? Be adyls'd, fair 
To you your father should be as a god; [.maid: 



One that compos'd your beauties; yea, and one 
To whom you are but as a form in wax. 
By him imprinted, and within his power 
To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 

Her. So is Lysander. The. In himself he Is: 

But, In this kind, wanting your father's voice, 
"The other must be held the worthier. 

Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. 

The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment 

Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. [look. 
I know not by what power I am made bold. 
Nor how it may concern my modesty. 
In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts: 
But I beseech your grace that I may know 
The worst that may befal me In this case. 
If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 

27ie. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
For ever the society of men. 
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires. 
Know of your youth, examine well your blood. 
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice. 
You can endure the livery of a nun; 
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd. 
To live a barren sister all your life. 
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
Thrice blessed they that master so their blood. 
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage: 
But earthly happier is the rose dlstiU'd, 
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn. 
Grows, lives, and dies. In single biessedness. 

Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, ray lord. 
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 

The. Take time to pause; and, by the next new 
(The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, [moon. 
For everlasting bond of fellowship,) 
Upon that day either prepare to die. 
For disobedience to your father's will; 
Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would; 
Or on Diana's altar to protest. 
For aye, austerity and single life. 

Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia;— And, Lysander, yield 
Thy crazed title to my certain right. 

Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius; 
Let me have Hermia's: Do you marry him. 

Ege. Scornful Lysander! true he hath my love; 
And what is mine my love shall render him; 
And she is mine; and all my right of her 
I do estate unto Demetrius. 

Lys. I am, my lord, as well derlv'd as he. 
As well possess'd; my love is more than his; 
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd 
If not with vantage, as Demetrius'; 
And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia; 
Why should not I then prosecute my^ right? 



Demetrius, I '11 avouch it to his head. 
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
And won her soul; and, she, sweet lady, dotes. 
Devoutly dotes, dotes in Idolatry, 
Upon this spotted and inconstant man. 

The. I must confess that I have heard so much. 
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof; 
But, being over-full of self-affairs. 
My mind did lose it.— but, Demetrius, come; 
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me, 
I have some private schooling for you both. 
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
To fit your fancies to your father's will; 
Or else the law of Athens yields you Op 
(Which by no means we may extenuate,) 
To death, or to a vow of single life. 
Come, my Hlppolyta: What cheer, my love? 
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along: 
I must employ you in some business 
Against our nuptial: and confer with you 
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 

Ege. With duty and desire, we follow you. 

[Eiceunt Thes., Hip., Ege., Dem., and train. 

Lys. How now, my love? why is your cheek so pale? 
How chance the roses there do fade so fast? 

Her. Belike for want of rain: which I could well 
Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. 

Dys. Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read. 
Could ever hear by tale or history. 
The course of true love never did run smooth: 
But, either it was different in blood; — 

Her. O cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low ! 

Dys. Or else misgraflfed, in respect of years; — 

Her. O spite ! too old to be engag'd to young ! 

Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;— 

Her. O hell ! to choose love by another's eye ! 

Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice. 
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it; 
Making it momentary as a sound. 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream. 
Brief as the lightning in the coUled night. 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth. 
And ere a man hath power to say,— Behold ! 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up: 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd. 
It stands as an edict in destiny: 
Then let us teach our trial patience. 
Because it is a customary cross: 
As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs. 
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 

Lus. A good persuasion; therefore, hear me, Her- 
I have a widow aunt, a dowager [mia. 

Of great revenue, and she hath no child; 
From Athens is her house remov'd seven leagues; 
And she respects me as her only son. 
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee; 
And to that place the sharp Athenian law 



t 

i 



56 



-•1 MlDSUMMER-yiGHTS DRKAil. 



lACT 



Cannot pursue us: If tliou lov'st nie then. 
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night; 
And In the wood, a league without the town, 
Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
To do observance to a morn of May, 
There will I stay for thee. 

fler. My good Lysander ! 

I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow; 
By his best arrow with the golden head; 
By the simplicity of Venus' doves; 
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves; 
And by that Are which burn'd the Cartilage queen. 
When the false Trojan under sail was seen; 
By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
In number more than ever women spoke; 
In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. [Helena. 

iys. Keep promise, love: Look, here comes 
Enter Helena. 

Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away? 

MeL Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. 
Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair! 
Your eyes are load-stars; and your tongue 's sweet 
More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear, [air 

When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
Sickness is catching; O, were favour so. 
Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go; 
My ear should catch your voice, my eye youn^ye. 
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated. 
The rest I '11 give to be to you translated. 
O, teach me how you look; and with what art 
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 

Ber. I frown upon him. yet he loves me still. 

Hei. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles 
such skill: 

Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 

SeL O, that my prayers could such affection move! 

Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 

Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 

Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 

flei. None. But your beauty; would that fault 
were mine! 

Her. Take comfort; he no more shall see my face; 
Lysander and myself will fly this place. 
Before the time I did Lysander see, 
Seem'd Athens like a paradise to me: 

then, what graces in my love do dwell. 
That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell! 

Uya. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold: 
To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold 
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass. 
Decking with liquid pearl the biaded grass, 
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) 
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 

Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, 
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet. 
There my Lysander and myself shall meet: 
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes. 
To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
Farewell, sweet playfellow; pray thou for us. 
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!— 
Keep word, Lysander: We must starve our sight 
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 

[Amf Hermia. 

l4/». I will, my Hermia.— Helena, adieu: 
Asyou on him, Demetrius dote on you! VExit. 

Hel. How happy some o'er other some can be.' 
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; 
He will not know what all but he do know. 
And as he errs, doting on Hermla's eyes, 
So I, admiring of his qualities. 
Things base and vile, holding no quantity. 
Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; 
And therefore Is wlng'd Cupid painted blind. 
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; 
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste: 
And therefore is love said to be a child. 
Because in choice he Is so oft beguil'd. 
As waggish boys In game themselves forswear, 
So the boy love is perjur'd every where: 
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermla's eyne. 
He hall'd down oaths, that he was only mine: 
And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 
So he dlssolv'd, and showers of oatlis did melt. 

1 win go tell him of fair Hermla's flight: 
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night 
Pursue her; and for this intelligence 

If I have thanks, it Is a dear expense: 

But herein mean I to enrich my pain. 

To have his sight thither and back again. [Exit. 

ScENB 1\.—The same. A Eoom in a Cottage. 

Enter Snug, Bottom. Flute, Snout, Quince, and 
Starveling. 

Quin. Is all our company here? 

Bot. You were best to call them generally, man by 
man, according to the scrip. 

Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name 
which Is thought fit, through all Athens, to play In 
our Interlude before the duke and the duchess, on 
his wedding-day at night. 

Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play 
treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so 
grow on to a point. 

Quin. Marry, our play Is— The most lamentable 
comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and 
Thlsby. 

Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and 
a merry.- Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your 
actors by the scroll: Masters, spread yourselves. 

Quin. Answer, as I call you.— Nick Bottom, the 
weaver. fceed. 

Bot. Ready. Name what part I am for, and pro- 

Quin. You.Nick Bottom.are set down for Pyramus. 

Bot. What is Pyramus? a lover, or atyrant? Rove. 

Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly for 

Bot. That will ask some tears In the true perform- 
ing of it: If I do It, let the audience look to their 
eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some 
measure. To the rest:— Yet my chief humour Is 
for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to 
tear a cat in, to make all split. 

* The raging rocks, 

' And shivering shocks, 

' Shall break the locks 

' Of prison gates: 
'And Phibbus' car 
' Shall shine from far. 



' And make and mar 
'The foolish fates.' 

This was lofty!— Now name the rest of the players.— 
This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more 
condoling. 

Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 

Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You must take Thlsbv on vou. 

flu. What is Thlsby? a wandering knight? 

Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 

Flu. Nay, faith, let not nie play a woman: I have 
a beard coming. 

Quin. That 's all one; you shall play it in a mask, 
and you may speak as small as you will. 

Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thlsby, 
too; I '11 speak in a monstrous little voice;—' Thisne, 
Thisne,— Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thisby 
dear! and lady dear!' 

Quin. No, no, you must play Pyramus; and. Flute, 

Bot. Well, proceed. [you 'Thlsby. 

Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 

Star. Here, Peter Quince. 

Qnin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisbys 
mother.— Tom Snout, the tinker. 

Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 

Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself, Thisby's 
father;— Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part;— and, I 
hope, here is a play fitted. 

Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, 
if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 

Quin. You may do It extempore, for It is nothing 
but roaring. 

Bot. Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I 
will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will 
roar, that I will make the duke say: 'Let him roar 
again, let him roar again.' 

Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would 
fright the duchess and the ladies, that they would 
shriek; and that were enough to hang us all. 

All. That would hang us every mother's son. 

Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright 
the ladles out of their wits, they would have no 
more discretion but to hang us; but I will aggravate 
my voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any 
sucking dove: I will roar you an 't were any night- 
ingale. 

Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus: for Py- 
ramus is a sweet-faced man; a proper man as one 
shall see in a summer's day; a most lovely, gentle- 
man-llke man; therefore you must needs play Py- 
ramus. 

Bot. Well, I willundertake it. What beard were 
I best to play it in? 

Quin. Why, what you will. 

Sot. I will discharge it In either your straw-colour- 
ed beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in- 
grain beard, or your Frencu-crown-coloured beard, 
your perfect yellow. 

Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair at 
all, and then you will play bare-faced.— But, masters, 
here are your parts: and I am to entreat you, re- 
quest you, and desire you, to con ;hem by to-morrow 
ni^t: and meet mo in the palace wood, a mile 
without the town, by moon-ligiit; there we will re- 
hearse: for if we meet in the city we shall be dog'd 
with company, and our devices known. In the 
mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such as 
our play wants. I pray you fr^il me not. 

Bot. We will meet; and there we may rehearse 
more obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be 
perfect; adieu. 

Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 

Bot. Enough. Hold, or cut bow-strings. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I.— A Wood near Athens. 

Enter a Fairy on one side, and Puck on the other. 

Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you? 
Fai. Over hill, over dale. 

Thorough bush, thorough briar. 

Over park, over pale. 
Thorough flood, thorough fire, 

I do wander everywhere 

Swifter than the moon's sphere; 

And I serve the fairy queen. 

To dew her orbs upon the green: 

The cowslips tall her pensioners be; 

In their gold coats spots you see; 

Those be rubies, fairy favours. 

In those freckles live their savours: 
I must go seek some dew-drops here. 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I '11 be gone; 
Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 

Puck. The king doth keep his revels here tonight; 
Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. 
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath. 
Because that she, as her attendant, hath 
A lovely boy stol'n from an Indian king; 
She never had so sweet a changeling: 
And iealoas Oberon would have the child 
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild: 
But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy. 
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy: 
And now they never meet in grove, or green. 
By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen. 
But they do square; that all their elves, for fear 
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 

Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite. 
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are you not he. 
That frights the maidens of the villageiT; 
Skim milk; and sometimes labour in the quern; 
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; 
And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm; 
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their liarm? 
Those that Hobgoblm call you, and sweet Puck, 
You do their work, and they shall have good luck: 
Are not you he? Piick. Thou speak'st aright; 

I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile. 
When I a fat and bean-fed horse befeuile, 
Neighing in likeness of a Ally foal: 
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl. 
In very likeness of a roasted crab; 
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob. 
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. 
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale. 
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me; 
Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
And tailor cries, and falls into a cough; 
And then the whole quire hold their hips and lofte 



And waxen in their mirth, and neeze and swear 

A merrier hour was never wasted there.— 

But room. Fairy, here conies Oberon. [gone : 

Fai. And here my mistress:— Would that he were- 
Scene II. — Enter Oberon, on one side, with his 
train, and Titania, on the other, with hers. 

Obe. nimet by moonlight, proud Titania. 

Tita. What, jealous Oberon? Fairies, skip hencer 
I have forsworn his bed and company. 

Obe. Tarry, rash wanton. Am not I thy lord? 

Tita. Then I must be thy lady: But I knowf 
When thou hast stolen away from fairy land. 
And in the shape of Coriii sat all day. 
Playing on pipe of corn, and versing love 
To amorous Philllda. Why art thou here. 
Come from the farthest steep of India? 
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love. 
To Theseus must be wedded: and you come 
To give their bed joy and prosperity. 

Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, 
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
Knowing I know thy love to Tneseus? 
Didst thou not lead him through the gllmmeiing^ 
From Perigenla, whom he ravished? [night 

And make him with fair JEgle break his faith. 
With Ariadne, and .\ntiopa? 

Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy: 
And never, since the middle summer's spring. 
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead. 
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook. 
Or in the beached margent of the sea. 
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. 
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
Therefore, the winds, piping to us in vain. 
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
Contagious fogs; which, falling in the land, 
Have every pelting river made so proud. 
That they have overborne their continents: 
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain. 
The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn 
Hath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard: 
The fold stands empty in the drowned field. 
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock; 
The nine men's morris Is fill'd up with mud; 
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green. 
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable: 
The human mortals want; their winter here. 
No night is now with hymn or carol blest:— 
Therefore, the moon, the governess of floods. 
Pale in her anger, washes all the air. 
That rheumatic diseases do abound: 
And thorough this distemperature, we see 
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts 
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose; 
And on old Hyems' thin and icy crown. 
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
Is, as in mockery, set: The spring, the summer. 
The childing autumn, angry winter, change 
Their wonted liveries; and the mazed world. 
By their increase, now knows not which is which: 
And this same progeny of evils comes 
From our debate, from our dissension: 
We are their parents and original. 

Obe. Do you amend it then: It lies in you: 
Why should Titania cross her Oberon? 
I do but beg a little changeling boy. 
To be my henchman. 

Tita. Set your heart at rest. 

The fairy land buys not the child pf mo. 
His mother was a vot'ress of my order: 
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night. 
Full often hath she gosslp'd by my side; 
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands. 
Marking the embarked traders on the flood; 
When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive. 
And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind: 
Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait. 
Following (her womb then rich with my young- 
Would imitate; and sail upon the land, [squire.)' 
To fetch me trifles, and return again. 
As from a voyage, rich with merchandize. 
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die; 
And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy: 
And, for her sake, I will not part with him. 

Obe. How long within this wood Intend you stay? 

Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' weddlng-daj-. 
If you will patiently dance in our round, 
And see our moonlight revels, go with us; 
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 

Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 

Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away: 
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 

[Exeunt Titania and her train. 

Obe. Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this 
Till I toment thee for this injury. [grove. ' 

My getitle Puck, come hither: Thou remember'st 
Since once I sat upon a promontory. 
And heard a mermaid, on a, dolphin's back. 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath. 
That the rude sea gre w civil at her song; 
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres. 
To hear the sea-maid's music. Puck. I remeiiilxT. 

Obe. That very time I saw, (but thou could'st not,) 
Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took 
At a fair vestal, throned by the west; 
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow. 
As It should pierce a hundred thousand hearts: 
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon: 
And the imperial votaress passed on. 
In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell: 
It fell upon a little western flower,— 
Before, milk-white, now purple with love's wound, — 
And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once; 
■The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid. 
Will make or man oi- woman madly dote 
Upon the next live creature that it .sees. 
Fetch me this herb: and be thou here again. 
Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 

Puck. I '11 put a girdle round about the earth 
In forty minutes. [Exit Puck. 

Obe. Having once this juice, 

I '11 watch Titania when she is asleep. 
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes: 
The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull. 
Or meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) 
She shall pursue it with the soul of love. 
And ere I take this charm from off ber sight, 



Scene ii.] 



A MIDSUMMKB-NIGUT\S UliEAM. 



57 



< As I can take It, with another herb,) 
I 'U make her render up her page to me. 
But who comes here? I am invisible; 
And I will overhear their conference. 

Enter Demetrius, Helena /oHoiiv'ncr him. 

Pern. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
Wliere is Lvsiinder, and fair Hermla? 
The one I '11 stay, the other staycth me. 
Thou told'st me, they were stol'n Into this wood. 
And here am I, and wood within this wood. 
Because I cannot meet my Hermia. 
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 

Jlet. You draw me, you hardhearted adamant; 
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
is true as steel: Leave you your power to draw, 
And I shall have no power to follow you. 

Dem. Do I entice von? Do I speak you fair? 
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth 
Tell vou— I do not, nor I cannot love you? 

He'l. And even for that do I love you the more. 
I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, 
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you: 



Obe. Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this 
erove, 
Thou Shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. 

Bcenter Puck. 
Hast thou the flower there, welcome wanderer? 

Puck. Ay, there it is. 

Ohc. I pray thee, give it me. 

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, 
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; 
Quite ovei-canopied with luscious woodbine. 
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine: 
There sleep.s Titania, sometime of the night 
IjuH'd in these flowers with dances and delight; 
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, 
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in: 
And vfith the juice of this I '11 streak her eyes, 
And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove: 
A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes; 
But do it when the next thing he espies 
May be the lady: Thou shalt know tne man 



2 Fai. Hence, away; now all is well: 
One, aloof, stand sentinel. 

[M,.veunt Fairies. Tltanla sleeps. 
Enter Oberon. 
Ohe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 

[SqKcezes the flower on Titanla's cyelieta. 
Do it fo^ thy true love take; 
Love and languish for his sake; 
Be It ounce, or cat, or bear, 
Pard, or boar with bristled hair. 
In thy eye that shall appear 
When thou wak'st. It is thy dear; 
Wake, when some vile thing is near. l^Bxit. 

Enter Lysander and Hermia. 
Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering In the 
wood; 
And, to speak truth, I have forgot our way; 
We'll rest us, Hermia, It you think it good. 
And tarry tor the comfort of the day. 
Her. Be It so, Lysander, find you out a bed, 
For I upon this bank will rest my head. 




[act n. — SCENE m.] 

Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me. 
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave. 
Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
What worser place can I beg in your love, 
(.\nd yet a place of high respect with me,) 
Tlian to be used as you do use your dog? 

Vem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spli'lt; 
For 1 am sick when I do look on thee. 

Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 

Hem. You do impeach your modesty too much. 
To leave the city, and commit yourself 
Into tlie hands of one that loves you not; 
To trust the opportunity of night, 
And the ill counsel of a desert place, 
Witli the rich worth of your virginity. 

Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. 
It is not night, when 1 do see your face, 
Tlierefore 1 think I am not in the night: 
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company; 
For you, in my respect, are all the world: 
'J lien how can It be said, lam alone, 
Wlien ail the world is here to look on me? 

hem. I '11 run from thee, and hide me in the brakes 
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 

Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
Fun when you will, the story shall be chang'd: 
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; 
The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind 
Makes speed to catch the tiger: Bootless speedl 
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. 

Dem. I will not stay thy questions; let me go: 
Or, if thou toUow me, do not believe 
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 

Hel Ay, in the temple, in the town, and fleld. 
You uo me mischief. Fye, Demetrius! 
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex: 
We cannot light for love as men may do: 
We should to woo'd, ana were not made to woo. 
I '11 follow thee, and make a heaven of hell. 
To die upon the hand I love so well. 

]_Exeunt Dem. and Hel. 



Obe. Wake, when some vile thing is near. 

By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
Effect it with some care; that he may prove 
More fond on lier, than she upon her love: 
And look thou meet me ere the flrst cock crow. 
Puck. Feai not, my lord, your servant shall do so. 

\Exevnt. 

SCE.NE IIL— Another part of the Wood. 
Enter Titania ivtth her train. 
Tita. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song. 
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence; 
Some, to kill cankers in tiie musk-rose buds; 
Some, war with rear-mice for their leathern wings. 
To make my small elves coats; and some, keep back 
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders 
At our quaint spirits: Sing me now asleep; 
Then to your oltices, and let me rest. 

Song. 
L 

1 Fai. You spotted snakes, with double tongue. 

Thorny hedge-liogs, be not seen; 
Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong; 
Come not near our fairy queen: 

Chorus. 
Philomel, with melody 
Sing in our sweet lullaby; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby; 
Never harm, nor spell nor charm. 
Come our lovely lady nigh; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 

II. 

2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here: 

Hence, you longlegg'd spinners, hence: 
Beetles black, approach not near; 

Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 
Chorus. 
Philomel, with melody, &c. 



Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; 
One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. 

Her. Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear. 
Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. 

Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence; 
Love takes the meaning, in love's conference. 
I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit; 
So that but one heart can you make of it: 
Two bosoms intercliained with an oath; 
So then, two bosoms and a single troth. 
Then, by your side no bed-room me deny; 
For, lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 

Her. Lysander riddles very prettily: — 
Now much beshrew my manners and my pride. 
If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. 
But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
Lie further off; in human modesty 
Such separation, as, may well be said. 
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid: 
So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend: 
Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end! 

Liis. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer say I; 
And then end life, when I end loyalty! 
Here is my bed: Sleep give thee all h'is rest! 

Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be 
press'd! IThey sleep. 

Enter Puck. 

Puck. Through the forest have I gone. 
But Athenian And I none. 
On whose eyes I miglit approve 
This flower's force in stirring love. 
Night and silence! who Is here? 
Weeds of Athens he doth wear: 
This is he my master said 
Despised the Athenian maid; 
And here the maiden, sleeping sound. 
On the dank and dirty ground. 
Pretty soul! she durst not lie 
Near this lack-love, this klllcourti;sy. 
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 



k 



5S 



.1 MlJ)SUMMlilt-NWnT\S DIlKXSt. 



[Act III. 



AH the power this eliurin doth owe; 

When thou wak'st, U't love forbid 

Sleep Ills seat on thy eye-lid. 

So awake, when I am gone; 

For 1 must now to Oberon. f /'•'nA. 

Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 
Hcl. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 
Denu I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me 

thus. 
Hel. O, wUt thou darkling leave me? do not so. 
Dem. Stay, on thy peril; I alone will go. 

[EoY Demetrius. 
Hel. I am out of breath in this fond chase! 
The more my prayer, the lesser is n\y grace. 
Happy Is Hermla, wheresoe'er she lies; 
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
How came her eyes so bright;^ Not with salt tears: 
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
No, no, I am as ugl.v as a bear; 
For beasts that meet me run away for fear: 
Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius 
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyue? 
But who is here?— -Lysander! on the ground! 
Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound! 
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 
Lys. And run through ftre I will, for thy s\M'it 

sake. llVakhnj. 

Transparent Helena ! Nature shows her art, 
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word 
Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 

Hel. Do not say so, Lysander; sa.v not so: 
What though he love your Hermla? Lord, what 

though? 
Yet Hermla still loves you: then be content. 

LyK. Content with Hermla? No: I do repent 
The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
Not Hermla, but Helena now I love: 
Who will not change a raven for a dove? 
The will of man is by his reason sway'd: 
And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
Things growing are not ripe until their season; 
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason; 
.A.nd touching now the point of human sklU 
Reason becomes the marshal to my will. 
And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook 
Love's stories, written in love's richest book. 

Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery bon>? 
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn? 
Is 't not enough. Is *t not enough, young num, 
That I did never, no. nor never can. 
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye. 
But you must flout my insufficiency? 
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do, 
In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
But fare you well: perforce I must confess, 
I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
O, that a lady of one man refus'd 
Should of another therefore be abus'd ! . [Kcit. 

Lys. She sees not Hermla:— Hermla, sleep thou 
And never may'st thou come Lysander near ! [there; 
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; 
Or as the heresies that men do leave 
.4xe hated most of those they did deceive; 
So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy, 
Df all be hated; but the most of me ! 
And all my powers address your love and might 
To honour Helen, and to be her knight. lE,vif. 

Her. [Starting.] Help me, Lysander, help me ! do 

thy best. 
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ' 
Ah me, for pity !— what a dream was here ! 
Lysander, look how I do quake with fear I 
llethought a serpent ate my heart avvaj-, 
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey: 
L.vsander ! what, remov'd? Lysander ! lord ! 
What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no h or<l? 
Alack, where are you? speak, an If you hear; 
Speak, of all loves; I swoon almost with fear. 
No? then I well perceive you are not nigh: 
Blther death, or you, I '11 find immediately. [ff.iiY. 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— The ^Vood. The Queen of Fairies 
lying asleep. 

Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and, 
Starveling. 

Bot. Are we all met? 

Quin. Pat, pat; and here 's a marvellous conven- 
ient place for our rehearsal: This green plot shall 
be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tyring-house; 
and we will do It in action, as wo will do it before 
the duke. 

Bot. Peter Quince,— 

Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom? 

Bot. There are things In this comedy of Pyramus 
and Thisby that will never please. First, Pyramus 
must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies 
cannot abide. How answer you that? 

Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. [all is done. 

Star. I believe we must leave the killing out, when 

Bot. Not a whit; I have a device to make all well. 
Write me a prologue; and let the prologue seem to 
say, we will do no harm with our swords; and that 
Pyramus is not killed indeed: and, for the more 
better assurance, tell them, that I Pyramus am not 
Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: This will put 
them out of fear. 

Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue; and it 
shall be written in eight and six. 

Bot. No, make it two more; let It be written in 
eight and eight. 

Snout. Will not the ladles be afeard of the lion? 

Star. I fear it, I promise you. 

Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your- 
selves: to bring in, God shield us! a lion among 
ladles, is a most dreadful thing: for there is not a 
more fearful wild-fowl than your lion, living; and 
we ought to look to it. [not a lion. 

Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell he is 

Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his 
face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he 
himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the 
same defect,— Ladles, or fair ladies, I would wish 
you, or, I would request you, or I would entreat you, 
not to fear, not to tremble: my life for yours. It you 
think I come hither as a Hon, it were pity of my life: 
No, I am no such thing; I am a man as other men 



are: and there, Indeed, let him nanu- his name; and 
tell them plalnl.v he Is Snug the Joiner. 

Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard 
things; that is, to bring the moon-light into a 
chamber: for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet 
by moonlight. [play? 

Snug. Doth the moon shine that night we play our 
Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look In the almanac; 
And out moonshine, flnd out moon-shine. 

Suin. Yes, it doth shine that night. 
ot. Why, then may you leave a casement of the 
great chamber-window, where we play, open; and 
the moon may shine in at the casement. 

Quin. Ay; or else one must come in with a bush of 
thorns and a lantern, and say, he comes to disflgure, 
or to present, the person of moonshine. Then tliere 
is another thing: we must have a wall in the great 
chamber; for Pyramus and Thisbv, says the story, 
did talk through the chink of a wall. 

Snug. You can never bring in a wall. -What say 
you. Bottom? 

Bot. Some man or other must present wall: and 
let him have some plaster, or some lome, or some 
rough-cast about him, to signify wall; and let lilni 
hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall 
Pyramus and Thisbv wliisper. 

QiHn. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
down, every mother's sou, and rehearse your parts. 
Pyramus, you begin: wiien you have spoken your 
speech, enter into that break; and so every ohe ac- 
cording to his cue. 

Enter Pucfe behind. 

Puck. Whatlieinpen homespuns have we swagger- 
ing here. 
So near the cradle of the fairy queen? 
What, a play toward? I '11 be an auditor; 
An actor too, perhaps. If I see cause. 
Quin. Speak, Pyramus:— Thisby, stand forth, 
' Pyr. Thisby, the flowers of odious savours sweet. 
Quin. Odours, odours. 
' Pyr. — - odours savours sweet: 
So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. 
But, hark, a voice! stay thou but here awhile. 

And by and by I will to thee appear.' [Exit. 

Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here! 

[Aside. — Exit. 
' This. Must I speak now? 

Quin. Ay, marry, must you: for you mupt under- 
stand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and 
is to come again. [hue, 

' This. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily white of 
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
Jlost brisky juvenal, and eke most lovely Jew, 

As true as truest horse that yet would never tire, 
I '11 meet thee, P.vramus, at Ninny's tomb.' 

Quin. Ninus' tomb, man: Why jou must not speak 
that yet; that you answer to Pyramus; you speak all 
your part at once; cues and all.— Pyramus enter; 
your cue is past; it is, never tire. 

Re-enter Puck, and Bottom icith an ass's head. 

' This. O,— As true as truest hoi-se, that yet would 

never tire. 
' Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine:'- 
Quin. O monstrous! estrange! we are haunted. 
Piay, masters! fly, masters' help! [Exeunt Clowns. 
Puck, I '11 follow you, I '11 lead you about a round, 
Through bog, through bush, through break, 
through brier; 
Sometime a horse I '11 be, sometime a hound, 

A hog, a headless bear, sometime a flre; 
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and 

burn. 
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. 

[Exit. 
Bot. Why do they run away? this is a knavery of 
them, to make me afeard. 

Reenter Snout. 

Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed! what do I see 
on thee? 

Bot. What do you see? you see an ass-head of your 
own; Do you? 

Reenter Quince. 

Quin. Bless thee. Bottom! bless thee! thou art 
translated. [Exit. 

Bot. I see their knavery: this is to make an ass of 
me; to fright me if they could. But I will not stir 
fi-»m this place, do what they can: I will walk up 
and down here, and I will sing, that they shall hear 
I am not afraid. [.sV/i^s. 

The woosel-cock, so black of hue. 

With orange-tawny bill. 
The throstle with his note so true. 

The wren with little quill; 

Tita. What angel wakes me from m.v flowery bed? 

[Wakinjj. 

Bot. The flnch, the sparrow, and the lark. 
The plain-song cuckoo gray. 
Whose note full many a man doth mark. 
And dares not answer, nay — 
for. Indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a 
bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry 
coefcoo never so? 

Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, slug again: 
Mine ear is much enamour'd of thy note. 
So Is mine eye enthralled to thy shape; 
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move nte. 
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 

Bot. Methlnks, mistress, you should have little 
reason for that: And yet, to say the truth, reason 
and love keep little company together now-a-days: 
The more the pity, that some honest neighbours will 
not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon oc- 
casion. 

Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 

Bot. Not so, neither: but If I had wit enough to get 
out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine own 
turn. 

Tito. Out of this wood do not desire to go; 
Thou Shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
I am a spirit, of no common rate; 
The summer still doth tend upon my state. 
And I do love thee: therefore, go with me; 
I '11 give thee fairies to attend on thee; 
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep. 
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep: 
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so. 
That thou snalt like an air.v spirit go. — 
Peas-blossom! Cobweb! Mothj and Mustard-seed! 



Enter four Fairies. 

1 I'ai. Ready. 2 Fai. And I. 8 Fai. And I. 

4J''a(. Andl. All. Where shall we go? 

Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman; 
Hop In his walks, and gambol in his eyes; 
Feed him with aprlcocks, and dewberries; 
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries; 
The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, 
And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, 
And light tnem at the fiery glow-worm's eyes. 
To have my love to bed, and to arise; 
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies. 
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes: 
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 

1 Fai. Hall, mortal! 2 Fai. Hail! 

3 Fai. Hall! 4 Fai. Hall! 

Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily.— I be- 
seech .vour worship's name. Cob. Cobweb. 

Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, good 
master Cobweb: If I cut my finger, I shall make 
bold with you.— Your name, honest gentleman? 

Peas. Peas-blossom. 

Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, 
your mother, and to master Peas-cod, your father. 
Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of 
more acquaintance too.— Your name, I beseech you, 
sir? Mus. Mustard-seed. 

Bot. Good master Mustard -seed, I know your pa- 
tience well: that same cowardly, giantlike ox-beef 
hath devoured many a gentleman of your house: I 
promise you, your kindred hath made my eyes 
water ere now. I desire you more acquaintance, 
good master Mustard-seed. 

Tita. Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower. 
The moon, methlnks, looks with a watery eye; 
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 
Lamenting some enforced chastity. 
Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Another part of the Wood. 

Enter Oberon. 

Obe. I wonder, if Tltania be awak'd; 
Then, what it was that next came in her eye. 
Which she must dote on in extremity. 

Enter Puck. 
Here comes my messenger.— How now, mad spirit? 
What night-rule now about this haunted grove? 

Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
Near to a close and consecrated bower. 
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
A crew of patches, rude mechanicals. 
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 
Were met together to rehearse a play. 
Intended tor great Theseus' nuptial day. 
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort. 
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 
Forsook his scene, and enter'd in abrakej 
When I did him at this advantage take. 
An ass's nowl I fixed on his head; 
Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, 
And forth my mimic comes: When they him spy. 
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye. 
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort. 
Rising and cawing at the gun's report. 
Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky; 
So at his sight away his fellows fly: 
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls; 
He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 
Their sense thus weak, lost witli- their fears thus 

' strong. 
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong: 
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch; 
Some, sleeves; some, hats; from ylelders all things 
I led them^n in this distracted fear, [catch. 

And left sweet Pyramus translated there: 
When in that moment (so it came to pass,) 
Tltania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 

Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. 
But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes 
With the love-juice, as I bid thee do? 

Puck. I took hlin sleeping,- that Is flnish'd too,— 
-And the Athenian woman by his side; 
That when he wak'd of force she must be ey'd. 

Enter Demetrius and Hermla. 

Olie. Stand close; this is the same Athenian. 

Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. 

Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? 
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 

Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse: 
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep. 
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in knee-deep, 
.And kill me too. 

The sun was not so true unto the day. 
As he to me: Would he have stol'n away 
From sleeping Hermia? I '11 believe as soon. 
This whole earth may be bprlti; and that the moon 
May through the centre creep, and so displease 
Her brother's noontide with the .Antipodes. 
It cannot be, but thou hast murder'd him; 
So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim. 

Dem. So should the murder'd look; and so should I, 
Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty: 
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear. 
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 

Her. What 's this to my Lysander? where is he? 
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me? 

Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. 

Her. Out, dog! out, cur ! thou drlv'st me past the 
bounds 
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then? 
Henceforth be never number'd among men ! 
Oh! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake; 
Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake, 
-And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O nrave touch : 
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? 
An adder did it; for with doubler tongue 
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 

Dem. You spend your passion onaniisprls'dniood. 
I am not guilty ot Lysander's blood; 
Nor Is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 

Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he Is well. 

Dem. An If I could, what should I get therefore? 

Her. A privilege never to see me more. — 
And from thy hated presence part I so: 
See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit. 

Dem. There is no following her in this flerce vein • ' 
Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. 
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
For debt that bankrout sleep doth sorrow owe; 



A MJlJUVMMEM-XiailTS DJIEAM. 



Which now, in some slight measure, It will pay, 
If for his tender here I make some stay. 

[IJcsdovii. 

Obe. What hast thou (lone? thou hast mistaken 
quite, 
And laid the love-julce on some true-love's sight: 
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. 

Puck. Then fate o'errules; that one man holdim; 
A million fall, confounding oath on oath. ftiDtli, 

Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind. 
And Helena of Athens look thou find: 
All fancv-slck she Is. and pale of cheer 
With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear. 
By some Illusion see thou bring her here; 
I 11 charm his eyes against she doth appeal-. 

Puck. I go, I go; lo(>k, how I go; 
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. ■ [Exit. 

Obe. Flower of this purple die. 

Hit with Cupid's archery. 

Sink in apple of his eye ! 

When his love he doth espy 

Let her shine as gloriously 

As the Venus of the sky. 

When thou wak'st. If she be by 

Beg of her for remedy. 

Pc-ciiter Puck. 
Pui!k. Captain of our fairy band, 

Helena is Iiere at hand. 

And the youth, mistook by me, 

Pleading for a lover's fee; 

Shall we their fond pageant see? 

Lord, what fools the.se mortals be ! 
Obe. Stand aside: the noise they make, 

Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
Puck. Then will two at once woo one— 

That must needs be sport alone; 

And those things do best please me. 

That befal preposterously. 

Enter Lysander and Helena. 

Lus. Why should you think that I should woo in 
Scorn and derision never coine in tears, [scorn? 
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so boni. 

In their nativity all truth :vppears. 
How can these things in me seem scorn to you. 
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true? 

Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more 
When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray ! 
These vows are Hermia's; Will you give her o'er? 

Weigh oath with oath.and you will nothing weigh: 
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales. 
Will even weigh; and both as light as tales. 

Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 

Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. 

Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 

Dem. [AwakiTm,] O, Helen, goddess, nymph, per- 
fect, divine! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? 
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
■Thy lips, those kissing cheriies, tempting grow! 
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow. 
When thou hold'st up thy hand: O let me kiss 
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss! 

Hel. O spitel O hell! I see you all are bent 
To set against me. for your merriment. 
If you were civil and knew courtesy. 
You would not do me thus much injury. 
Can you not hate me, as I know you do. 
But you must join, in souls, to mock me too':* 
If you were men, as men you are iu show. 
You would not use a gentle lady so. 
To vow, and swear, and superpralse my parts. 
When, I am sure, you hate me with your nearts. 
You both are rivals, and love Hermla: 
And now both rivals, to mock Helena: 
A trim exploit, a manly enterprize. 
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, 
With your derision! none of noble sort 
Would so offend a virgin: and extort 
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 

Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so; 
For you love Hermla: this, you know, I know: 
And here, with all good will, with all my heart. 
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part; 
And yours of Helena to me bequeath. 
Whom I do love, and will do to my death. 

Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 

Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermla; I will none: 
If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 
My heart with her but as guest-wise sojourn'd; 
And now to Helen it is home return'd. 
There to remain. 

Lys. Helen, it Is not so. 

Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know. 
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.— 
Look, where thy love comes; yonder Is thy dear. 
Enter Hermla. 

Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
The ear more quick of apprehension'makes; ftakes. 
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense. 
It pays the hearing double recompense: 
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found; 
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thv sound. 
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so? fgo? 

Lys. Why should he stay whom love doth press to 

Her. What love could press Lysander from my side? 

Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide; 
Fair Helena; who more engilds the night 
Than all yon flery oes and eyes of light. fknow. 

Why seek'st thou me? could not this make thee 
The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so? 

Her. You speak not as you think; it cannot be. 

Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy! 
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three. 
To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
Injurious Fermia! most ungrateful maid! 
Have you eonspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
To bait me with this foul derision? 
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent. 
When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
For parting us,— O, and is all forgot? 
All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence? 
We, Hermla, like two artificial gods. 
Have with our needles created both one flower, 
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 
Both warbling of one song, both in one key; 
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds. 
Had been incorporate. So we grew together. 
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted; 



But yet a union in partition. 

Two lovely tterrles moulded on one stem: 

So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; 

Two of the first, like coats In heraldry. 

Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. 

And win you rent our ancient love asunder. 

To join with men in scorning your poor friend? 

It is not friendly, 't is not maidenly: 

Our sex, as well as 1, may chide you for it; 

"Though I alone do feel the injury. 

Her. I am amazed at your passionate words: 
I scorn you not; it seems that you .scorn me. 

Hel. Have you not set Ly.saiider, as in scorn. 
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face? 
And made your other love, Demetrius, 
(Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) 
To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare. 
Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this 
! To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander 
' Deny your love, so rich within his soul, 
j And tender me, forsooth, affection; 
I But by your setting on, by your consent? 
What though I be not so in gra<'e as you, 
So hung upon witli love, .so fortunate; 
But miserable most, to love unlov'd! 
This you should pity rather tlian despise. 

Her. I understand not what you mean by thLs? 

Hel. Ay, do, persever eoimterfeit sad looks. 
Make mouths upon me when I turn my back; 
Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up: 
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
If you have any pity, grace, or manneis. 
You would not malce me such an argument. 
But, fare ye well: 't is partly mine own fault: 
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. 

Lys. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse; 
Myjove, my life, my soul, fair Helena! 

Hel. O ejceellent! 

Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 

Dem. It she cannot entreat, I can compel. 

Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat: 
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak 
prayers.— 
I Helen, I love thee; by my life I do; 
I swear by that which I will lose for thee, 
I To prove him false that says I love thee not. 
1 Dem, I say, I love thee more than he can do. 
i Lys. Ifthousayso, withdraw, and prove it too. 
I Dem. Quick, come,^ 
j Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? 

Lys. Away, you Ethiope! 

Dem. No, no, sir:— 

Seem to break loose: take on as you would follow; 
But yet come not: You are a tame man, go! 

Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr: vile thing, let 
loose; 
Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. 

Her. Why are you grown so rude? what change is 
j Sweet love? [this, 

1 Lys. Thy love? out, tawny Tartar, out! 

Out, loathed inediciue! hated poison, hence! 
' Her. Do you not jest? 

i Hel. Yes, 'sooth; and so do you. 

! Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with tliee. 

Dem. I would I had your bond: for I perceive 
A weak bond holds you; I'll not trust your word. 
I Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike Iier, kill her 
Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. [dead? 

Her. What, can you do me greater harm than hate? 
Hate me! wiierefore? O me! what news, my love? 
Am not I Hermia? aie not you, Lysander? 
I am as fair now as I was erewhile. [left me: 

Since night you lov'd me; yet, since night you 
Why then you left me,— O, the gods forbid! — 
In earnest, shall I say? Lys. Ay, by my life; 

And never did desire to see thee more. 
Therefore, be out of hope, of question, of doubt. 
Be certain, nothing truer, 't is no jest. 
That I do hate thee, and love Helena. 

Her. O me! you juggler! you canker-blossom! 
You thief of love! what, have you come by night. 
And stol'n my love's heart from him? 

Hel. Fine, i' faith! 

Have you no modesty, no maiden shame. 
No toucli of bashfulness? What, will you tear 
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? 
Fie, fie! you counterfeit, you puppet, you! 

Her. Puppet! why so? Ay, that way goes the game. 
Now I perceive tliat she hath made compare 
Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height; 
And with her personage, her tall personage. 
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. 
And are you grown so high in his esteem. 
Because I am so dwarfish, and so low? 
How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak: 
How low am I? I am not yet so low. 
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 

Hel. I pray you, thougii you mock me, gentlemen. 
Let her not hurt me; I was never curst; 
I have no gift at all in shrewishness: 
I am a right maid for my cowardice; 
Let her not strike me: You, perhaps, may think. 
Because she 's something lower than myself, 
That I can match her. 

Her. Lower! hark, again. 

Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
I evermore did love .you, Hermia, 
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you; 
Save that. In love unto Demetrius, 
I told him of your stealth unto this wood: 
He follow'd you; for love, I follow'd him. 
But he hath chid me hence; and threaten'd me 
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too: 
And now, so you will let me quiet go, 
To Athens will I bear my folly back. 
And follow you no further: Let me go: 
You see how simple and how fond I am. [you? 

Her. Why, get you gone: Who Is 't that hinders 

Hel, A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 

Her. What, with Lysander? 

Hel, With Demetrius. 

Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, Helena. 

Dem. No.slr; she shall not.though you take her part. 

Hel. O, when she 's angry, she is keen and shrewd: 
She was a vixen, when she went to school; 
And, though she be but little, she is fierce. 

Her. Little again? nothing but low and little? 
Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? 
Let me come to her. 

Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf; 

You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made; 
You bead, you acorn. 

Dem. You are too officious 

In her behalf that scorns your services. 



I Let her alone; speak not of Helena; 
Take not her part: for if thou dost intend 
I Never so little show of love to her, 
I Thou Shalt aby it. 

Lys. Now she holds me not; 

Now follow. If thou dar'st, to try whose right, 
I Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. 
I Dem, Follow? nay, I '11 go with thee, cheek by 
; Jole. [fa-('i(n« Lys. onii Derri. 

I Her, You, mistress, all this coil is long of you: 
Nay, go not back. 
Hel, I will not trust you, I; 

' Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
j Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray; 
I My legs are longer though, to lun awav. \K.tif. 

Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. 
I [Exit, pursuing iii'lewa. 

', Obe, This is thy negligence: still thou mlstak'st. 
Or else committ'st thy knaveries willingly. 
1 Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
[ Did you not tell me, I should know the man 
': By the Athenian garments he had on? 
And so far blameless proves my enterprize. 
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes: 
And so far am I glad it so did sort. 
As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 

Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place t« fight: 
Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night; 
The starry welkin cover thou anon 
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron; 
And lead these testy rivals so astray. 
As one come not within another's way. 
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue. 
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius; 
And from each other look thou lead them thus. 
Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep: 
Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye. 
Whose liquor hath this virtuous property. 
To take from thence all error, with his might. 
And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. 
When they next wake, all this derision 
Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision; 
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 
With league, whose date till death, shall never end. 
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
I '11 to my queen, and beg her Indian boy; 
And then I will her charmed eye release 
From monster's view, and ail things shall be peace. 

Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with basic; 
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast. 
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; [there. 

At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and 
Troop home to church-yards: dammed spirits all, 
That in cross-ways and floods have burial, 
Already to their wormy beds are gone; 
For fear lest day should look their shames uix)n. 
They wilfully themselves exile from light. 
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 

Obe, But we are splritrj of another sort: 
I with the morning's love have oft made sport; 
And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery -red. 
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams. 
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. 
But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: 
We may effect this business yet ere day. (Ex, Obe. 
Puck, Up and down, up and down; 

I will lead them up and down: 
I am fear'd in field and town; 
Goblin, lead them up and down; 
Here comes one. 

Enter Lysander. 
Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak thou 

now. 
Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Where art 
Lys. I will be with thee straight. [thou? 

Puck. Follow me then 

To plainer ground. [Z.b. Lys. as following the voice. 
Enter Demetrius. 
Dem. Lysander! speak again. 

Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? [head? 
Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy 
Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the star.4. 
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
And wilt not come? Come, recreant; come, thou 
I '11 whip thee with a rod: He is defil'd fchOd; 

That draws a sword on thee. 
Dem, Yea; art thou there? 

Puck, Follow my voice; we '11 try no manhood here. 

lExeiint. 
Re-enter Lysander. 
Lys, He goes before me, and still dares me on; 
When I come where he calls then he is gone. 
The villain is much lighter heel'd than I: 
I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly; 
That fallen am I in dark uneven way. 
And here w^ill rest me. Come, thou gentle day! 

[lAes dovyn. 
For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
I '11 find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps, 
Re-enter Puck and Demetrius. 
Puck. Ho, ho! ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou 

not? 
Dem, Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot, 
Tliou runn'st before me, shifting every place; 
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
Where art thou now? 
Puck, Come hither; I am here. 

Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy 
this dear. 
If ever I thy face by daylight see: 
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
To measure out my length on this cold bed. 
By day's approach look to be visited. 

[Lies doum an<l sle^'ps. 
Enter Helena. 
Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night. 
Abate thy hours: shine, comforts, from the <:ast. 
That I may back to Athens, by daylight. 

From these that my poor company detest:— 
And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye. 
Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps. 
Puck. Yet but three? Come one more; 

Two of both kinds makes up four. 
Here she comes, curst and sad : 
Cupid is a knavish lad. 
Thus to make poor females mad. 
Enter Hermia. 



60 



A MWSUMMEE-NIGHT'S DUE AM. 



|,ACT V. 



Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, ' 

Bedabbled with tlie dew, and torn with briers; 
I can no fnrther crawl, no further go; 

Sly legs can keep no pace with my desires. 
Here will I rest nie, till the break ot day. 
Heaven shield Lysander, if they mean a fray! 

\_Lies down. 
Fuck. On the ground 
Sleep sound: 
I '11 apply 
To your eyo. 
Gentle lover, remedy. 

[Squeezing the juice on Lys.'s eye. 
Wlien thou wak'st, 
Thou tak'st 
True delight 
In the sight 
Of thy former lady's eye: 
And the country proverl>kRO\vn, 
That every man should take his own, 
In your waking shall be shown: 
Jack shall have Jill; 
Nought shall go ill; 
The man shall nave his mare again, and all shall be 
well. [Exit Puck.— Dem. Hel. &o. sleep. 

ACT IT. 

Scene l.—The Wood. 

Enter Titania and Bottom, Fairies attendino; 
Oberou behind unseen, 

Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery lied, 
While Ithy amiable cheeks do coy. 
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, 
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
Bot. Where 's Peas-blossom? Peas. Ready. 

Bat. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom.— Where 's 
monsieur Cobweb? Cob. Ready. 

Bot. Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieur, get your 
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red hipped 
humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good mon- 
sieur, bring me the honev-bag. Do not fret youi-- 
self too much in the action, monsieur; and, good 
monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not; I 
would be loth to have you overflown with a honey- 
bag, slgnior.— Where 's monsieur Mustard-seed? 
iliist. Ready. 

But. Give me your neif, monsieur Mustard-seed. 
Pray you, leave yourcourtesy, good monsieur. 
3Iiist. What 's your will? 

Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalery 
Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, mon- 
sieur; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about 
the face; and lam such a tender ass, if my hair do 
but tickle m.e I must scratch. Dove? 

Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet 
BoM have a reasonable good ear in music: let us 
have the tongs and the bones. 
Tita. Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 
Bot. Truly, a peck of provender: I could munch 
your good dry oats. Methinks I have a great desire 
to a bottle of hay : good hay, sweet hay, hath no 
fellow. 

T ta. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
The squirrel's-hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 

Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried 
peas. But. I pray you, let none of your people stir 
me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. 

Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee iu my arms. 
Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 
So doth the wlndbine the sweet honeysuckle 
Gently ent wist; the female ivy so 
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 
O, how I love thee! how I dote on the! 

[Tliey sleep. 
Oberon advances. Enter Puck. 
Obe. Welcome, good Robin. Seest thou this sweet 
Her dotage now I do begin to pity. [sight? 

For meeting her ot late, behind the wood. 
Seeking sweet favours for thishateful fool, 
I did upbraid her and fall out with her: 
For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
With coronet or fresh and fragrant ttoivers; 
And that same dew, which some time on the buds 
Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, 
Stood now within the pretty flow'rets' eyes. 
Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail. 
When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her. 
And she, iu mild terms, begg'd my patience, 
I then did ask of her her changeling child; 
Which straight she gave me, and her fairies sent 
To bear him to my bower in fairy land: 
And now I have the boy, I will undo 
This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
From off the head of this Athenian swain; 
That he awaking when the other do, 
May all to Athens back again repair; 
And think no more of this night's accidents, 
But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
But first I will release the fany queen. 
Be, as thou was wont to be; 

[Touching her eyes with an herb. 
See, as thou was wont to see: 
Dlan's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
Hath suchforce and blessed power. 
Now, my Titania, wake you, my sweet queen. 
Tita. My Oberon! what visions have I seen! 
Methought I was enamour'd of an ass. 
Obe. There lies your love. 

Tita. How caine these things to pass? 

O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now! 

Obe. Silence a while.— Robin, take off this head.— 
Tltantia, music call; and strike more dead 
Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 
Tita. Music, hoi music; such as charmeth sleep. 
ruck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own 

fool's eyes peep. 
Obe. Sound, music. [Still music] Come, my queen, 
take hands with me. 
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
Now thou and I are new in amity; 
And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly. 
Dance In duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
And bless it to all fair posterity: 
There shall the pairs ot faithful lovers be 
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jollity. 
Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark; 

I do hear the morning lark. 
Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
Trip we after the night's shade: 
We the globe can compass soon. 
Swifter than the wand'rlng moon. 



Tita.. Come, m.v lord; and in our flight. 
Tell me how It came this night. 
That I sleeping here was found. 
With these mortals on the ground. [Exeunt. 

[Horns sound within. 
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train. 

T!ie. Go one of you, flnd out the forester; 
For now our observation is perform'd; 
And since we have the vaward of the day, 
My love shall hear the music of my hounds. 
Uncouple in the western vallej-; let them go: 
Despatch, I say, and flnd the forester. 
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
And mark the musical confusion 
Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 

Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once. 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds ot Sparta: never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, 
"The skips, the fountains, every region near 
Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard 
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 

The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew; 
Crook-knee'd and devv-lapp d like Thessalian bulls; 
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells, 
Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
Was never hoUa'd to, nor cheer'd witli hotn. 
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly: [these? 

Judge, when you hear.— But, soft; what nymphs are 

Ege. My lord, this is my daughter hero asleep; 
And this Lysander; this Demetrius is; 
This Helena, old Nedar's Helena: 
I wonder of their being here together. 

Tlte. No doubt they rose up early to observe 
The rite of May; and, hearing our intent. 
Came here in grace of our solemnity. 
But, speak, Egeus: Is not this the day 
That Hermia should give answer of her choice? 

Ege. It is, my lord. [horns. 

The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 

Horns, and shouts within. Demetrius, Lysander, 
Hermia, and Helena wake, and start up. 

The. Good morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now? [past; 

Lys. Pardon, my lord. » • 

[He and the rest kneel to Theseus. 

TTk". I pray you all, stand up. 

I know you two are rival enemies; 
How comes this gentle concord in the world. 
That hatred is so far from jealousy. 
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? 

Lys. My lord, I shall repl.v amazedly. 
Half 'sleep, half waking: But as yet, I swear, 
I cannot truly say how I came here: 
But, as I think, (for truly would I speak,— 
And now I do bethink me, so it is:) 
I came with Hermia hither: our intent 
Was to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
Without the peril ot the Athenian law. 

Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have enough: 
I beg the law, the law, upon his head. 
They would have stol'n away,they would,Demetrius, 
Thereby to have defeated you and me: 
You of your wife, and me of my consent, — 
Of my consent that she should be your wife. 

Bern. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, 
Of this their purpose hither, to this wood; 
And I in fury hither follow'd them; 
Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
(But, by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, 
Melted as the snow, seems to mo now 
As the remembrance of an idle gaud. 
WTiich in my childhood I did dote upon: 
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart. 
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye. 
Is only Helena. To her, my lord. 
Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia: 
But, like in sickness, did I loath this food: 
But, as in health, come to my natural taste, 
Now do I Avish it, love it, long for it, 
And will for evermore be true to it. 

The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met: 
Of this discourse we will hear more auon. 
Egeus, I will overbear your will; 
For in the temple, by and by with us, 
These couples shall eternally be knit. 
And, for the morning now is something worn, 
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. 
Away, with us, to Athens: Three and three. 
We '11 hold a feast in gi-eat solemnity. 
Come, Hippolyta. [Ex. The., Hip., Ege., cid train. 

Dem. These things seem small andundistinguish- 
Like far-ofE mountains turned into clouds. [able. 

Her. Methinks I see these things with parted eye, 
When every thing seems double. 

Hel. So, methinks: 

And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 
Mine own, and not mine own. 

Bern. It seems to me, 

That yet we sleep, we dream.— Do not you think. 
The duke was here, and bid us follow him? 

Her. Yea, and my father. Hel. And Hippolyta. 

Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 

Bern. Why then, we are awake: let 's follow him; 
And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [ike, 

[As they go out. Bottom awakes.'] 

Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will an- 
swer:— my next is, ' Most fair Pyramus.'— Hey, ho! 
—Peter Quincel Flute, the bellows-mender! Snout, 
the tinker! Starveling! God's my life! stolen hence 
and left me asleep! I have had a most rare vision. 
I have had a dream,— past the wit of man to say 
what dream it was:— Man is but an ass if he go 
about to expound this dream. Methought I was— 
there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, 
and methougnt I had.— But man is but a patched 
fool it he will olfer to say what methought I had. 
The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath 
not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue 
to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream 
was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of 
this dream: It shall be called Bottom's Dream, be- 
cause It hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the 
later end of our play, before the duke: Peradven- 
ture, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at 
her death. [Exit. 



Scene II. — Athens. .1 Room in Quince's House. 
Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling. 

Qiiiti. Have, you sent to Bottom's house? Is he 
come home yet? [transported. 

Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he is 

Flu. If he come not, then tlie play is marred; It 
goes not forward, doth It? 

Qiiin. It is not possible: you have not a man in all 
Athens able to discharge Pyramus, but he. 

Fill. No; lie hath simply the best wit of any handi- 
craft man, In Athens. 

Quin. Yea, and the best person too: and he is a 
very paramour for a sweet voice. 

Flu, You must say, paragon: a paramour is, God 
bless us, a thing of naught. 

Enter Snug. 

Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the tem- 
ple, and there is two or three lords and ladles more 
married: if our sport had gone forward we had all 
been made men. 

Flu. O sweet Bully Bottom ! Thus hath he lost 
sixpence a-day duiing his life; he could not have 
'scaped sixpence a-day: and the duke had not given 
him si-Ypence a-day for playing Pyramus, I '11 be 
hanged; he would have deserved it: sixpence a- 
day, in Pyramus, or nothing. 

Enter Bottom. 

JBof. Where are these lads? where are these hearts? 

Quin. Bottom !— O most comageous day ! O most 
happy hour! 

Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders: but ask 
me not what; for if I tell you I am no true Athenian. 
I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out. 

Qnin, Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 

Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you is, 
that the duke hath dined: Get your apparel to- 
gether; good strings to your beards, new ribbons to 
your pumps; meet presently at the palace; every 
man look o'er his part; for, the sliort and the long is, 
our play is preferred. In any case, let Tliisby have 
clean linen; and let not him that plays the lion pare 
his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. 
And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlic, for 
we are to utter sweet breath; and I do not doubt but 
to hear them say it is a sweet comedy. No more 
words; away; go, away. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of 
Theseus. 

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords and 
Attendants. 

Hip. 'T is strange, my Theseus, that these lovers 
speak of. 

Tlie. More strange than true. I never may believe 
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains. 
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact: 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold- 
That is the rhadman: the lover, all as frantic. 
Sees Helen's beauty in a bi-ov? of Egypt: 
That poet's eye, in a flue frenzy rolling. 
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 
And, as imagination bodies forth [heaven. 

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
Turns them to shapes, and give's to airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name. 
Such tricks hath strong imagination; 
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
It comprehends some bringer of that joy; 
Or, in the night, imagining some fear, 
How easy is a busii suppos'd a bear! 

Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
And all their minds transflgur'd so together. 
More witnesseth than fancy's images. 
And grows to something of great constancy; 
But, howsoever, strange, and admirable. 

Miter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and Helena. 

Tlie. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. 
Joy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love. 
Accompany your hearts! Lys. More than to us 

Wait in your royal walks, your board, your bed! 

Tlie. Come now; what masks, what dances shall we 
have. 
To wear away this long age of three hours, 
Between our after-supper and bed-time? 
Where is our usual manager of mirth? 
What revels are in hand? Is there no play 
To ease the anguish of a torturing hour? 
Call Philostrate. ' 

Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. [ing? 

Tlie. Say. what abridgment have you for this evon- 
What mask, what music? How shall we beguile 
The lazy time, if not with some delight? 

Philost. Tliere is a brief, how many sports are rUe; 
Make choice of which your highness will see first. 

[Giving a paper. 

Lys. [reads.] ' The battle with the Centaurs, to be 
By an Athenian eunuch to the harp.' [sung, 

The. We '11 none of that: that have I told my love. 
In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 

Lys. ' The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage." 

The. That Is an old device, and it was play'd 
When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 

Lys. 'The thrice three Muses mourning for the 
Of learning, late deceas'd In beggary." [death 

The. That is some satire, keen, and critical. 
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 

Lys. ' A tedious brief scene of young Pyi'amus, 
And his love Ihisbe; very tragical mirth." 

The. Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief? 
i That is, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. 
I How shall we flnd the concord of this discord? 

Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words 
Which is as brief as I have known a play; [long; 

But by ten words, my lord. It is too long. 
Which makes it tedious: for[in all the play 
There is not one word apt, one player fitted. 
.4nd tragical, my noble lord, it is; 
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
Which when I saw rehears"d, I must confess. 
Made mine eyes water; but more merr.v tears 
The passion of loud laughter never shed. 

The. What are they that do play it? [here, 

Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athena 
I Which never labour'd in their minds till now; 



Scene i.l 



.1 MWSVMMKIi-yKiiri's nil K AM. 



fill 



And now have toil'd their unbi-eath.'d memories 
With this same play, against your nuptial. 

The. And we will hear It. 

Philost. N«, my noble lord. 

It is not for vcni: I liave heard it over. 
And it is notliiiiK. iii>thinc in the world, 
(Unless you can find ^^u>rt in their intents.) 
Extremely stnfcli'd and conn'd with cruel pain. 
To do you" service. The. I will hear that play; 

For never anytliinucan be amiss 
When simpleness and duty tender it. 
Gk), brim; them in and talce your places, ladies. 

[E.vexnt Philostrate. 

Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged. 
And duty in his service perishing. 

Th". Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. 

Hip. He says, tiiey can do nothing in this kind. 

ITie. The kinder we, to give them than, s fi r uoth- 

Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake; . 
And what poor duty cannot do, 
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
To greet nte with premeditated welcomes; 
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
Make periods in the midst of sentences 
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, 
.\nd, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off. 
Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet, 
Out of tills silence yet I pick'd a welcome: 
.\nd in ihe modesty of fearful duty 
I read as much, as from the rattimg tongue 
Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity. 
In least speak most, to my capacity 
Enter Philostrate. 
Philost. So please your grace the prologue is ad- 
The. Let him approach. [drest. 

[Flourish of trumpets. 
Enter Prologue. 
Pro!. ' If we offend, it is witli our good will. 

' That you should think we come not to offend. 
But with good will. To show our simple skill, 
' That Is the true beginning of our end. 

■ Consider then, we come but in despite. 

' We do not come as minding to content you, 
'Our true intent is. All tor your delight, lyou 

' We are not here. That you should here repent 
'The actors are at hand- and, by tlieir show, 
' Vou shall know all that you are like to know.' 
The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
Lys. He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; 
he knows not the stop. .4. good moral, my lord It 
is not enough to speak, but to speak true. 

Hip. Indeed he hath plaj'ed on his prologue lilce a 
child ou a recorder; a sound, but not in govern- 
ment. 

The. His speech was like a tangled chain; nothing 
impair'd, but all disordered. Who is next? 
Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wail, Moonshine, and 

Lion, as in dumb show. 
Frol. 'Gentles, perchance you wonder at this 
show; 
'But wonder on. till truth make all things plain. 
'This man is Pyramus, if you would know; 
'This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. 

■ Tills man, with lime and rough-east, doth present 

'Wall, that vile wall wiiich did these lovers 

sunder: [content 

' And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are 

' To wiiisper, at the which let no man wonder. 
' This man. with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 
' Presenteth moonshine; for, if you will know, 
' By moonshine did these lovers think no scorn 

' To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
This grisly beast, which by name lion hight, 
' The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
' Did scare away, or rather did affright: 
' And, as shelled, her mantle she did fall; 

' Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain: 
' Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth and tall, 
' And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain; 
' Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 

' He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast; 
'And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade, 

'His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
'Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, 
' At large discourse, while here they do remain. 

[Exeunt Prol., Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine. 
The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. 
Dem. No wonder, my lord; one lion may, when 
many asses do. 

Wall. ' In this same interlude, it doth befall, 
• That I, one Snout by name, present a wall: 
' And such a wall as I would have you think, 
' That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, 
' Through which the lovers. Pyramus and Thisby, 

■ Did whisper often pery secretly. 

' This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone doth show 

' That I am that same wall; the truth is so: 

' And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 

' Through which the fearful lovers are to vphisper.' 

The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 
better? 

Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 
discourse, my lord. 
The. Pyramus draws near the wall: silence. 

Enter Pyramus. 
Pyr. 'O grlra-look'd night! O night with hue so 
'O night, which ever art when day is not I [black ! 
' O night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 

' I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ; 
' And thou, O wall, thou sweet and lovely wall, 

'That stands between her father' ground and 
' Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall, [mine; 
' Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine 
eyne. [Wall holds up his fingers. 

'Thanks, courteous wall. Jove shield thee well for 
' But what see I? No Thisby do I see. [this ! 

'O wicked wail, through whom I see no bliss: 
'Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! ' 
ITie. The wall, methlnks, being sensible, should 
curse again. 

Bot. No, in truth, sir, he should not. 'Deceiving 
me,' is Thisby's cue: she is to enter now,and I am 
to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will 
fall pat as I told you:— Yonder she conies. 
Enter Thisbe. 
27ms. 'O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, 
' For parting my fair Pyramus and me; 
•My cherry lips have often klss'd thy stones; 



' Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee.' 
Pl/r. 'I see a voice: now will I to the chink, 
'To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 

'Thisby!' 
Thi.i. 'My love ! thou art my love, I think.' 
Pyr. 'Think what thou wilt, I ain thy lover's grace; 

'And like Liniaiuler :nii I trusty still." 
This. 'And I like Helen, till the fates me kill." 
Pur. ' Not .Shatalus lo Procrus was so true.' 
This. 'As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." 
Pl/r. 'O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall.' 
Tliis. 'I kiss the wail's hole, not your lips at all.' 
Pyr ' Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straiglit- 

way?' 
This. ' 'Tide life, 'tide-death, I come withoutidelay.' 
Wall. ' Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so; 

' And, being done, tlius wall away doth go.' 

[E.rL'unt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe. 
Tlie. Now is ihe mural down betv/een the two 

neighbours. 
Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wilful 

to hear without warning. 
Hip. This is the silliest stuff that e'er I heard. 
Tlie. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the 

worst are no worse, if imagin.atlon amend tiiem. 
Hil>. It must be your imagination then, and not 

theirs. 
Tlie. If we imagine no worse of them than they of 

themselves, ihey may pass for excellent men. Here 

come two noble beasts in, a man and a lion. 

Enter Lion and Moonshine. 

Lion. ' You, ladies, you, wliose gentle hearts do fear 
'Tlie smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on 
floor, 

■ May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, 

' ^V^len lion rough in wildest rage doth loar. 
'Then know ihat I, one Snug the joiner, am 
'A lion's fell, nor else no lion's dam: 
' For if I should as lion come in strife 
' Into this place, 't were pity of my life.' 

The. A very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. 

Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er 1 

Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour. [saw. 

The. True; and a goose for his discretion. 

Dem. Not so, my lord; for his valour cannot carry 
his discretion; and the fox carries the goose. 

Hie. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his 
valour; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well: 
leave it to his discretion, and let us hearken to the 
moon. 

Moon. 'This lantern doth the horned moon pre- 
sent." 

Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. 

The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible 
within the cii'cumference. 

Moon. 'This lantern doth the horned moon pre- 

■ Myself the man i' th' moon do seem to be.' [sent: 

The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the 
man should be put into the lantern: How is It else 
the man i' the moon? 

Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: for 

you see, it is already in snuff. [change. 

Hip. I am weary of this moon: Would he would 

Tlie. It appears, by his small light of discretion, 

that he is in the wane: but yet. In courtesy, in all 

reason, we must stay the time. 

Lys. Proceed, moon. 

Moon. 'AH that I have to say Is, to tell you, that the 
lantern is the woon; I, the man in the moon; this 
thorn-bus.h uiy thorn-bush; and this dog my dog. 

Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern; for 
they are in the moon. But, silence: here comes 
Thisbe. 

Enter Thisbe. 
This. ' This is old Ninny's tomb: where is my love?' 
Lion. ' Oh—.' 

{The Lion roars.— Thisbe inms off. 
Dem. Well roared, lion. The. Well run, Thisbe. 
Hip. Well shone, moon. Truly, the moon shines 
vritha good grace. The. Well moused, lion. 

[The Lion tears Thisbe's m.antle, and exit. 
Dem. And then came Pyramus. 
Lys. And so the lion vanished. 

Enter Pyramus. 
Pyr. 'Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
beams; 
' I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright; 
' For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams, 
' I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight. 
But stay;— O spite! 
But mark;— Poor knight, 
'What dreadful dole is here? 
' Eyes, do you see? 
' How can it he? 
'O dainty duck! O dear! 
' Thy mantle good, 
'What, staln'd with blood? 
'Approach, ye furies fell! 
' O fates ! come, come; 
' Cut thread and thrum; 
'Quail, crush, conclude, and quell!' 
The. This passion, and the deatli of a dear friend, 
would go near to make a man look sad. 
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
Pyr. 'O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions 
frame? 
'Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear: 
' Which is, — no, no— which was the fairest dame, 
'That liv'd, that ioVd, that lik'd, that look'd with 
Come, tears, confound; [cheer. 

'Out sword, and wound 
The pap of Pyramus: 
'Ay, that left pap 
' Where heart doth hop;— 
•Thu's die I, thus, thus, thus. 
'Now am I dead, 
' Now am I fled; 
•My soul is in the sky: 

' Tongue, lose thy light ! 
'Moon, take thy flight! 
'Now die, die, die, die, die.' 

( Dies.— Exit Moonshine. 
Dem. ITo die, but an ace, for him; for he is but 
one. [nothing. 

Lus. Less than an ace, man; for he is dead; he is 
The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet re- 
cover, and prove an ass. 

Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe 
conies back and finds her lover? 

The. She will find him by starlight.- Here she 
comes; and her passion ends the play. 



Enter Thisbe. 

Hip. Methlnks, she should not use a long one for 
such a Pyramus: I hope she will be brief. 

Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Pyramus, 
which Thisbe, Is the better. 

Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet 

Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. [eyes. 

This. 'Asleep, my love? 

' What, dead, my dove? 
'O Pyramus, arise, 

' Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 

' Dead, dead? A tomb 
' Must cover thy sweet eyes. 

'These lily lips, 

' This cherry nose, 
' These yellow cowslipcheeks, 

'Are gone, are gone: 

' Lovers make moan ! 
' His eyes were gi'een as leeks. 

' O sisters three 

'Come, come to me, 
' With hands as pale as mUk; 

'Lay them in gore, 

' Since you have shore 
With shears his thread of sUk. 

' Tongue, not a word; 

' Come, trusty sword; 
' Come, blade, my breast imbrue: 

' And farewell, friends; 

'Thus Thisbe ends: 

'Adieu, adieu, adieu.' [Dies. 

The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. 

Dem. Ay, and wall too. 

Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down that parted 
their fathers. Will it please you to see the epilogue, 
or to hear a Bergomask dance, between two of our 
company? 

The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play needs 
no excuse. Never excuse; for when the players are 
all dead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if he 
that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged him- 
self in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine- 
tragedy: and so it is truly; and very notably dis- 
charged. But come, your Bergomask: let your epi- 
logue alone. [Here a dance of Clowns. 
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve:— 
Lovers to bed; 't is almost fairy time. 
I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn, 
As much as we this night have over-watch'd. 
This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd 
The heavy gait of night.— Sweet friends, to bed.— 
A fortnight hold we thus solemnity. 
In nightly revels, and new jollity. iExeunt. 

Scene II. 
Enter Puck. 

Puck. Now the hungry lion roars. 

And the wolf behowls the moon; 
Whilst the heavy plowman snores, 

All with weary task fordone. 
Now the wasted brands do glow. 

Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud. 
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe. 

In remembrance of a shrgud. 
Now it is the time of night,» 

That the gi'aves, all gaping wide. 
Every one lets forth his sprite. 

In the church-way paths to glide: 
And we fairies, that do run 

By the triple Hecate's team, 
J'rom the presence of the sun. 

Following darkness like a dream. 
Now are frolic; not a mouse 
Shall disturb this hallowed house: 
I am sent, with broom, before. 
To sweep the dust behind the door. 

Enter Oberou and Titdnia, with their train. 

Obe. Though the house give glimmering light,. 

By the dead and drowsy fire; 
Every elf, and fairy sprite. 

Hop as light as bird from trier; 
And this ditty, after me. 

Sing, and dance it trippingly. 
Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote: 

To each word, a warbling note, 

Hand in hand, with fairy grace. 

Will we sing, and bless this place. 

SONO and dance. 

Obe. Novr, until the break of day. 

Through this house each fairy stray; 

To the best bride-bed will we. 

Which by us shall blessed be; 

An4 the issue there create. 

Ever shall be fortunate. 

So shall all the couples three 

Ever true in loving be; 

And the blots of nature's hand 

Shall not in their issue stand; 

Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, 

Nor mark prodigious, such as are 

Despised in Nativity, 

Sh.all upon their children be. 

With this field-dew consecrate. 

Every fairy take his gait; 

And each several chamber bless. 

Through this palace with sweet peace; 

Ever shall in safety rest. 

And the owner of it blest. 
Trip away; 
Make no stay: 

Meet me all by break of day. 

[E.i-eunt Oberon, Titania, and train, 
Puck. If we shadows have offended. 

Think but this, (and all is mended,) 

That you have but slumber'd here. 

While these visions did appear. 

And this weak and idle theme. 

No more yielding but a dream. 

Gentles, do not reprehend; 

If you pardon, we will mend. 

And, as I am an honest Puck, 

If we have unearned luck 

Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, 

We will make amends, ere long; 

Else the Puck a liar call. 

So. good night unto you all. 

Give me your hands, if we be friends, 

.\.nd Robin shall restore amends. [Exit 



rilF. MKHCIIAXT OF VKXICK. 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



PERSONS REPRKSF.NTEV. 



7)t"KE OF VeNICK. 

Prince of Morocco, ( suitors to Por- 
)"RINCE OF Arraoon, ( tia. 
AxToNio, The Merchant of Venice. 
Hassanio, his friend. 

l?i'lr'iK-'o Ifriends to Antonio onci 
G^3S£i'o. jBassanio. 



Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 
Shylock, a Jew. 

Tubal, a Jew, his friend. 

Launcblot Gobbo, a clown, serraut to 

Shylock. 
Old Gobbo, fattier to Launeelot. 
LEON.iRDO, servant to Bassanio. 



t . 



Balthazar, . 

servants to Portia. 
Stephano, 5 
Portia, a rich heiress. 
Nerissa, her ivaitlng-maid. 

Jessica, daughter to Shylock. 



Magniftcoes of Venice, CWcers of t)ie 
i Court of Justice, Gaoler, Servants, 
I and other Attendants. 



SCEKE.— Partly at Venice; and partl/ij 
at Belmont, the seat o/ Portia, on the 
Continent. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— Venice. A Street. 

Enter Antonio, Salarlno, and Solanlo. 

Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad; 
It wearies me; you say, It wearies you; 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it. 
What stult 't is made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn; 

And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 
That I have much ado to know myself. 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; 
There, where your argosies with portly sail, 
I.Ike signioi-s and rich burghers on the flood. 
Or, as it were, the pageants of the .sea, 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers. 
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, , 

As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Solan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth. 
The better part of my affections would 
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind; 
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads: 
And every object that might make me fear 
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt. 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind, cooling m.y broth, 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great would do at sea. 
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run. 
But I should think of shallows and of flats; 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. 
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs. 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church. 
And see the holy ediflce of stone. 
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks 
Wiiich, touching but my gentle vessel's side, 
Would scatter all lier spices on the stream; 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks; 
.\n(l, in a word, but even now wortli this. 
And now worth nothing? .Shall I have the thouglit 
To think on this; and shall I lack the thought 
That such a thing, bochanc'd, would make me sad? 
But tell not me; I know Antonio 
Is sad to think upon his merchandize. 

Ant. Believe me, no: I thank my fortime for it. 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year: 
Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. 

Salar. Why then you are in love. 

Ant. Fye, fyel 

Salar. Not in love neither? Then let us say, you 
are sad 
Because you are not merry: an 't were as easy 
For you to laugh, and leap, and say you are merry 
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus, 
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in lier time: 
Some that will evermore peep through their e.ves, 
And laugh, like parrots, at a bagpiper: 
And other of such vinegar aspect. 
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

fmter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiauo. 

Solan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble 
kinsman, 
Gratiano, and Lorenzo: Fare you well; • / 

We leave you now with better company. ' 

Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry. 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you. 
And you embrace the occasion to depart. 

Salar. Good-morrow, my good lords. 

Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? 
Say, when? 
You grow exceeding strange: Must it be so? 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
{Exennt Salarlno anfi Solanio. 

Ijor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found An- 
We two will leave you; but at dinner-time [tonio, 
1 pray you have in mind where we must meet. 

Bass. I win not fail you. 

Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio; 
You have too much respect upon the world: 
They lose it that do buy It with much care. 
Bi'lieve me, you are marvellously Chang 'd. 

Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; 
A stage, where every man must play a part, 
And mine a sad one. 

Gra. Let me play the Fool: 

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; 
And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Wny should a man whose blood is warm within 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,— 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks;— 
There are a sort of men, whose visages 
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; 
JVnd do a wilful stillness entertain, 
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 



Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; 

As who should say, 'I am Sir Oracle, 

And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!' 

O, my Antonio, I do know of these. 

That therefore only are reputed wise 

For saying nothing; who, 1 am very sure. 

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears 

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 

I '11 tell thee more of this another time: 

But fish not with this melancholy bait, 

For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. 

Come, good Lorenzo:— Fare ye well, a while; 

I '11 end my exhortation after dinner. 

Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time; 
I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, 
Thou Shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 
Ant. Farewell: I '11 grow a talker for this gear. 
Gra. Thanks,!' faith; for silence is only commend- 
able 
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 

[Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. 
Ant. Is that any thing now? 

Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
more than any man in all Venice: His reasons are 
two grains of wheat hid In two bushels of chaff; you 
shall seek all day ere you find them; and -when you 
have them tliey are not worth the searcli. 

Ant. Well; tell me now, what lady is the same 
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage. 
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of? 

Bass. 'T Is not unknown to you, Antonio, 
How much I have disabled mine estate. 
By something showing a more swelling port 
Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
Nor do I now make moan to be abrldg'd 
From such a noble rate; but my chief care 
Is to come fairly oft" from the great debts 
Wherein my time, something too prodigal. 
Hath left me gaged: To you, Antonio, 
I owe the most in money and in love; 
And from: your love I have a warranty 
To unburthen all my plots and purposes, 
How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 

Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it; 
And, if it stand, as you yourself still do. 
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd 
My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 

Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft 
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
The self-same way, with more advised watch 
To find the other forth; and by adventuring both 
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof, 
Because what follows is pure innocence. 
I owe you much; and, like a wiltul youth, 
That which I owe Is lost: but if you please 
To shoot another arrow that self way 
Which you did shoot the flrst, I do not doubt, 
As I will watch the aim, or to And both 
Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
And thankfully rest debtor for the flrst. 

Ant. You know me well; and herein spend but 
To wind about my love with circumstance; [time. 
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong 
To making question of ray uttermost. 
Than if you nad made waste of all I have. 
Then do but say to me what I should do. 
That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
And I am prest unto it: therefore speak. 
Bass. In Belmont Is a lady richly left. 
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, 
Of wond'rous ^'irtues. Sometimes from her eyes 
I did receive fair speechless messages: 
Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued 
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
Nor is the wide world Ignorant of her worth: 
For the four winds blow in from ever.v coast 
Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece; 
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand. 
And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
O, my Antonio! had I but the means 
To hold a rival place with one of them, 
I have a mind presages me such thrift. 
That I should questionless be fortunate. 

Atit. Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea; 
Neither have I money, nor commodity 
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth, 
Try what my credit can in Venice do; 
That shall be rack'd even to the uttermost, 
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
Where money is; and I no question make. 
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Belmont. A Boom in Portia's House. 
Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a- 
weary of this great world. 

Ner, You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries 
were in the same abundance as your good fortunes 
are: And yet, for aught I see, tliey are as sick that 



surfeit vrith too much, as they that starve with noth 
ing: It is no small happiness, therefore, to be 
seated in the mean: superfluity comes sooner by 
white hairs, but competency lives longer. 

For. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 

Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what wert 
good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor 
men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine 
that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach 
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of 
the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain 
may devise laws for the blood; but a hot temper 
leaps o'er a cold decree: such a hare is madness the 
youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good council the 
cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion to 
choose me a husband:— O me, the word choose! I 
may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse whom 
I dislike; so is the will of a living daughter curb'd 
by the will of a dead father:— Is it not hard f^erissa, 
that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? 

Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and .loly men 
at their death have good Inspirations; therefore, the 
lottery that he hath devised in these tliree chests, of 
gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses his 
meaning chooses you,) will, no doubt, never be 
chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall rightly 
love. But what warmth is there in your affection 
towards any of these princel.v suitors that are al- 
ready come? 

Por. I pray thee, over-name them; and as thou 
namest them I will describe them; and according to 
my description level at my affeetion. 

Nei: First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 

Por. Ay, that 's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing 
but talk of his horse; and he makes it a great ap 
propriation to his own good parts that he can shoe 
him himself: I am much afraid my lad.v his mother 
played false with a smith. 

Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. 

Por. He doth nothing but fivown; as who should 
say, 'An you will not have me, choose:' he hears 
merry tales, and smiles not: I fear he will prove the 
weeping philosopher when he grows old, being bo 
full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had 
rather to be married to a death's head with a bone 
in his mouth, than to either of these. God defend 
me from these two! [Le Bon? 

Ner. How say you by the French lord. Monsieur 

Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass for 

a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a mocker. 

But, he! wliy, he hath a horse better than the Nea 

polltan's; a better bad habit of frowning than the 

count Palatine: he is every man in no man; it a 

I throstle sing, he falls straight a capering, he will 

I fence with his own shadow: if I should marry him I 

i should marry twenty husbands: If he would despise 

I me I would forgive him; for if he love me to mad- 

i ness I shall never requite him. 

Ner. What say you then to Faulconbrldge, the 
young baron of England? 

Por. You know I say nothing to him; for he under- 
stands not me, nor I him. he hath neither Latin, 
French, nor Italian; and you will come into the 
court and swear that I have a poor pennyworth in 
the English. He is a proper man's picture. But, 
alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How 
oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet In 
Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Ger- 
many, and his behaviour everywhere. 

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
neighbour? 

Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him; for 
he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, 
and swore he would pay him again when he was 
able: I think the Frenchman became his surety, and 
sealed under for another. 

Ner. How like you the young German, the duke of 
Saxony's nephew? 

Por. Very vUel.v in the morning, when he is sober; 
and most vilely in the afternoon, when he 's drunk 
when he is best he is a little worse than a man; and 
when he is worst he is little better than a beast; an 
the worst fall that ever fell, I hope I shall make 
shift to go without him. 

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the 
right casket, you should refuse to perform your 
father's will if you should refuse to accept him. 

Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee 
set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary 
casket: for, if the, devil be within, and that tempta 
tion without, I know he will choose it. I will do any 
thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a sponge. 

Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of 
these lords; they have acquainted me with their 
determinations: which is, indeed, to return to their 
home and to trouble you with no more suit: unless 
you may be won by some other sort than your 
father's Imposition, depending on the caskets. 

Por If I live to be as old as Sibylla I will die as 
chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the man 
ner of my father's will: I am glad this parcel of 
wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one 
among them but I dote on bis very absence, and I 
wish them a fair departure. 



Si;k.\k Ii-l 



THE IUKKCHAXT OF VEXICE. 



ti3 



\er. Do you not remember, lady, in your fathers 
time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that 
came hither in company of the Marquis of M<>nt- 
ferrat» T'le called. 

For Yes, yes, it was Bassanlo; as I think so was 

.Ve)-. True, madam; he, of all the men that ever 
my foolish eyes loolcedupon, was the best deserving 
A fiir liclv 

For. I remember him well; and I remember him 
worthy of thy praise. 

Ento- a Servant. 

Serv. The four strangers seelc you, madam, to 
take their leave: and there is a fore-runner come 
from a fifth, the prince of Morocco; who Inmgs 
word the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 

For. It f could bid the fifth welcome with so good 
heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should 
be glad of his approach: if he have the condition 
of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had 
rather he should shrive me than wive me. 
Come, Nerissa. Sirrah, go before. 
';¥'liile3we shut the gate upon on<? wooer, another 
knocks at the door. \F.xeunt. 

Scene III.— Venice. A public Place. 
Enter Bassanlo and Shyiock. 
Shy. Three thousand ducats,— well. 
Boss. Ay, sir, for three months. 
Shy. For three months,— well. (lie bound. 

Bass For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall 
Shu. Antonio shall become bound,— well. 
Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? 
Shall I know your answer? .u i 

Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and 
Antonio bound. Bass. Your answer to that. 

Shy. Antonio is a good man. [trary? 

Bass. Have vou heard any imputation to the con- 
Shu. Oh no, "no, no. no;— my meaning in saying he 
Is a good man is, to have you understand me that he 
is sufficient: yet his means are in supposition: he 
hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the In- 
dies; I understand moreover npon the RIalto, he 
hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England; and 
other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad. Biit 
ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land- 
rats and water-rats, water-thieves and laud-thieves; 
I mean, pirates: and then, there is the peril of waters, 
winds, and rocks: The man is notwithstanding, suf- 
ficient;— three thousand ducats;— I think I may take 
Ills bond. 
Bass. Be assured you may. 

Shy. I will be assured I may; and that I may be 

assured I will bethink me: May I .speak witli An- 

Bass. If it please vou to dine with ns. f tonio.^ 

Shy. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation 

which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil 

into! I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with 

vou, walk with you, and so following; but I will not 

eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you.— 

What news on the Rialto?— Who Is he comes here? 

Enter Antonio. 

Bass. This is signior Antonio. 

Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he 
I hate him for he is a Christian: [looks! 

But more, for that, in low simplicity. 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us In Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails, 
Hven there where merchants most do congregate. 
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift. 
Which he calls Interest: Cursed be my tribe 
If I forgive him! Bass. Shyiock, do you hear? 

Shy. I am debating of my present store; 
.4jid, by the near guess of my memory, 
I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
Of full three thousand ducats: What of that? 
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
Will furnish me: But soft: How many months 
Do you desire?— Rest you fair, good signior: 

[To Antonio. 
Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 

Ant. Shyiock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow. 
By taking, nor by giving of excess. 
Yet, to supply the right wants of my friend, 
I '11 break a custom:— Is he yet possessed 
How much you would? 
Shy. Ay, a.v, three thousand ducats. 

Ant. And for three months. 

Shy. I had forgot,— three months, you told me so. 
Well then, your bond; and, lei me see. But hear you: 
Hethought you said, you neither lend nor borrow, 
Upon advantage. Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. When Jacob gi-az'd his uncle Laban's sheep. 
This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
(As his wise mother wrought in his behalf) 
The third possessor; ay, he was the third. 
Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? 
Shy. No, not take interest; not, as .vou would say. 
Directly interest: r.-iark what Jacob did. 
When Laban and himself were compromis'd 
That all the eanllngs which were streak'd and pied 
Should fall, as Jacob's hire: the ewes, being rank, 
In end of autumn turned to the rams: 
And when the work of generation was 
Betweenthe.se woolly breeders In the act. 
The skilful shepherd pill'd me certain wands, 
.ind, in the doing of the deed of kind. 
He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes; 
Who then conceiving, did in eaning-time 
Fall particolour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
This was a way to thrive, and he was blest; 
.\nd thrift Is blessing, if men steal it not. 

Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for; 
.K. thing not in his power to bring to pass. 
But sway'd and fashlon'd by the liand of heaven. 
Was this inserted to make interest good? 
Or is your gold and sliver ewes and rams? 

Shy. I cannot tell; I make it breed as fast: 
But note me, signior. 

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 

The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
An evil soul producing holy witness 
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; 
A goodly apple rotten at the heart; 
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! [sum. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats,— 't is a good round 
Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 
Ant. Well, Shyiock, shall we be beholden to you? 
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft 
lu the RIalto you have rated me 



About mv monies, and mv usances; 

Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; 

For sufferance is the badge of :ill our tribe: 

You call me misbeliever, cut-lliroat dog. 

And spit upon mv Jewish galjcrdlne, 

.\nd all for use of that which is mine own. 

Well then, It now appears you need my help: 

Go to then; vou come to me, and you say, 

' Shyiock, we would have monies; ' You say so: 

You that did void your rheum nnon my beard, 

And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur 

Over your threshold; monies Is your suit. 

What should I say to you? Should I not say, 

'Hath a dog money? Is it possible 

.\ cur can lend three thousand ducats? ' or 

Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key. 

With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, 

Say this,— 

'Fair sir, vou spat on me on Wednesday last; 

Vou spurn'd me such a day; another time 

Yuu called me dog; and for these courtesies 

I '11 lend vou thus much monies? ' 

Ant. I a"m as like to call thee so again, 
To .spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends; (for when did friendship take 
A breed of barren metal of his friend?) 
But lend it rather to thine enemy; 
Who, if he break, thou niay'st with better face 
Exact the penalties. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm \ 

I would be friends witli you, and have your love; 
Forget the shames that you have stained me with; 
Supply your present wants, and take no doit - 
Of usance for mv monies, and you '11 not hear me: 
This is kind I offer! Bass. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show: 
Go with me to a notary: seal me there 
Your single bond; and, in a merry sport. 
If you repay me not on such a day. 
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are 
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 
Of your fair fiesh, to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

Ant. Content, in faith; I '11 seal to such a ijond. 
And say there Is mucli kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me; 
I '11 rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear not, man; I will not forfeit it; 
Within these two months, that 's a month liefore 
This bond expires, I do expect return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

S7ij/. O father Abraham, what these christians are, 
Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you. tell me this; 
If he should break his day, what should I gain 
By the exaction of the forfeiture? 
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither. 
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say. 
To buy his favour I extend this friendship; 
If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; 
And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 
Ant. Yes, Shyiock, I will seal unto this bond. 
Shy. Then meet me forwitli at the notary's; 
I Give him direction for this merry bond, 
j And I will go and purse the ducats sti-alght; 
See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
Of an unthrifty knave; and presently 
I will be with you. 

Atit. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 

I This Hebrew will turn Christian; he grows kind. 

Boss. I like not fair terms and a villain's mind 

Ant, Come on; in this there can be no dismay. 

My ships come home a month before the day. | 



[Krit. 



Ex. 



ACT II. 
Scene I.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
Flom-ish of Co'nets. Enter the Prince of Morocco, 

and his Train; Portia, Nerissa, and other of her 

Attendants. 

Mor. MIslike me not for my complexion, 
The shadow'd liver.v of the burnish 'd sun, 
To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. 
Bring me the fairest creature northward born. 
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles. 
And let us make incision for your love. 
To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. 
I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
Hath fear'd the valiant: by my love, I swear. 
The best-regarded virgins of our clime 
Have lov'd it too: I would not change tins hue. 
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 

Poj-. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
By nice direction of a maiden's e.ves: 
Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing: 
But, if my father had not scanted me. 
And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
His wife who wins ine by that means I told you. 
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair 
As any comer I have look'd on yet. 
For my affection. 

Nor. Even for that I thank you; 

Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets. 
To try my fortune. By this scimitar. 
That sl^w the Sophy, and a Persian prince 
That won three fields of Sultan Sol.vman, 
I would o'er-stare the sternest eye.s that look. 
Out-bra vo the heart most daring on the earth, 
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she bear. 
Yea, mock the lion when he roai-s.for prey, 
To win thee, lady: But, alas the while ! 
If Hercules and Lichas play at dice 
Which Is the better man? the greater throw 
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand: 
So is Aleides beaten by his page; 
And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 
Miss that which one unworthier may attain. 
And die with grieving. 

For. You mu.st take your chance; 

And either not attempt to choose at all. 
Or swear, before you choose,— if you choose wrong. 
Never to speak to lady afterward 
In way of marriage; therefore be advis'd. 

Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto m.vcliance. 

For. First, forward to ttie temple; after dinner 
Your hazard shall be made. 

Mor. Good fortune then ! [Corntfs. 

, To make me blest or cursed'st among men. [E.ve. 



Scene II.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Launcclot Gobbo. 
Laiin. Certainly my conscience will serve me to 
run from this Jew, my master: The fiend Is at mine 
elbow, and tempts me; saying to me,— Gol)bo, Laun 
eelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, o'- 
good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the stall, 
run away:— Mv conscience says,— no; take heed 
honest Launcelot; take heed, honest Gobbo, or (as 
aforesaid) honest Launcelot Gobbo; do not run. 
scorn running with thy heels: Well, the most cour 
ageous flend bids me pack. Via! says the fiend: 
away! .says the fiend, for the heavens; rouse up a 
brave mliid, says the fiend, and run. Well, my con 
science, hanging about the neck of my heart, says 
very wisel.v to me,— my honest friend, Launcelot, 
being an honest man's son, or rather an honest 
woman's son;— for, indeed, my father did something 
smack, something grow to, he had a kind of taste:— 
well, my conscience says, Launcelot, budge not: 
budge, says the fiend; budge not, says my con- 
science: Con.sclence, say I, you counsel well; fiend, 
say I, you counsel well; to be ruled by my con 
science I should sta.v with the Jew my master, who 
(God bless the mark !) is a kind of devil; and to run 
away from the Jew I should be ruled by the fiend, 
who, saving your reverence, is the devil himself: 
Certainly, the Jewisthe very devil incarnation: and. 
in my conscience, my conscience is a kind of hard 
conscience, to offer to counsel me to stay with the 
Jew: The fiend gives the more friendly counsel: 1 
will run, flend; my heels are at your commandment. 
I will run. 

Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. 
Goh. Master, young man, you, I pray you; which 
is the way to master Jew's? 

Lann. [.Iside.] O heavens, this is my true-begotten 
father! who, being more than sand-blind, high- 
gravel lilind, knows me not: I will try conclusions 
with him. 

Gob. Master young gentleman, I pray you which is 
the way to master .lew's? 

Zaun. Turn upon your right hand at the next 
turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your left; 
marrv, at the ver.v next turning, turn of no hand, 
but turn down Indirectly to the Jew's house. 

Ooh. Bv God's sonties, 't will be a hard way to hit. 
Can you "tell me whether one Launcelot that dwells 
with him dwell with him, or no? 

Laiin. Talk you of young master Launcelot?- 
Mark me now— [os/de] now will I raise the waters; 
: —Talk vou of young master Launcelot? 

Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son: his 
father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor 
man, and, God be thanked, well to live. 

Laun, Well, let his father be what a will, we talk 
of young master Launcelot. 
Gob. 'i'our worship's friend, and Launcelot. 
Laicn, But I pray you, ergo, old man, ergo, I lie- 
seech you, talk you of young master Launcelot? 
Gob, Of Launcelot, an 't please your mastership. 
Latin, .ffrs/o, master Launcelot; talk not of master 
Launcelot, father; for the young gentleman (ac- 
cording to fates and destinies, and such odd say- 
ings, the sisters three, and such branches of learn 
ing.) is, indeed, deceased; or, as you would say iii 
plain terms, gone to heaven. 

Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very staff 
of ray age, my very prop. 

Laun, Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a 
staff, or a prop?— Do you know me, father? 

Gob, Alack the day, I know you not, young gentle- 
man: but, I pray you tell me, is my boy (God rest 
his soul !) alive or dead? 
Latin, Do you not know me, father? 
Gob, Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. 
Latin, Nay, Indeed, if you had your eyes .von 
might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise father that 
knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you 
news of your son: Give me your bles.sing: truth will 
come to light; murder cannot be hid long; a man's 
son may; but, in the end, truth will out. 

Gob, Pra,y you, sir, stand up; I am sure you are 
not Launcelot, my boy. 

Latin, Pray you, let 'shave no more fooling about 
It, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your 
boy that was, your son that is, your clilld that shall 
be. Gob, I cannot think you are my son. 

Zaun, I know not what I shall think of that: but 
I am Launcelot, the Jew's man; and I am sure 
Margery, your wife, Is m.y mother. 

Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed; I '11 be sworn 
If tliou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and 
blood. Lord, worshipp'd might he be ! what a 
beard hast thou got ! thou hast got more hair on thy 
chin than Dobbin my phill-horse has on his tail. 

Lauti, It should seem then that Dobbin's tail grows 
backward; I am sure he had more hair of his tail 
than I have of my face, when I last saw him. 

Gob, Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost tliou 
and thy master agree? I have brought him a pre- 
sent. How 'gree you now? 

Latin, Well, well; but for mine own part as I have 
set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till 1 
liave run some ground. My master 's a vei.v Jew. 
Give him a present:give him a halter;I am famish'd 
in his service; you may tell every finger I have with 
my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come: give me 
your present to one master IJassanio, who, indeed, 
gives rare new liveries; if I serve not him, I will run 
as far as God has any ground.— O rare fortune! here 
comes the man;— to him, father; for I am a Jew if I 
serve the Jew any longer. 

Enter Bassanio, icith Leonardo, and other 
Followers, 
Bass, You may do so;— bUt let it be so hasted that 
supper be ready at the farthest by five of the clock; 
See these letters dellver'd; put the liveries to mak 
Ing; and desire Gratiano to come anon to my lodg- 
ing. [Exit a Servant. 
Laun, To him father. 
Gob, God bless your worship! 
JBa.ss. Gramercy! Would'st thou aught with me? 
Goh. Here 's my son, sir, a poor boy, — 
Laun. Not a poor bo.y, sir, but the rich Jew's man; 
that would, sir, as my father shall specify,— 

Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would, 
say, to serve,— 

Laun, Indeed, the short and the long is, I serv© 
the Jew, and have a desire, as my father shall 
specify,- 
Gob. His master and he (saving your worship'* 
. reverence) are scarce cater-cousins: 



64 



THE MKRCHAXr OF VKXIVK. 



IA<T 



La iin. To be brief, the very truth Is, that the Je w 
liavlng done rue wrong, doth cause me, as my father 
Ijelni; I hope an old man, shall frutlfy vinto you,— 

Qob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would be- 
stow upon your worship; and my suit Is, — 

i«ii(i. In" very brief, the suit Is Impertinent to my- 
self, as your worship shall know by this honest old 
man; and, though I say it, though old man, yet, 
poor man, my father. 

Bass. One speak for both:— What would you? 

Laun. Serve you, sir. 

Goh. That Is the very defect of the matter, sir. 

Bliss. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy .suit; 
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, 
And hath preferr'd thee, if It be preferment, 
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
The follower of so poor a gentleman. 

Laiin. The old proverb is very well parted between 
my master Shylock and you, sir; you have the grace 
of God, sir, and he hath enough. 

Bass. Thou speak'.st it well. Go, father, with thy 
Take leave of thy old master, and inquire [son:— 
My lodging out ;— give him a livery 

[To his followers. 
More guarded than his fellows': See it done. 

Laun, Father, in:— I cannot get a service, no!— I 
liave ne'er a tongue in my head!— Well; [looi-ing on 
his palm] if any man in Italy have a fairer table; 
which doth offer to swear upon a book I shall have 
good fortune! Go to, here 's a simple line of life! 
here 's a small trifle of wives: Alas, fifteen wives is 
nothing; eleven widows and nine maids, is a simple 
coming in for one man: and then, to 'scape drowning 
thrice; and to be in peril of my life with the edge of 
a feather-bed: here are simple 'scapes! Well, if for- 
tune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. 
—Father, come. I '11 take my leave of the Jew in the 
twinkling of an eve. 

[Exeunt Launeelot and Old Gobbo. 

Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this. 
These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd, 
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go. 

Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 
Enter Gratiano. 

Gra. Where is your master? 

Leon Yonder, sir, he walks. [Ex. Leon. 

Gra. Slgnlor Bassanio, — Bass. Gratiano. 

Gra. I have a suit to you. 

Bass. You have obtained it. 

Gra. You must not deny me: I must go with you 
. to Belmont. [tiano; 

Bass. Why, then you nmst.— but hear thee, Gra- 
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice; 
Parts that become thee happily enough, 
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults; 
But where they are not known, why, there they .show 
Something too liberal:— pray thee take pain 
To allay with some cold di'ops of modesty 
Thy skipping spirit; lest, throngli thy wild behav- 
1 be misconstrued In the place I go to, [lour. 

And lose my hopes. 

Gra. Slgnlor Bassanio, hear me: 

It I do not put on a sober habit. 
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely; 
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
Thus with m.v hat, and sigh, and say amen; 
Use all the observance of civility, 
Like one well studied in a sad ostent 
To please his grandani,— never trust me more. 

Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 

Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not gage me 
By what we do to-night. 

Bass. No, that were pity; 

I would entreat you rather to put on 
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
That purpose merriment: But fare you well, 
I have some business. 

Gra. And I must to Lorenzo and the rest; 
But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exevnt. 

Scene III.— Venice. A Room in Shylock's 

House. 

Enter Jessica and Launeelot. 

Jes. I am sorry thou wilt leave my father so: 
Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, 
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness: 
But fare thee well: there is a ducat for thee: 
And, Launeelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest: 
Give him this letter; do it secretly. 
And so farewell; I would not have my father 
See me in talk with thee. 

Laun. Adieu!— tears exhibit my tongue. Most 
beautiful pagan,— most sweet Jew! If a Christian 
did not play the knave and get thee, I am much de- 
ceived: But, adieu! these foolish drops do somewhat 
drown my manly spirit: adieu! [Exit. 

Jes. Farewell, good Launeelot. 
Alack, what heinous sin is it in me. 
To be asham'd to be my father's child ! 
But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo, 
If thou keen promise, I shall end this strife; 
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Exit. 

Scene IV.— Venice. A Street. 

Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarlno, and Solanio. 

ior. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time; 
Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
All in an hour. 

Gra. We have not made good preparation. 

Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers. 

Solan. 'T Is vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd; 
And better, in my mind, not undertook. 

Lor. "I is now but four o'clock; we have two hours 
To furnish us.— 

Enter Launeelot, with a letter. 

Friend Launeelot, what 's the news? 

Laun. An it shall please you to break tip this, it 
shall seem to signify. 

Lor. I know the hand: In faith 't is a fair hand; 
And whiter than the paper it writ on 
Is the fair hand that writ. 

Gra. Love-news, In faith. 

lyaun. By your leave, sir. 

Lor. Whither goest thou? 

iMun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to 
sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 

JLor. Hold here, take this:— tell gentle Jessica, 
I will not fall lier;— speak it privately: go. 
Gentlemen, [E.eit Launeelot. 



Will you prepare you for this masque to-night? 
I am provided of a torch-bearer. 

Salar. Ay, marry, I '11 be gone about It straight. 

Solan, And so will I. 

Lor. Meet me and Gratiano 

At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 

Snlar. 'T is good we do so. [E.r. Salar, and Solan. 

Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica? 

Lor. I must needs tell thee all: She hath directed 
How I shall take her from her father's house; 
What gold and jewels she is furnish'd with; 
What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
If e'er the .few her father come to heaven, 
It will be for his gentle daughter's sake: 
And never dare misfortune cross her foot, 
Unless she do it under this excuse, — 
That she Is Issue to a faithless Jew. 
Come, go with me; peruse this as thou goest: 
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt. 

Scene V.— Venice. Before Shylock's Bouse. 
Enter Shylock and Launeelot. 

Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy 
The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio: [.ludge, 
What, Jessica !— thou shalt not gormandize. 
As thou hast done with me;— WTiat, Jessica ! 
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out:— 
Whv, Jessica, I say ! Laun. Why, Jessica ! 

Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. 

Latin. Your worship was wont to tell me I could 
do nothing without bidding. 

Enter Jessica. 

Jes. Call you? What is your will? 

Shy. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica: 
There are my keys:— But wherefore should I go? 
I am not bid for love; they flatter me: 
But yet I '11 go in hate, to feed upon 
The prodigal Christian.— Jessica, my girl. 
Look to my house:— I am right loath to go; 
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest. 
For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 

Laun. I beseech you, sir, go; my young master 
doth expect your reproach. 

Shy. So do I his. 

Laun. And they have conspired together,— I will 
not say, you shall see a masque; but if you do, then 
it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding 
on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i' the morning, 
falling out that "year on Ash-Wednesday was four 
year in the afternoon. [Jessica: 

Shy. What ! are there masques? Hear you me. 
Lockup my doors; and when you hear the drum. 
And the vile squealing of the wry-neck'd flfe. 
Clamber not you up to the casements then. 
Nor thrust your head into the public street. 
To gaze on Christian fools with varnlsh'd faces: 
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements; 
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
My sober house.— By Jacob's staff I swear, 
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night: 
But I will go.— Go you before me, sirrah; 
Say, I will come. 

Laun. I will go before, sir. — 

Mistress, look out at windosv, for all this; 
There will come a Christian by. 
Will be worth a .Jewess' eye. [Ex. Laun. 

Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha? 

Jes. His words were. Farewell, mistress; nothing 
else. 

Shy. The patch is kind enough; but a huge feeder, 
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
More than the wild cat: drones hive not with me. 
Therefore I part with him: and part with him 
To one that I would have him help to waste 
His borrow'd purse.— Well, Jessica, go In; 
Perhaps, I will return Immediately; 
Do as I bid you. 

Shut doors after you: Fast bind, fast find; 
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 

Jes. Farewell; and if my fortune be not cross d, 

I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [h.vit. 

Scene VI.— 77ie same. 

Enter Gratiano and Salarlno, masnued. 

Gii-a. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo 
Desir'd us to make stand. 

Salar. His hour is almost past 

Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
For lovers ever run before the clock. 

Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont 
To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 

Gra. That ever holds: who riseth from a feast. 
With that keen appetite that he sits do»vn? 
Where is the horse that doth untread again 
His tedious measures with the unbated Are 
That he did pace them first? .■Vil things that are, 
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
How like a younger, or a prodigal. 
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind ! 
How like a prodigal doth she return; 
With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails. 
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 
Enter Lorenzo. 

Salar. Here comes Lorenzo;— more of this here- 
after, [abode: 

Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long 
Not I, but my affahs, have made you watt: 
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
I '11 watch as long for you then.— Approach ! 
Here dwells my father Jew:— Ho ! who 's within? 
Enter Jessica, above, in boy's clothes. 

Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty, 
Albeit I '11 swear that I do know your tongue. 

L<jr. Lorenzo, and thy love. 

Jes. Lorenzo, certain; and my love, indeed; 
For who love I so much? and now who knows 
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? [thou art. 

Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that 

.Tes. Here, catch this casket; It is worth the pains. 
I am glad 't is night, you do not look on me. 
For I am much asham'd of my exchange: 
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
The pretty follies that themselves commit; 
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
To see me thus transformed to a boy. 

Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 

.Tes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames? 
They in themselves, good sooth, are too, too light, 
rt'hy, 't is an office of discovery, love; 
And I should be obscur'd. ior. So are you, sweet, 
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 



But come at once; 

For the close night doth play the runawav 

And we are staid for at Bassanlo's feast. " 

Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 

[Exit, from abore. 

Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile and no Jew. 

Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily: 
For she is wise, if I can judge of her; 
And fair she is. If that mine eyes be ti"ue; 
And time she is, as she hath prov'd herself; 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 

Enter Jessica, heloiv. 
What, art thou come?— On, gentlemen, away; 
Our masquing mates by tins time for us stay. 

[Axit rrith Jessica, and Salarlno. 
Enter Antonio. 

Ant. Who's there? Gra. Slgnlor Antonio? 

Ant. Fye, fye, Gratiano ! where are all the rest? 
'T is nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you: 
No masque to-night; the wind is come about; 
Bassanio presently will go aboard: 
I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 

Gra. I am glad on 't; I desire no more delight 
Than to be under sail and gone to-night. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 

Flourish of Comets. Enter Portia, with the 

Prince of Morocco, and both their trains. 

For. Go, draw aside the curtains and discover 
The several caskets to this noble prince:- 
Now make your choice. 

Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription bears: 
' Who chooseth me shall gain what many men de- 
sire.' ^^ 
The second, silver, which this promise carries;^ 
'Who chooseth me shall get as much as he de- 
serves.' 
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt: 
' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' 
How shall I know if I do choose the right? 

For. The one of them contains my picture, prince; 
If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 

litor. Some god direct my judgment! Let me see. 
I will survey the inscriptions back again: 
What says this leaden casket? 

' Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.' 
Must give— For what? for lead? hazard for lead? 
This casket threatens: men that hazard all 
Do it In hope of fair advantages: 
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross; 
I '11 then not give, nor hazard, aught for lead. 
What says the silver, with her virgin hue? 
' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves.' 
As much as he deserves?- Pause there, Morocco, 
And weigh thy value with an even hand: 
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation. 
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough 
May not extend so far as to the lady: 
And yet to be afeared of my deserving 
Were but a weak disabling of myself. 
As much as I deserve!— Why, that's the lady: 
I do In birth deserve her, and in fortunes. 
In graces, and In qualities of breeding; 
But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here?— 
Let's see once more this saying grav'd In gold: 
' Who chooseth me shall gain what many men de- 
sire.' 
Why, that's the lady: all the world desires her: 
From the four corners of the earth they come. 
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
The Hvrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 
Ot wide Arabia, are as through-fares now. 
For princes to come view fair Portia; 
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
To stop the foreign spirits; but they come. 
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
Is 't like that lead contains her? 'T were damnation 
To think so base a thought: it were too gross 
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
Or shall I think in silver she 's Immur'd. 
Being ten times undervalued to tried gold? 
O sinful thought! Never so rich a gem 
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 
A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
Stamped in gold; but that 's insculp'd upon; 
But here an angel in a golden bed 
Lies all within.— Deliver me the key; 
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may! 

For. There, take it, prince, and if my form lie 

Then I am yours. (there,' 

[He nnlocks the golden casket. 

Mor. O hell! what have we here? 
A carrion death, within whose empty eye 
There is a written scroll? I '11 read the writing: 

'AH that glitters Is not gold. 

Often have you heard that told: 

Many a man his life hath sold 

But my outside to behold: 

Gilded tombs do worms infold. 

Had you been as wl.se as bold, 

Young in limbs, in judgment old, 

Ycur answer had not been inscroll'd 

Fare you well; your suit is cold.' 
Cold Indeed; and labour lost: 
Then, farewell heat; and welcome frost.— 

Portia, adieu! I have too giiev'd a heart 

To take a tedious leave; thus lovers part. [Exit. 

For. A gentle riddance:— Draw the curtains, go;— 
Let all ot his complexion choose me so. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Salarlno and Solanlo. 
Snlar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail; 
With him is Gratiano gone along; 
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 
Solan. The villain Jew with outcries rals'd the 
duke: 
Who went with him to search Bassanlo's ship. 

Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail: 
But there the duke was given to understand. 
That In a gondola were seen together 
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica; 
Besides, Antonio certified the duke. 
They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 
Solan. I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
I So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 



Scene vui.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



As the doe Jew did utter in tlie streets: 

■ My daughter!— O ray ducats!— O mv daughter! 

Fied with a Christian?— O my Cliristian ducats!— 

Justice! the law! my ducats, and inj- daugliter! 

A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats. 

Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter! 

And jewels: two stones, two rich and precious 

stones, 
Stol'n by my daughter!— Justice! And the girl! 
She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats!' 

Solar, Why, all the boys in Venice follow him. 
Crying,- his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 

Solan. Let good Antonio looli he Iceep his day, 
Or he shall pay for this. 

SaXar. Marry, well remember'd: 

I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday. 
Who told me,— in the narrow seas that part 
The French and English, there miscarried 
A vessel of our country, richly fraught: 
I thought upon Antonio when he told me. 



The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath. 
And comes to his election presently. 

Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon, 
Portia, and their Trains. 

For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince; 
If you choose that wherein I am contaln'd, 
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemnir'd; 
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord. 
You must l)e «one from hence mimediately. 

Ar. I am cnjoiu'd by oath to observe three things: 
First, never to unfold to any one 
Which casket 't was I chose; next. If I fall 
Of the right casket, never In my life 
To woo a maid in way of marriage; lastly, 
If I do fail in fortune of my choice. 
Immediately to leave you and be gone. 

For. To these injunctions every one doth swear 
That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 

Ar. And so have I address'dme: Fortune now 



How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 
From the true seed of honour! and how much hou- 
Fick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, four 
To be new varnlsh'd! Well, but to >ny choice: 
' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves;' 
I will assume desert: Give me a key for this. 
And instantly unlock my fortune here. 
Par. Too long a pause for that which you And thew^ 
Ar. What's here? the portrait of a tilinking idiot. 
Presenting me a .schedule? I will read it. 
How much unlike art thou to Portia? 
How much unlike my hopes and my deservings? 
'Who cliooseth me shall have as much as he deserve*' 
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? 
Is that my prize? are my deserts no better? 

For. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices. 
And of opposed natures. Ar. What Is here? 

' The Are seven times tried this; 




ACT v.— SCEKE I.] 



Jes. In such a night, did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well. 



And wish'd in silence that it were not his. 

Solan. You were best to tell Antonio what you 
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. [hear; 

SaUir. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part: 
Bassanio told him, he would make some speed 
Of his return; he answer'd— ' Do not so. 
Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
But stay the very rlping of the time; 
And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me. 
Let It not enter in your mind of love: 
Be merry; and employ your chiefest thoughts 
To courtship, and such fair ostents of lo\ e 
As shall conveniently Ijecome you there' 
And even there, his eye being big with tears. 
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him. 
And with affection wondrous sensible 
He wrung Bassanio's hand, ;ind so thev parted. 

Solan. I think he only loves the v irio for him. 
1 pray thee, let us go and find him . it, 
.\nd quicken his embraced heaviness 
With some delight or other. 

Satar. Do we so. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX.— Belmont. .-1 Room in Portia's House. 
Enter Nerissa, with a Servant. 

Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curtain 
straight; 



To my heart's hope!— Gold, silver, and base lead. 

'Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath:' 

You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. 

What says the golden chest? ha! let me see; 

' Who chooseth me shall gain what many men desire.' 

What many men desire.— That many may be meant 

By the fool multitude, that choose bv show. 

Not learning more than the fond eve doth teach, 

Which pries not to the interior.but, like the martlet, 

Builds in the weather on the outward wall, 

Even in the force and road of casualty. 

I will not choose what many men desire. 

Because I will not Jump with common spirits, 

And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 

Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure-house; 

Tell me once more what title thou dost bear: 

' Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves:' 

And well said too. Fc.r who shall go about 

To cozen fortune, and he honourable 

Without tlie stamp of merit? Let none presume 

To vvear an undeserved dignity. 

O, that estates, degrees, and offices. 

Were notderiv'd corruptly! and tliat clear honour 

Were purehas'd by the nuTit of the ^ve.^rer! 

How many then should cover that ntand bare' 

How many be commanded that command! 



Seven times tried that judgment Is 
That did never choose amiss: 
Some there be that shadow.i kiss; 
Such have but a shadow's bliss: 
There be fools alive, I wis, 
Sllver'd o'er; and so was this. 
Take what wife you will to bed, 
I will ever be your head; 
So begone; you are sped.' 
Still more fool I shall appear 
By the time I linger here: 
With one fool's head I came to woo. 
But I go away with two. 
Sweet, adieu! I '11 keep my oath, 
Patiently to bear my wroth. 

[E.reunt Arragon and Tram. 
For. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 
O these deliberate fools! when they do choose. 
They have the wisdom liy their wit to lose. 

Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy;— 
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.' 
For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 

ICnter a Servant. 
Sen: Where is my lady? 

{?""• „ , Here; what would mj lortJ 

.S()(i. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 



^ 



66 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



[Act III. 



A youne Venetian, one that comes before 

To signify theapproachiugof his lord: 

From whom he bringetli sensible regreets; 

To wit, besides commends and courteous breath, 

Gifts of rich value; yet I have not seen 

So likely an ambassador of love: 

A day in Apr il never came so sweet. 

To show how costly summer was at hand, 

As this fore-spurrer con>es before his lord. 

For. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard. 
Thou « lit say anon he Is some kin to thee, 
Thou spend'stsuch high-day wit in praising him. 
Come, come, Nerlssa; for I long to see 
Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 

Ncr. Bassanlo, lord love, it thy will it be! [Exetmt. 

ACT III. ■ 
Scene I.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Solanio and Salarlno. 
Solan. Now, what news on the Rialto? 
Salar. Why, yet It lives there uncheck'd, that An- 
tonio hath a ship of rich lading wracked on the nar- 
row seas,— the Goodwins, I think they call the place; 
a very dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcases 
of manv a tall ship lie burled, as they say. If my gos- 
sip report be an honest woman of her word. 

Solan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, 
as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours 
believe she wept for the death of a third husband: 
But it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or cross- 
ing the plain high-way of talk,— that the good An- 
tonio, the honest Antonio,— O that I had a title good 
enough to keep his name company!— 
Salar. Come, the full stop. 

Solan. Ha,— what say 'st thou?— Why the end Is, he 

hath lost a snip. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses! 

Solan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil 

cross my prayer; for here he comes in the likeness 

of a Jew. 

Enter Shylock. 
How now, Shylock? what news among the mer- 
chants? 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as you, 
of my daughter's flight. 

SaJar. That 's certain. I, for my part, knew the 
tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 

Solan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the 
bird was fledg'd; and then It is the complexion of 
them all to leave the dam. 
Shy. She is damn'dfor It. 

Solar. That 's certain.if the devil may be her judge. 

Shy. My own flesh and flood to rebel! [years? 

Solan. Out upon it, old carrion! rebels It at these 

Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 

Salar. There Is more difference between thy flesh 

and hers, than between jet and ivory; more between 

your bloods, than there is between red wine and 

rhenlsh:— But t«ll us, do you hear whether Antonio 

have had any loss at sea or no? 

Shy. There 1 have another bad match: a bankrout, 
a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the 
Rialto: a beggar, that was used to come so smug 
upon the mart.- Let him look to his bond; he was 
wont to call me usurer;— let him look to his bond: he 
was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy;— 
let him look to his bond. 

Salar. Why, lam sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not 
take his flesh? What 's that good for? 

Shy. To bait fish withal; if It will feed nothing else 
it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and 
hindered me halt a million; laughed at my losses, 
mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted 
my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine ene- 
mies; and what 's his reason? I am a Jew: Hath not 
a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimen- 
sions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same 
food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the 
same disease, healed by the same means, warmed 
and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a 
Christian Is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you 
tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we 
not die? and If you vsTong us, shall we not revenge? 
If, we are like you In the rest, we will resemble you 
In that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his 
humility? revenge: If a Christian wrong a Jew, 
what should his sufferance be by Christian example? 
whv, revenge. The villainy you teach me I will ex- 
ecute; and It shall go hard but I will better the in- 
struction. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his 
house, and desires to speak with you both. 
Solar. We have been up and down to seek him. 

Enter TubaL 

Solan. Here comes another of the tribe; a third 

cannot be matched, unless the devil himself fbrn 

Jew. [Ea-exnt Solan., Salar., and Servant. 

Shy. How now. Tubal, what news from Genoa? 

hast thou found my daughter? 

Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but 
cannot find her. 

Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a diamond 
gone, cost me two thousand ducats In Frankfort! 
The curse never fell upon our nation till now; I 
never felt it till now;— two thousand ducats in that; 
and other precious, precious jewels.— I would my 
daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in 
her ear! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and 
the ducats In her coffin! No news of them?— Why, 
so:— and I know not how much Is spent in the search: 
Why. thou loss upon loss! the thief gone with so 
much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis- 
faction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring but what 
lights o' my shoulders; no sighs but o' my breath- 
ing; no tears but o' my shedding. 

Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as 
I heard in Genoa.— 
.STiw. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck? 
Tub. —hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
Tripolis. [true? 

Shy. I thank God, I thank God:— Is it true? is it 
Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped 
the wrack. 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal:— Good news, good 
news: ha! ha!- Where? in Genoa? 

Tub. Your datighter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
one night, fourscore ducats! 

Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger In me:— I shall never 
see my gold again: Fourscore ducats at a sitting! 
fourscore ducats! 



Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors In 
my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose 
but break. 

Shy. I am very glad of it: I '11 plague him; I '11 tor- 
ture him; I am glad of it. 

Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had of 
your daughter for a monkey. 

Shy. Out upon her! Thou torturest me. Tubal: it 
was my turquoise; I had it of Leah, when 1 was a 
bachelor: I would not have given it for a wilderness 
of monkeys. 

Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 

Shy. Nay, that 's true, that 's very true: Go, Tubal, 
fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight before, I 
will have the heart of him. It he forfeit; for were he 
out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I will: 
Go, Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go, good 
Tubal; at our synagogue. Tubal. [_Ex. 

Scene II.— Belmont. A Boom in Portia's House. 

Enter Bassanlo, Portia, Gratlano, Nerlssa, ond At- 
tendants. The caskets are set out. 

For. I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two, 
Before you hazard; for, in choosing wrong 
I lose your company; therefore, forbear a while: 
There 's something tells me, (but it is not love,) 
I would not lose you; and you know yourself. 
Hate counsels not in such a quality: 
But lest you should not understand me well, 
(And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,) 
I would detain you here some month or two. 
Before you venture for me. I could teach you 
How to choose right, but then I am forsworn; 
So will I never be: so may you miss me; 
But If you do, you 'U make me wish a sin, 
That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes. 
They have o'er-Iooked me, and divided me; 
One half of me is yours, the other half yours, — 
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, 
And so all yours: O! these naughty times 
Put bars between the owners and their rights; 
And so, though yours, not yours.— Prove it so 
Let fortune go to hell for it,— not I. 
I speak too long; but 't is to peize the time; 
To eke it, and to draw it out in length. 
To stay you from election. 

Bass. Let me choose; 

For, as I am, I live upon the rack. ' 

For. Upon upon the rack, Bassanlo? then confess 
What treason there is mingled with your love. 

Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust. 
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love: 
There may as well be amity and life 
'Tween snow and flre, as treason and my love. 

Por. Ay, but I fear you speak upon the rack. 
Where men enforced do speak any thing. 

Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 

Por. Well, then, confess and live. 

Bass. Confess, and love. 

Had been the very sum of my confession: 

happy torment, when my torturer 
Doth teach me answers for deliverance! 
But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 

For. Away then: I am lock'd in one of them; 
If you do love me, you will find me out. 
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. 
Let music sound, while he doth make his choice; 
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 
Fading In music: that the comparison 
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream 
And watery death-bed for him: he may win; 
And what is music then? then music Is 
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
To a new-crowned monarch: such it is. 
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day. 
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear. 
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes. 
With no less presence, but with much more love. 
Than young Alcides, wlien he did redeem 
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
To the sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice. 
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 
With bleared visages, come forth to view 
The Issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
Live thou, I live:— With much, much more dismay 

1 view the figlit, than thou that mak'st the fray. 

Music, whilst Bassanlo comments ore the ca.skets to 
himself. 

SONG. 

1. Tell me where is fancy bred. 
Or in the heart, or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished? 
Reply, reply. 

3. It is engender'd in the eyes. 
With gazing fed; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies: 

Let us all ring fancy's knell: 
I '11 begin it,— Ding, dong, bell. 
All. Ding, dong, bell. 

Bass. So may the outward shows be least them 
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. [selves; 
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt. 
But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
Obscures the show of evil? In religion. 
What damned error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 
Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? 
There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
As stayers of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
The beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, 
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk; 
And these assume but valour's excrement. 
To render them redoubted ! Look on beauty. 
And you shall see 't is purchas'd by the weight; 
Which therein works a miracle in nature. 
Making them lightest that wear most of it: 
So are those crisped snaky golden locks. 
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind. 
Upon supposed fairness, often known 
'To be the dowry of a second head. 
The scull that bred them In the sepulchre. 
Thus ornament Is but the gulled snore 
To a most dangerous sea; the beauteous scarf 
Veiling an Indian beauty; in a word. 
The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee: 
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 



'Tween man and man. But thou, thou meagre lead. 
Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught, 
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence, 
And nere choose I. Joy be the consequence '. 
For. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair. 
And shudd'ring fear, and green-ey'd jealousy. 

love, be moderate, allay thy ecstacy. 

In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess; 

1 feel too much thy blessing, make It less. 

For fear I surfeit ! Bass. What flnd I here? 

lOpening the leaden casket. 
Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demigod 
Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? 
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine. 
Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd lips. 
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar 
Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her hairs 
The painter plays the spider; and hath woven 
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men. 
Faster than gnats In cobwebs: But her eyes,— 
How could he see to do them? having made one, 
Methinks It should have power to steal both his. 
And leave Itself unfurnish'd: Yet look, how Sar 
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
In underprising it, so far this shadow 
Doth limp behind the substance.— Here 's the scroll. 
The continent and summary of my fortune. 

' You that choose not by the view. 

Chance as fair, and choose as true ! 

Since this fortune falls to you. 

Be content, and seek no new. 

If you be well pleas'd with this, 

And hold your fortune for your bliss, 

Turn you where your lady is. 

And claim her with a loving kl^^ 

A gentle scroll.— Fair lady, by your leave: 

fKissitig her. 
I come by note, to give and to receive. 
Like one of two contending in a prize. 
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes, 
Hearing applause and universal shout. 
Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt 
Whether those peals of praise be his or no; 
So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so; 
As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
Until conflrm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 

For. You see me, lord Bassanlo, where I stand, 
Such as I am: though, for myself alone, 
I would not be ambitious In my wish. 
To wish myself much better; yet, for you, 
I would be trebled twenty tim<"s myself; 
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
More rich; 

That only to stand high In your account, 
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
Exceed account: but the full sum of me 
Is sum of nothing; which, to term in gross. 
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd: 
Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
But she may learn; happier than this, 
She is not bred so dull but she can learn; 
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
Commits Itself to yours to be directed. 
As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
Myself, and what Is mine, to you and yours 
Is now converted: but now I was the lord 
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 
"This house, these servants, and this same my.self. 
Are yours, my lord,— I give them with this ring; 
Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 
Let it presage the ruin of your love. 
And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 

Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words. 
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins: 
And there Is such confusion in my powers. 
As, after some oration fairly spoke 
By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
Among the buzzing pleased multitude; 
Where every something, being blent together, 
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
Express'd, and not expressed: But when this ring 
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence; 
O, then be bold to say, Bassanlo 's dead. 

Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
That have stood by and seen our wishes prosper. 
To cry good joy; Good joy, my lord and lady ! 

Gra. My lord Bassanlo, and my gentle lady, 
I wish you all the joy that you can wish; 
For I am sure you can v^Ish none from me: 
And, when ywir honours mean to solemnize 
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you. 
Even at that time I may be married too. 

Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. 

Gra. 1 thank your lordship; you have got me one. 
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours: 
You saw the Mistress, I beheld the maid; 
You lov'd, I lov'd; for intermission 
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there; 
And so did mine too, as the matter falls: 
For wooing here, until I sweat again. 
And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
With oaths of love, at last,— if promise last,— 
I got a promise of this fair one here. 
To have her love, provided that your fortune 
Achlev'd her mistress. Por. Is this true, Nerlssa? 

Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 

Bass. And do you, Gratlano, mean good faith? 

Oi'a. Yes, faith, my lord. [marriage. 

Jioss. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your 

Ora. We '11 play with them, the first bo.v for a 
thousand ducats. 

Ner. What, and stake down? ("down. 

Gra. No; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and stake 
But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his infidel? 
What, and my old Venetian friend, Solanio? 

Enter I,orenzo, Jessica, and Solanio. 

Bass. Lorenzo, and Solanio, welcome hither; 
If that the youth of my new interest here 
Have power to bid you welcome:— By your leave, 
I bid mv very friends and countrymen. 
Sweet Portia, welcome. Por. So do I, my lord; 

Thev are entirely welcome. 

Lor. I thank your honour:— For my part, my lord, 
My purpose was not to have seen you nere; 
But meeting with Solanio by the way. 
He did entreat me, past all saying nay. 
To come with him along. Solan. I did, my lord. 

And I have reason for it. Signlor Antonio 
Commends him to you. {Gives Bassanlo a letter. 



SCBNS II.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



67 



Bass. Ere I ope his letter, 

I pray you tell me how my good friend doth. 

Solan. Not sick, ray lord, unless it be in mind; 
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there 
Will show vou his estate. 

Ora. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome. 
Your hand. Solanio. What 's tlie news from Venice? 
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio? 
I know he will be glad of our success; 
We are the Jasons, we have won tlie fleece. 

Solan. I would you had won the fleece that he hath 
lost ! [paper. 

For. There are some shrewd contents in yon same 
That steal the colour from Bassanlo's cheek; 
Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world 
Could turn so much the constitution 
Of any constant man. Wliat, worse and worse? — 
With leave, Bassanio: I am half yourself. 
And I must freely have the half of anything 
That this same paper brings you. 

Bass. O sweet Portia, 

Here a few of the iinpleasant'st woi'ds 
That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, 
When I did first Import my love to you, 
I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
Ran in my veins,— I was agentleman; 
And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady. 
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
How much I was a braggart: When I told you 
My state was notliing, I should then have told you 
That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, 
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy. 
To feed my meaos. Here is a letter, lady; 
The paper as the body of mv friend. 
And every word in it a gaping woimd. 
Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Solanio? 
Have all his ventures fail'd? What, not one hit? 
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
T'Vom Lisbon, Barbary, and India? 
And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
Of merchant-marring rocks? 

Solan. Not one, my lord. 

Besides, It should appear, that if he had 
The present money to discharge the Jew, 
He would not take it: Never did I know 
A creature that did bear the shape of man, 
So keen and greedy to confound a man: 
He plies the duke at morning, and at night; 
And doth impeach the freedom of tlie state 
If they deny him justice: twenty merchants. 
The duke himself, and the magnificoes 
or greatest port, have all persuaded with him; 
But none can drive him from the envious plea 
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 

Jes. When I was with him, I have heard him swear 
To Tubal, and to Chus, his countrymen. 
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh 
Than twenty times the value of the sum 
That he did owe him; and I know, my lord, 
If law, authority, and power deny not, 
It will go hard with poor Antonio. 

For. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? 

Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man. 
The best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
In doing courtesies; and one in whom 
The ancient Roman honour more appears, 
Than any that draws breath in Italy. 

For. What sura owes he the Jew? 

Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. 

For. What, no more? 

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond; 
Double six thousand, and then treble that. 
Before a friend of this description 
Shall lose a hair througii Bassanio's fault. 
First, go with me to church, and call me wife: 
And then away to Venice to your friend; 
For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
To pay the pfetty debt twenty times over; 
When it is paid, bring ycur true friend along: 
My maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time, 
Will Uve as maids and widows. Come, away; 
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day: 
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer: 
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. 
But let me hear the letter of your friend. 

Bass. [Beads.] 

' Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my 
creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond 
to the Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is im- 
possible I should live, all debts are cleared between 
you and I, if I might but see you at my death: not- 
witlistanding, use your pleasure: it your love do not 
persuade you to come, let not my letter.' 

Par. O love, despatch all business, and be gone. 

Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
I wlU make haste: but till I corae again. 
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay. 

Nor rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeicnt. 

Scene III.— Venice. A street. 

Enter Shylock, Salarino, Antonio, and Gaoler. 

Shy. Gaoler, look to him. Tell not me of mercy; ^ 
This is the fool that lends out money gratis;— 
Gaoler, look to him. 

Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 

Shy. I 'U have my bond; speak not against my bond; 
I have sworn an oath that I will have my bond: 
Thou call'dst me dog, before thou hadst a cause: 
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs: 
The duke shall grant me justice.— I do wonder. 
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond 
To come abroad with him at his request. 

Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 

Shy. I '11 have my bond; I will not hear thee speak: 
I '11 have my bond; and therefore speak no more. 
X "11 not be made a soft and duU-eved fool. 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
To Christian intercessors. Follow not; 
I 'U have no speaking; I wUl have my bond. 

{Exit Shylocli:. 

Solar. It is the most impenetrable cur 
That ever kept with men. 

Ant. Let him alone; 

I '11 follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
He seeks my life; his reason well I know; 
I oft delivered from his forfeitures 
Many that have at times made moan to me; 
Therefore he hates me. 

Salar. I am sure the duke 

Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 

Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law. 



For the commodity that strangers have 

With us in Venice; if it be denied, 

'T will much impeach the justice of the state; 

Since that the trade and profit of the city 

Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go: 

These griefs and losses have so 'bated me. 

That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 

To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 

Well, gaoler, on:— Pray God, Bassanio come 

To see me pay his debt, and then I care not. 



[Ease. 



Scene IV.— Belmont. A Boom in Portia's Hovse. 

Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and 
Balthazar. 

Xo)\ Madam, although I speak it in your presence. 
You have a noble and a true conceit 
Of god-like aralty; which appears most strongly 
In ijearing tliug tiie absence of your lord. 
But, if you knew to whom you show this honoiu'. 
How true a gentleman you send relief. 
How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
I know you would be prouder of the work, 
Thau customary bounty can enforce you. 

For. I never did repent for doing good. 
Nor shall not now: for in companions 
That do converse and waste tiie time together. 
Whoso souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
Thero must be needs a like proportion 
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit; 
Which makes me think that this Antonio, 
Being the bosom lover of my lord. 
Must needs be like my lord: If it be so. 
How little is the cost I have bestow'd, 
In purchasing the semblance of my soul 
From oat the state of hellish cruelty! 
This comes too near the praising of myself; 
Therefore, no more of it : liear other things. 
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
The husbandry and manage of my house. 
Until my lord's return: for mine own part, 
I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow. 
To live in prayer and contemplation. 
Only attended by Nerissa here. 
Until her husband and my lord's return. 
■There is a monastery tivo miles off. 
And there we will abide. I do desire you 
Not to deny this imposition; 
The which my love, and some necessity, 
Now lays upon you. 

Lor. Madam, with all my heart, 

I shall obey youin all fair commands. 

For. My people do already know my mind. 
And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
In place of lord Bassanio and myself. 
So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 

Lor. Fairthoughts and happy hours attend on you! 

Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 

For. I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd 
To wish it back on you: fare you well, Jessica. 

[Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 
Now, Balthazar, 

As I have ever found thee honest, true. 
So let me find thee still: Take this same letter. 
And use thou all the endeavour of a man 
In speed to Padua; see thou render this 
Into my cousin's hand, Doctor Bellario; [thee. 

And, look, what notes and garments he doth give 
Bring them, I pray tliee, with imagin'd speed 
Unto the trauect, to the common ferry 
Which trades to Venice: — waste no time in words. 
But get thee gone; I shall be there before thee. 

Batth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. 

[Exit. 

For. Come on, Nerissa; I have Tvork in hand 
That you yet know not of: we'll see our husbands 
Before they think of us. 

Ner. Shall they see us? 

For. They shall, Nerissa; but in such a habit. 
That they sliall think we are accomplished 
With that we lack. I '11 hold thee any wager. 
When we are both accouter'd like young men, 
I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
And wear my dagger with the braver grace; 
And speak, between the change of man and boy, 
With a reed voice; and turn two mincing steps 
Into a manly stride; and speak of frays. 
Like a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lies. 
How honourable ladies sought my love. 
Which I denying they fell sick and died; 
I could not do witlial: then I'll repent. 
And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them: 
And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, 
That men shall swear I have discontinued scliool 
Above a twelvemonth:— I have within my mind 
A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 
Which I win practise. 

Ner, Why, shall we tvu'n to men? 

For. Fye! what a question's that. 
If thou wert near a lewd interpreter! 
But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device 
When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
At the park gate; and therefore haste away. 
For we must measure twenty miles to-day. [Exeunt. 

Scene Y.—The same. A Garden. 

Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 

Laun. Yes, truly;— for, look you, the sins of the 
father are to be laid upon the children; therefore, I 
promise you I fear you. I was always plain with 
you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: 
Therefore, be of good cheer; for, truly, I think, you 
are daran'd. There is but one hope in it that can 
do you any good; and that is but a kind of bastard 
hope neither. 

Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee? 

iMun. Marry, you may partly hope that your 
father got you not, that you are not the Jew's 
daughter. 

Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed; so 
the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. 

Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by 
father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, your 
father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother; well, you 
are gone both ways. 

Jes. I shall be saved by my husband; he hath made 
me a Christian. 

Lann. Truly, the more to blame he: we were 
Christians enough before; e'en as man.v as could 
will live, one by another: This making of Christians 
will raise the price of hogs; if we grow all to be 
pork-eaters we shall not shortly have a rasher on the 
coals for money. 



Enter Lorenzo. 

Jes. I 'U tell my husband, Launcelot, what you 
say; here he comes. 

Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launcelot, 
if you thus get my wife into corners. 

Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo. Launcelot 
and I are out: he tells me flatly, there is no mercy for 
me in heaven, because I am a Jew's daughter:" and 
he says, you are no good member of the common- 
wealth; for, in converting Jews to Christians, you 
raise the price of pork. 

iMr. I shall answer that better to the common- 
wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's 
belly; the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. 

iMun. It is much, that the Moor should be more 
than reason: but if she be less than an honest wo- 
man, she is, indeed, more than I took her for. 

Tior. How every fool can play upon the word ! I 
think, the best grace of wit will snortl.v turn into 
silence; and discourse grow commendable in none 
only but parrots.— Go in, sirrah; bid them prepare 
for dinner. 

Laun. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. 

Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you! 
then bid them prepare dinner. 

Laun. That is done, too, sir: only, cover is the 

Lor. Will you cover then, sir? [word. 

Laun. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. 

Lor. Yet more quarrelling witli occasion! Wilt 
thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? 
I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain 
meaning; go to thy fellows; bid them cover the 
table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to 
dinner. 

Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in; for 
the meat, sir, it shall be covered; for your coining 
in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and con- 
ceits shall govern. [Exit Launcelot. 

Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited! 
The fool hath planted in his memory 
An army of good words; and I do know 
A many fools, that stand in better place, 
Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion; — 
How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife? 

Jes. Past ail expressing: It is very meet. 
The lord Bassanio live an upright life; 
For, having such a blessing in his lady, 
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth; 
And, if on earth he do not mean it, it 
Is reason he should never corae to heaven. 
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match. 
And on the wager lay two earthly women. 
And Portia one, there must be something else 
Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude world 
Hath not her fellow. Lor. Even such a husband 
Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. 

Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 

Lor. I will anon; first, let us goto dinner. 

Jes. Nay, let ihe praise you, while I have a 
stomach. 

Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk; 
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
I shall digest it. 

Jes. Well, I '11 set you forth. [Exeunt. 

ACT rv. 

Scene I.— Venice. A Court of Justice. 

Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes; Antonio. Bassanio, 

Gratiano, Salarino, Solanio, and others. 

SuTce. What, is Antonio here? 

Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 

Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of mercy. Ant. I have heard 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course; but since he stands obdurate. 
And tliat no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
My patience to his fury; and am arm'd 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit. 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 

B?ike. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 

Solan. He 's ready at the door: he comes, my lord. 
Enter Shylock. 

Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our 
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, [face. 
That thou but lead'st this fashion ot thy malice 
To the last hour of act; and then, 't is thourht 
Thou 'It show thy mercy and remorse, mo;o r.t-.-c.n^e 
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty: 
And where thou now exact'st the penalty, 
(Which is a pound ot this poor merchant's flesh,) 
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture. 
But touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
Forgive a moiety of the principal; 
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses. 
That have of late so huddled on his back, 
lEnough to press a royal merchant down. 
And pluck commiseration of his state 
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint. 
From stubborn Turks and Tartars never traiu'd 
To offices of tender courtesy. 
We ail expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I pur- 
And by our holy sabbath have I sworn, [pose: 

To have the due and forfeit of my bond: 
It you deny it, let the danger light 
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
You '11 ask me, why I rather choose to have 
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
Three thousand ducats: I 'II not answer that: 
But, say, it is my humour: Is it answer'd? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat. 
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it ban'd? What, are yon answer'd yet? 
Some men there are love not a gaping pig; 
Some, that are mad if they behold a cat; 
And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose. 
Cannot contain their urine: for affection, 
Master ot passion, sways it to the mood 
Of what it likes, or loaths: Now, for your answer. 
As there is no firm reason to be render'd. 
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig; 
Why he, a hai'mlcss necessary cat; 
Why he, a woollen bagpipe,— but of force 
Must yield to such inevitable shame. 
As to offend himself, being offended: 
So can I give no reason, nor I will not. 
More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing. 



ee 



THE MEnCBANT OF VENICE. 



LACT IV. 



I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 

A loslnj; suit against him. Are you answer'd? 

Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man. 
To e.vcu-se the current of thy crueltv. fswer. 

.SViy. I am not bound to please thee with my an- 
J?ass. Do all men liill the things they do not love? 
Hhy. H;ites any man the thing he would not kill? 
Baas. Kvery offence is not a hate at first. 
S/iy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting 

tliee twice? 
Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew. 
You May as well go stand upon the beach, 
Ami bid the main flood bate his usual height; 
You ma.v as well use Question with the wolf. 
Why he hath made rtie ewe bleat for the lamb; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise. 
When tliey are fretted witli the gusts of heaven; 
You ma.v as well do anything nrost liard. 
As seek to soften that (than which what 's harder?) 
His Jewish heart:— Therefore, I do beseech you. 
Make no more offers, use no further means, 
But, with all brief and plain convenienc.v, 
l*t me have.iudgment. and the .Tew his will. 
Bass. For thy tliree thousand ducats here Is six. 
Sly. It cverj- ducat in six thousand ducats 
Were In six parts, and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw tliem,— I would have my bond. 
huke. How Shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring 
none? [wrong? 

Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no 
You have among you many a purehas'd slave. 
Which, like .vour asses, and your dogs, and mules, 
You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
Because j'ou bought them;— Shall I say to you, 
I^et them be free, marry them to your heirs? 
WTiy sweat they under burthens? let their beds 
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
Be season'd with suc'i i-iands? You will answer. 
The slaves are ours: — So do I answer you. 
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him. 
Is dearly bought; 't Is mine, and I will have it: 
If you deny me, fye upon your law! 
There Is no force in the decrees of V^'nice; 
I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? 

Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor. 
Whom I have sent for to determine this. 
Come here to-day. 

Solan. My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
Kew come from Padua. 
Dnl-e. Bring us the letters; Call the messenger. 
Bass, Good cheer, Antonio! What, man! courage 
yet! 
The Jew shall havie my flesh, blood, bones, and all, 
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 

Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
Meetest for death; the weakest kind of fruit 
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me: 
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanie, 
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a latvyer's clerk. 
Pnke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario? 
Ncr. From both, my lord: Bellario greets your 
grace. [Presents a letter. 

Bass. A\'hy dost thy whet thy knife so earnestly? 
Shy. Tocutthe forfeiture from that bankrout tlicre. 
Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can. 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of f hy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? 
Shy. No, none that tliou hast wit enough to make. 
Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexecrable dog! 
And for tliy life let justice be accus'd. 
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, 
To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
That souls of animals infuse tliemselves 
Intothe trunks of men: thy currish spirit 
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter. 
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet. 
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
Infus'd Itself in thee; for thy desires 
Are wolfish, bloody, sterv'd, and ravenous. 

Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond, 
Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud: 
Bepairthy wit, good youth; or it will fall 
To cureless ruin.— I stand here for law. 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
A young and learned doctor to our coiu-t:- 
Where is he? Ner. He attendeth here hard by. 

To know vour answer, whether you '11 admit him. 
Duke. With all my heart:— some three or four of 
you 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place, — 
Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 

{Clerk reads.] 'Yourgrace shall understand, that, 
at the receipt of your letter, I am very sick: but in 
the instant that your messenger came, in loving 
visitation was iwith me a young doctor of Eome; his 
name is Balthazar: I acquainted him with the cause 
In controversy between the Jew and Antonio the mer- 
chant: we turned o'er many books together: he is 
fumish'd with my opinion; which, better'd with his 
own learning, (the greatness whereof I cannot 
enough commend,) comes with him, at my impor- 
tunity, to fill up your grace's request in my stead. I 
beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment 
to lot him lack a reverend estimation; for I never 
knew so young a body -with so old a head. I leave 
him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall 
better publlslihis commendation. 

Di'ke. You hear the learned Bellario, what he 
And here, I take it, la the doctor come.— (.writes: 

Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laivs. 
Give me your hand; Came you from old Bellario? 
For. I did, my lord. 

Duke. You are welcome: take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court? 
For. 1 am informed throughly of the cause. 
Vhich Is the merchant here, and which the Jew? 
Duke. Antonio and old Shvlock, both stand forth. 
For. Is your name Shylock? 

Shy. Shylock is my name. 

For. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow; 
Tet in such rule that the Venetian law 
Cannot Impugn you, as you do proceed.— 
You stand within his danger, do you not? [To Ant. 
Ant. Ay, so he says. 

For. Do you confess the bond? 

Ant. I do. 



For. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

Shy. On what compulsion must X? tell me that. 

For. The quality or mercy is not strain'd; 
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon tlie place beneath: it is twice bless'd; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 
'T is mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty. 
Wherein dolh sit tlie dread and fear of kings; 
But mercv is above this sceptred swa.v. 
It is enthroned in the heart of kings, 
It Is an attribute of God himself; 
And earthly power doth then sliow likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Iherefoi'c, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this— 
That in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; 
And tiiat same prayer doth teach us all to render 
Tlie deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea; 
Which If tliou follow, tills strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shy. M.v deeds \ipon my head ! I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

For. Is he not able to discharge the money? 

Ba&s. Yes, here I tender it for him in the covu't; 
Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er. 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority: 
To do a great right do a little wrong; 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

For. It must not be; there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established: 
'T will be recorded for a precedent; 
And manj; an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the state: it cannot be. 

S!iy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 

wise young judge, how do I honour tliec ! 
For. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
Shy. Here 't is, most reverend doctor, here it is. 
For. Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 
Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: 

Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

For. Why, this bond is forfeit; 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart:— Be merciful; 
Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the teuour. 
It doth appear you are a worthy judge; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 
Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me: I stay here on my bond. 

Ant. Most heartil.v I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

For. Why then, thus it is: 

You must prepare your bosom for the knife. 

Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 

For. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty. 
Which here appearetli due upon the bond. 

Shy. 'T is very true: O wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

For. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. Ay, his breast: 

So says the bond;— Doth it not, noble judge? — 
Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 

For. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
The flesh? Shy. I have them ready. 

For. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
charge. 
To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to death. 

,Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? 

For. It is not so express'd; But what of that ? 
'T \vere good you do so much for charity. 

Shy. I cannot find it; 't is not in the bond. 

For. Come, merchant, have you anything to say? 

Ant. But little; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd. — 
Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well ! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you; 
For herein fortune shows herself more klud 
Than is her custom: It is still her use, 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
'To view with hollow e3^e, and wrinkled brow, 
An age of poverty; from which lingering penance 
Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 
Commend me to your honourable wife: 
Tell her the process of Antonio's cud. 
Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt; 
For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 

1 '11 pay it instantly with all my heart. 
Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife. 

Which is as dear to me as life Itself; 
But life Itself, my wife, and all the world. 
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life: 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

For. Your wife would give you little thanks for 
If slie were by, to hear you make the offer, [that, 

Ora. I have a wife, whom I protest I love; 
I would she were in heaven, so she could 
Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 

Ner. 'T is well you offer it*ehind her back; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

Shy. These be the Christian husbands: I have a 
Would any of the stock of Barrabas [daughter; 

Had been her husband, rather than a Christian! 

[Aside. 
We trifle time; I pray thee pursue sentence. 

For. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is 
thine; 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

.STij/. Most rightful judge! 

For. And you must cut this flesh from off his 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. [breast; 

Shy. Most learned judge!— A sentence; come, pre- 
pare. 

For. Tarry a little;— there is something else. — 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 
The words expressly are a pound of flesh: 



Then take thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh; 

But, in tiie cutting it, if thou dost shed 

One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 

Are, b.v the laws of Venice, confiscate 

Unto the state of Venice. [judge' 

Gra. O upright judge!- Mark, Jew!— O learned 
I Shy. Is that the law? 

For. Thyself shall see the act: 

For as thou urgest justice, be assur'd 
! Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 

Gra. O learned judge!— Mark, Jew;alearncdjudge; 

Shy. I take this offer then,— pay the bond thrice, 
I And let the Christian go. 

1 Bass. Here is the money. For. Soft. 

( The Jew shall have all justice;— soft;— no haste;— 
Ho shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 
1 For, Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
j Shed thou no blood; nor cut thou less nor more, 
1 But just a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st more, 
I Or less, than just a pound,— be it but so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
I Or the division of the twentieth part 
I Of one poor scruple,— nay, if the scale do turn 
I But in the estimation of a hair. — 
I Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 
I Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! 
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

For. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. 
I Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Buss. I have it ready tor thee; here it is. 

For. He hath ref us'd it in the open court; 
He shall have merely j ust ice, and his bond. 

Gra. A Daniel, still s!f)ll; a second Daniel! — 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal? 

For. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture. 
To be so taken at th.v peril, Jew. 

Shy. Why then the devil give him good of It! 
I '11 stay no 16nger question. 

For. Tarry, Jew; 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
If It be proved against an alien. 
That by direct or indirect attempts 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
Sh.all seize one half his goods; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state: 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice, 
lu which predicament, I say, thoustand'st: 
For it appears by manifest proceeding. 
That, indirectly, and directly too. 
Thou hast eontrlv'd against the very life 
Of the defendant; and thou hast incurr'd 
The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
Down therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gra, Beg that thou may'st have leave to hang 
thyself: 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord; 
Therefore, thou must I e hang'd at the state's charge. 

Ditke. That thou shalt see the difference of our 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: [spirit. 

For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's; 
The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

For. Ay, for xhe state; not for Antonio. 

.STiy. Nay, take my life and all. pardon not that: 
You take my house, when you-do take the prop 
Tliat doth sustain my house; you take my life. 
When .vou do take the means whereby I live. 

For. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 

Gra. A halter gratis: nothing else, for God's sake. 

Ant'^ So please my lord the duke, and all the court. 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods; 
I am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use. to render it. 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter; 
Two things provided more,— That for this favour 
He presently become a Christian: 
The other, that he do record a gift 
Herein the court, of all he dies possess'd 
Unto his son Lorenzo and his daughter. 

D^lke. He shalldothis; or else I do recant 
The pardon that I late pronounced here. 

For. Art thou contented, Jew; what dost thou say? 

Shy. I am content. 

For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift- 

Shy. I pray you give me leave to go from hence: 
I am not well; send the deed after me. 
And I will sign it. 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gra. In christening, thou shalt have two god- 
fathers; 
Had Ibeen judge, thou should'st have had ten more. 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 

[E.rit Shylock. 

Duke. Sir, I entreat you with me home to dinner. 

For. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon. 
I must away this night toward Padua; 
And it is meet I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorr.y that your leisure seiwes you not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman; 
For, in my m.Ind, you are much bound to him. 

[Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and Train. 

Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend. 
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof. 
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 

Ant. And stand indebted, over ana above. 
In love and service to you evermore. 

For. He is well paid that is well satisfied: 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied. 
And therein do account mj-self well paid; 
My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
I pray you know me, when we meet aga4n; 
I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 

Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further; 
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute. 
Not as a fee: grant me two things, I pray you. 
Not to deny me and to pardon me. 

For. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
Give me j our gloves, I '11 wear them for your sake: 
And, for vour love, I '11 take this ring from you:— 
Do not draw back your hand; I '11 take no more; 
And you In love shall not deny me this. 

Bass. This ring, good sir,- alas, it is a trifle; 
I will not shame myself to give you this. 

For. I will have nothing else but only this; 



Scene i.] 



THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



r 



And now, metbinks, I have a mind to it. [value. 

Bass. There 's more depends on this than on the 
The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
And find it out oy proclamation; 
Only for this I pray you pardon me. 

For. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers: 
You taught me first to beg; and now, methinks, 
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 

Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife; 
And, when slie put it on, she made me vow 
That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose It. 

For. That 'scuse serves many men to save their 
An If your wife be not a mad woman, [gifts. 

.\nd know how well I have deserv'd this ring. 
She would not hold out enemy for ever. 
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you! 

<iExeHnt Portia and Nerissa. 

Ant. My lord Bassanlo, let him have the ring; • 
I..et his deservings, and my love withal. 
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 

Bass. Go, Gratlano, run and overtake him; 
Give him the ring; and bring him. If thou canst, 
Unto Antonio's house:— away, make haste. [Ex. Gra. 
C!ome, you and I will thither presently; 
And in the morning early will we botii 
Fly toward Belmont: Come, Antonio. lE.vcunt. 

Scene II.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Portia and Nerissa. 

Ftyr. Inquire the Jew's house out, Rive him this 
And let hlra sign it; we' 11 away to-night, [deed, 

And be a day before our husbands home: 
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 
Enter Gratlano. 

&ra. Fair sir, you are well o'erta'en: 
My lord Bassanlo, upon more advice. 
Hath sent you here this ring; and doth entreat 
Your company at dinner. Por. That cannot be: 

His ring I do accept most thankfully. 
And so, I pray you, tell him: Furthermore, 
I pray you, show mv youth old Shylock's house. 

Gra. That will I do. 

Ner. Sir, I would speak with you:- 

I '11 see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia. 
Which I did make hlni swear to keep for ever. 

Por. Thou may'st, I warrant. We shall have old 
swearing. 
That they did give the rings away to men; 
But we '11 outface them, and outswear them too. 
Away, make haste; thou know'st "where I will tarry. 

Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this 
house? lExeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— Belmont. Avemie to Portia's House. 

Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 

Ijor. The raoon shines bright:— In such a night as 
this. 
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees. 
And the.r did make no noise,— in such a night 
Troilus, methinlts, mounted the Trojan walls. 
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents. 
Where Cressid lay that night. 

Jes. In such a night. 

Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew; 
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself, 
And ran dismay'd away. 

Ix>r. In such a night. 

Stood Dido with a willow in her hand 
Upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love 
To come again to Carthage. 

Jes. In such a night, 

Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs 
That did renew old ^son. 

Lor. In such a night, 

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew; 
And with ah unthrif t love did run from Venice, 
As far as Belmont. 

Jes. In such a night, 

Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well; 
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, 
And ne'er a true one. 

Lor. In such a night, 

Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew. 
Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 

Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come: 
But hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
Enter Stephano. 

Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? 

Steph. A friend. I you, friend. 

Lor. A friend? what friend? your name, I pray 

Steph. Stephano is my name; and I bring word, 
My mistress will before the break o' day 
By here at Belmont; she doth stray about 
Bv holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
For happy wedlock hours. 

Lor. Who comes with her? 

Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. 
I pray you, is my master yet return'd? 

Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him.— 
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
And ceremoniously let us prepare 
Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 
Enter Launcelot. 

Latin. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola! 

Lor. Who calls? 

Laun. Sola! Did you see master Lorenzo, and 
mistress Lorenzo? sola, sola! 

Lor. Leave hollaing, man; here. 

Laun. Sola! where? where? Lor. Here. 

Laun. Tell him, there 's a post come from my 
master, with his horn full of good news; my master 
will be here ere morning. [Exit. 

Lor. Sweet soul, let '3 In, and there expect their 
coming. 
And yet no matter;— Why should we go in? 
My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you. 
Within the house, your mistress is at hand; 
And bring your music forth into the air. 
„ ^ , [KxiY Stephano. 

How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank! 
Here vpill we sit, and let the souiids of music 
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night. 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven 
la thick inlaid with patines of bright gold. 
There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st 
But in his motion like an angel sings. 
Still quiring to the young eyed cherublns: 
Such harmony Is in immortal souls; 



But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.— 

Enter Musicians. 
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn; 
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear. 
And draw her home with music. 

Jes. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 

[Music. 

Lor. The reason is your spirits are attentive: 
For do but note a wild and wanton herd. 
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts. 
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
Wliichis the hot condition of tlieir blood; 
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound. 
Or any air of music touch their ears. 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand. 
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze. 
By the sweet power of music Therefore, the poet 
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and 

floods; 
Since nought so stockish, hard, full of rage. 
But music for the time doth cliange his nature: 
The man that hath no music in himself. 
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; 
The motions of his spirits are dull as night, 
And his affections dark as Erebus: 
Let no such man be trusted.— Marie the music. 
Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance. 

Por. That light we see is burning in my hall. 
How far that little candle throws his beams! 
So shines a good deed in a naughty world, [candle. 

Ner. When the moon shone we did not see the 

Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: 
A substitute shines brightly as a king. 
Until a king he by; and then his state 
Empties itsejf, as doth an inland brook 
Into the main of waters. Music! hark! 

Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 

Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; 
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 

Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 

Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, 
When neither is attended; and, I think. 
The nightingale, if she should sing by day. 
When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
No better a musician than the wren. 
How many things by season season'd are 
To their right praise, and true perfection! — 
Peace! How the moon sleeps with Endj'rnion, 
And would not be awak'd! [llusic ceases. 

Lor. That is the voice, 

Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 

Por. He knows me, as the blind man knows the 
By the bad voice. [cuckoo. 

Lor. Dear lady, welcome home, [fare, 

Por. We have been praying for our husbands' wel- 
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
Are they return'd? 

Lor. Madam, they are not yet; 

But there is come a messenger before. 
To signify their coming. Por. Go in, Nerissa; 

Give order to my servants, that they take 
No note at all of our being absent hence; 
Nor you, Lorenzo;— Jessica, nor you. 

[A tuclcet soitnds. 

Lor. Your husband is at hand; I hear liis trumpet: 
We are no tell-tales, madam; fear you not. 

Por. This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick. 
It looks a little paler; 't is a day 
Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 

Enter Bassanlo, Antonio, Gratlano, and their 
Followers. 

Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
If you would walk in absence of the sun. 

Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light: 
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 
And never be Bassanio so for me; 
But God sort all!— You are welcome home, my lord. 

Bass. I thank you. madam: give welcome to my 
This is the man, this is Antonio, [friend. — 

To whom I am so infinitely bound. 

Por. You should in all sense be much bound to him. 
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 

Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 

Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house: 
It must appear in other ways than words. 
Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy. 

[Gratlano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. 

Gra. By yonder moon, I swear you do me wrong: 
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk: 
Would he were gelt that had it for my part. 
Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 

Por. A quarrel, ho, already? what 's the matter? 

Gra, About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
That she did give me; wnose poesy was 
For all the world, like cutler's poetry 
Upon a knife, ' Love me, and leave me not.' 

Ner. What talk you of the poesy, or the value? 
You swore to nie, when I did give it you. 
That you would wear it till the hour of death; 
And that it should lie with you in your grave: 
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths. 
You should have been respective, and have kept it. 
Gave it a judge's clerk!— but well I know, 
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on 's face that had it. 

Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 

Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 

Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth,— 
A kind of boy; a little scrubbed boy, . 
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; 
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee;' 
I could not for my heart deny it hira. 

Por. You were to blame, I musi be plain with you, 
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift; 
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, 
And so riveted with faith unto your flesh. 
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
Never to part with it; and here he stands,— 
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it. 
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratlano, 
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief; 
An 't were to me, I .should be mad at it. 

Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off. 
And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [Aside. 

Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, 
Deserv'd it too; and then the boy, his clerk. 
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine: 
And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
But the two rings. 



For. What ring gave you, my lord? 

Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of mo. 

Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
I would deny it; but you see, my finger 
Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. 

For. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
Until I see the ring. 

Ner. Nor I In yours, 

Till I again see mine. 

Bass. Sweet Portia, 

If you did know to whom I gave the ring. 
If you did know for wliom I gave the ring, 
-ind would conceive for what I gave the ring. 
And how unwillingly I left the ring. 
When nought would be accepted but the ring, 
Y'ou would abate the strength of your displeasure. 

Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring, 
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring. 
Or your ovm honour to contain the ring, 
You would not then have parted with the ring. 
What man is there so much unreasonable. 
If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
To urge the thing held as a ceremony? 
Nerissa teaches me what to believe; 
I '11 die for 't, but some woman had the ring. 

Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul. 
No woman had it, but a civil doctor. 
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me. 
And begg'd the ring; the which I did deny him, 
And sufCer'd him to go displeas'd away; 
Even he that had held up the very life 
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady? 
I was enforc'd to send it after him; 
I was beset with shame and courtesy; 
My honour would not let ingratitude 
So much besmear it: Pardon me, good lady; 
For, by these blessed candles of the night. 
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd 
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 

Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: 
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd. 
And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
I will become as liberal as you; 
I '11 not deny him anything I have. 
No, not my body, nor my husband's bed: 
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it: 
Lie not a night from home; watch me, like Argus; 
If you do not, if I be left alone. 
Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, 
I '11 have that doctor for my bedfellow. 

Ner And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd. 
How you do leave me to mine own protection. 

Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then; 
For, if I do, I 'U mar the young clerk's pen. 

Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 

Por. Sir, grieve not you; you are welcome notwith- 
standing. 

Bass. Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong; 
And, in the hearing of these many friends, 
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes. 
Wherein I see myself, — 

Por. Mark you but that! 

In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: 
In each eye one:— swear by your double self. 
And there 's an oath of credit. 

Bass. Nay, but hear me; 

Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
I never more will break an oath with thee. 

Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth; 
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 

[To Portia. 
Had quite miscarried: I dare be bound again. 
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
Will never more break faith advisedly. - 

For. Then you shall be his surety: Give him this; 
And bid hira keep it better than the other. 

Ant. Here, lord Bassanio; swear to keep this ring. 

Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor! 

Por. I had it of him: pardon me, Bassanio; 
For by this ring the doctor lay with me. 

Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratlano; 
For that same scrubbed biy, the doctor's clerk, 
In lieu of this last night did lie with me. 

Gra. Why, this is like the mending of highways 
In summer, where the ways are fair enough: 
What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it? 

For. Speak not so grossly.— You are all amaz'd: 
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure; 
It comes from Padua, from Ballario: 
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor; 
Nerissa there, her clerk: Lorenzo here 
Shall witness, t set forth as soon as you. 
And but e'en now return'd; I have not yet 
Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are w-elcome; 
And I have better news in store for you 
Than you expect: unseal this letter soon; 
There you shall find, three of your argosies 
Are richly come to harbour suddenly: 
You shall not know by what strange accident 
I chanced on this letter. Ant. I am dumb. 

Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? 

Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me 
cuckold? 

Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to do it, 
Unless be live until he be a man. 

Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; 
When I am absent then lie witli my wife. 

Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and living; 
For here I read lor certain, that my ships 
Are safely come to road. 

Por. How now, Lorenzo? 

My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 

A'e)'. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. — 
There do t give to you and Jessica, 
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift. 
After his death, of all he dies posse.ss'd of. 

Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
Of starved people. 

Por. It is almost morning. 
And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
Of these events at full: Let us go in; 
And charge us there upon inter'gatories. 
And we will answer all things faithfully. 

Gra. Let It be so: The first Inter'gatory, 
That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is. 
Whether till the next night she had ■, afher stay. 
Or go to bed now, being two hour.^- to da> : 
But were the day come, I should wish it dark. 
Till I were couching with the doctor's cleric 
Well, while 1 live, I '11 fear no otner thing 
So sore, as keeping safe NeHssa's ring. [Exeunt 



70 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act 1. 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Duke, living in exile. 
Frederick, brotlier to the Duke, and 
■usurper of his dominions. 

Amiens, ( lords attending upon the 
Jaques, ( Duke in his banishment. 

Lk Bkaxt, a courtier attending upon 

Frederick. 
Charles, wrestler to Frederick. 



Oliver, ) 

Jaques, \ sons of Sir Rowland de Bois. 

Orlando, ) 

Dennis, \ «<'™»'^'s 'o Oliver. 

Touchstone, a clown. 

Sir Oliver Mar-text, a vicar. 

SilvTus, \ shepherds. 



William, a country fellow, in love with 

Audrey. 
A person representing Hymen. 

Rosalind, daughter to the banished 

Duke. 
Celia, daughter to Frederick. 
Phebe, a shepherdess. 
Audrey, a conntry wench. 



Lords belonging to the two Di(kes; 
Pages, Foresters, and other Attend- 
ants. 



SCENE.— M)-s<, near Oliver's house; 
afterwards, partly in the Usurper's 
court, and partly in the Forest of 
ASDEN. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.- An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 

Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fash- 
Ion, bequeathed me by will, but poor a thousand 
crowns; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on 
his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my 
sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and 
report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he 
keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more pro- 
perly, stays me here at home unkept. For call you 
that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that dif- 
fers not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are 
bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their 
feeding, they are taught their manage, and to that 
end riders dearly hired: but I, his brother, gain noth- 
ing under him but growth: for the which his animals 
on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Be- 
sides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the 
something that nature gave me his countenance 
seems to take from me: he lets me feed with his hinds, 
bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in 
him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This 
Is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my 
father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny 
against this servitude: I will no longer endure 
It, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid 

Enter Oliver. 

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he 
win shake me up. 

Oil. Now, sir! what make you here? 

Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make anything. 

on. What mar you, then, sir? 

Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which 
God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with 
Idleness. 

Oil. Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught 
awhile. 

Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 
them? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I 
should come to sucn penury? 

on. Know you where you are, sir? 

Orl. O, sir, very well: here in your orchard. 

Oli. Know you before whom, sir? 

Orl. Ay. better than him I am before knows me. I 
know you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle 
condition of blood, you should so know me: The 
•curtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you 
are the flrst-born; but the same tradition takes not 
away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwixt 
us: I have as much of my father In me, as you; 
albeit, I confess, your coming before me is nearer to 
his reverence. Oli. What, boy! 

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young 

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? [in this. 

Orl. I am no viUain: I am the youngest son of Sir 
Rowland de Bois; he was my father; and he is 
thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains: 
Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this 
hand from thy throat till this other had pulled out 
thy tongue for saying so; thou hast railed on thyself. 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your father's 
remembrance, be at accord. 

Oli. Let me go, I say. 

Orl. I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. 
My father charged you in his will to give me a good 
education: you have trained nie like a peasant, ob- 
scuring and hiding from me all gentlemanlike quali- 
ties: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and 
I will no longer endure it: therefore allow me such 
exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me 
the poor allottery my father left me by testament; 
with that I will go buy my fortunes. 

Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg. when that Is 

spent? Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be 

troubled wltli you: you sliall have some part of your 

will: I pray you, leave me. [for my good. 

Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes me 

Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam^ Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have 
tost my teeth in your service.— God be with my old 
master! he would not have spoke such a word. 

\ Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 
Oil. Is It even so? begin you to grow upon me? I 
will physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand 
crowns neither. Holla, Denuisf 

Enter Dennis. 

Den. Calls your worship? 

Oil. Was not Charles, tne duke's wrestler, here to 
speak with me? 

Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and im- 
portunns access to you. 

Oil. Call him in. [E.vit Dennis.]— 'T virUI be a good 
way; and to-morrow the wrestling Is. 
Enter Charles. 

Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 

Oli. Good monsieur Charles!— what 's the new 
news at the new court? 



Cha. There 's no news at the court, sir, but the old 
news: that is, the old duke is banished by his 
younger brother the new duke; and three or four 
loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile 
with him, whose lands and revenues enrioli tlie new 
duke; therefore he gives them good leave to wander. 

Oli. Can you tell, if Rosalind, tlie duke's daughter, 
be banish'd with her father? 

Cha. O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, 
so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred to- 
gether, that she would have followed her exile, or 
have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, 
and no less beloved of her uncle than his own 
daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. 

OU. Where will the old duke live? 

Ciia. They say he is already in the forest of Arden, 
and a many merry men with him; and there they 
live like the old Robin Hood of Englapd: they say 
many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and 
fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden 
world. [duke? 

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new 

Cha. Marry, do I, sir; and I caine to acquaint you 
with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to under- 
stand that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a 
disposition to come in disguised against me to try a 
fall: To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and 
he that escapes me without some broken limb shall 
acquit him well. Your brother is but young, and 
tender; and, for your love, I would be loth to foil 
him, as I must, for my own honour, if he come in: 
therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither to 
acquaint you withal; that either you might stay him 
from his intendment, or brook such disgrace well 
as he shall run into: in that it is a thing of his own 
search, and altogether against my will. 

Oli. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which 
thou Shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had 
myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, and 
have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him 
from it; but he is resolute. I '11 tell thee, Charles, 
it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full of 
ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good 
parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me 
his natural brother; therefore use thy discretion; I 
had as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: 
And thou wert best look to 't; for if thou dost him any 
slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself 
on thee, he will practice against thee by poison, 
entrap thee by some treacherous device, and never 
leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect 
means or other: for, I assure thee, and almost with 
tears I speak it, there is not one so young and so vil- 
lainous this day living. I speak but brotherly of 
him; but, should 1 anatomize him to thee as he Is, 
I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and 
wonder. 

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If 
he come to-morrow I'll give him his payment: If 
ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize 
more: And so. God keep your worship! [Exit. 

Oli. Farewell, good Charles.— Now will I stir this 
gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of him; for my 
soulLyet I know not why, hates nothing more than 
ho. Yet he 's gentle; never schooled and yet learned; 
full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly be- 
loved ; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the vi^orid 
and especially of my own people who best know 
him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not 
be so long; this wTestler shall clear all: nothing re- 
mains but that I l£lndle the boy thither, which now 
I'll go about. {,Exit. 

Scene II.— A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Cel. I pray tliee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. 

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am 
mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Un- 
less you could teach me to forget a banished father, 
you must not learn me how to remember any ex- 
traordinary pleasure. 

Cel. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full 
weight that I' love thee: if my uncle, thy banished 
father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, 
so thou hadst been still with me I could have taught 
my love to take thy father tor mine; so would'st thou, 
if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously 
temper'das mine is to thee. 

Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, 
to rejoice In yours. 

Cel. You know my father hath no child but I, nor 
none Is like to liave; anu, truly, when he dies thou 
shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from 
thy father, perforce, I will render thee again in af- 
fection; by mine honour I will; and when I break 
that oath let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet 
Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. 

Ros. From henceforth I will, coz. and devise sports: 
let me see;— what think you of falling in love? 

Cel. Marry, I prithee do, to make sport withal: but 
love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport 
neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst 
in honour come off again. 



Ros. What shall be tig sport then? 

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife. For- 
tune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth 
be bestowed equally. 

Ros. I would we could do so; for her benefits are 
mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman 
doth most mistake in her gifts to women. 

Cel. 'T is true: for those that she makes fair she 
scarce makes honest; and those that she makes 
honest she makes very ill-favour'dly. 

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's ofHce to 
nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in 
the lineaments of nature. 

Enter Touchstone. 

Cel. No? When nature hath made a fair creature, 
may she not by fortune fall into the fire? Though 
nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not 
fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? 

Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature; 
when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off 
of nature's wit. 

Cel. Peradventure, this Is not fortune's work nei- 
ther, but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits 
too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this 
natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness 
of the fool Is the whetstone of the wits.— How now, 
wit? whither wander you? 

Touch. Mistress, you must come away to j'our 

Cel. Were you made the messenger? [father. 

Touch. No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come 
for you. 

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool? 

Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his 
honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his 
honour the mustard was naught; now I '11 stand to 
it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was 
good; and yet was not the knight forsworn. 

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
your knowledge? 

Ros. Ay, marry; now unmuzzle yoar wisdom. 

Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your 
chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. 

Cel. By our beards. If we had them, thou art. 

Touch. By my knavery. If I had it, then I were: 
but If you swear by that that Is not, you are not for- 
sworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his 
honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had 
sworn it away before ever he saw those pancakes or 
that mustard. 

Cel. Prithee, who Is 't that thou mean'st? 

Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. 

Cel. My father's love Is enough to honour him 
enough: speak no more of him; you '11 be whlpp'd for 
taxation, one of these days. 

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak 
wisely, what wise men do foolishly. 

Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true; for since the 
little wit that fools have was silenced, the little 
foolery that wise men have makes a great show. 
Here comes monsieur Le Beau. 

Enter Le Beau. 

Ros. With his mouth full of news. 

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed theii 
young. 

Ros. Then shall we be news-eramm'd. 

Cei. All the better; we shall be the more market- 
able. iJonjottr, monsieur Le Beau: What's the news? 

Le Beau. Fair princess, yon have lost much good 

Cel. Sport? Of what colour? [sport. 

Le Beau. What colour, madam? How shall I an- 

Ros. As wit and fortune will. [swer you? 

Touch. Or as tne destinies decree. 

Cel. Well said; that was laid on with a trowel. 

Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank. 

Rus. Thou losest thy old smell. 

Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies: I would have told 
youofgood wrestling, which you have lost the sielit 

Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling, [of. 

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it 
please vour ladyships, you may see the end; for the 
best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are 
coming to perform It. 

Cel. Well,— the beginning, that is dead and burled. 

Le Beau. There comes an old man and his three 
sons,— 

Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. 

LeBeau. Three proper young men, of excellent 
growth and presence;— 

Ros. With bills On their necks,—' Be It known unto 
all men by these presents,' 

Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with 
Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a 
moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that 
there is little hope of life in him; so he served the 
second, and so the tlilrd: Yonder they lie; the poor 
old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over 
them, that all the beholders take his part with weep- 

Ros. Alas! ^, ^ring. 

Touch. But what Is the sport, monsieur, that the 
ladies have lost? 

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 

Touch. Thus mea may grow wiser every day ! It Is 



Scene ii.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was 
sport for ladles. Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 

Ros. But Is there any else longs to see this broken 
music in his sides? is there yet another dote.s upon 
rlb-breaklnpT?— Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? 

Le Beau. You must, if you stay here: for here is 
the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are 
ready to perform it. 

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us now 
stay and see it. 

Flourish. Enter Dulce Frederick, Lords, Orlando, 
Charles, and Attendants. 

Duke F. Come on: since the youth will not be en- 
treated, his own peril on his forwardness. 

Ros. Is yonder the man? 

Le Beau. Even he, madam. FfiiHy- 

Cel. Alas, he Is too young: yet he looks success- 

Duke F. How now, daughter and cousin? are you 
crept hither to see the wrestling? 

Ros. Av, my liege; so please you give us leave. 

Duke F. You will take little delight in It, I can tell 
you, there is such odds in the man. In pity of the 
challenger's j'outh I would fain dissuade him, but he 
win not be entreated: Speak to him, ladies; see If you 
can move him. 

Cel. Call hmi hither, good monsieur Le Beau. 

Duke F. Do so; I '11 not be by. [Duke goes apart. 

Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princess 
calls for you. 

Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty. 

Bos. Young man, have you challenged Charles the 
wrestler? 

Orl. No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: 
I come but in, as others do, to try with him the 
strength of my youth. 

Cel. Younggentleman, your spirits are too bold for 
your years: You have seen cruel proof of this man's 
strength : if you saw yourself with your eyes, or knew 
yourself with your judgment, tlie fear of your ad- 
venture would counsel you to a more equal enter- 
prise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace 
your own safety, and give over this attempt. 

Ros. Do, young sir; your reputation shall not there- 
fore be misprised: we will make it our suit to the 
duke that the wrestling might not go forward. 

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your hard 
thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty to deny 
sofair and excellent ladies anything. But let your 
fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial: 
wherein if I be foiled, there Is but one shamed that 
was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is 
willing to be so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for 
I have none to lament me; the world no Injury, for 
In It I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place 
which may be better supplied when I have made it 
empty. 

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would It were 

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. [with you. 

Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived in 

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. Lyou! 

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant that Is so 
desirous to lie with his mother earth? 

Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath In It a more 
modest working. 

Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 

Cha. Ivo, I warrant your grace; you shall not en- 
treat him to a second, that have so mightily per- 
suaded him from a first. 

Orl. You mean to mock me after: you should not 
have mocked me before: but come your ways. 

Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! 

Cel. I would I were Invisible, to catcli the strong 
fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando lurestle. 

Ros. O excellent young man! 

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell 
who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout, 

Duke F, No more, no more. 

Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well 

Duke F. Sow dost thou, Charles? [breathed. 

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 

Diike F. Bear him away. [Charles (s home out. 
What is thy name, young man? 

Orl. Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of sir 
Rowland de Bois. 

Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some man 
The world esteem'd thy father honourable, [else. 
But I did find him still mine enemy: 
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed 
Hadst thou descended from another house. 
But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth; 
I would thou hadst told me of another father. 

[Exeunt Duke Fred"., Train, and Le Beau. 

Cel, Were I my father, coz, would I do this? 

Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son. 
His youngest son;— and would not change that call- 
To be adopted heir to Frederick. I ing, 

Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul. 
And all the world was of my father's mind : 
Had I before known this young man his son, 
I should have given him tears unto entreaties. 
Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 

Cel. Gentle cousin, 

Let us go thank him, and encourage him: 
My father's rough and envious disposition 
Sticks me at heart.— Sir, you have welldeserv'd; 
If you do keep your promises in love 
But Justly as you have exceeded all promise. 
Your mistress shall be happy. 

Ros. Gentleman, 

[Giving him a chain from her neck. 
Wear this for me,— one out of suits with fortune. 
That could give more but that her hand lacks 
Shall we go, coz? I means. 

Cel. Ay:— Fare you well, fair gentleman. 

Orl. Can I not say I thank you? My better parts 
Are all thrown down; and that which hero stands 
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. [up 

Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my tor- 
tunes: 
I 'U ask him what he would:— Did you call, sir?— 
Sir, you have ^vrestled well, and overthrown 
More than your enemies. 

Cel. Will you go, coz? 

Ros. Have with you:— Fare you well. 

[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. 

Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my 
tongue? 
I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 

Re-Enter Le Beau. 
O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; 
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. 

Le Beau, Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you 



To leave this place: Albeit you have deserv'd 
High commendation, true applause, and love; 
Yet such is now the duke's condition. 
That he misconsters all that you have done. 
The duke is humorous: what he is, indeed, 
More suits you to conceive, than I to speak of. 

Orl. I thank you, sir; and, pray you, tell me this; 
Which of the two was daughter of the duke 
That here was at the wrestling? 

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
manners; 
But vet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter: 
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke. 
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle. 
To keep his daughter company; whose loves 
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
But I can tell you, that of late this duke 
Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece; 
Grounded upon no other argument 
But that the people praise her for her virtues. 
And pity her for her good father's sake; 
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
Will suddenly break forth.— Sir, fare you well; 
Hei-eaf ter. In a better world than this, 
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 

Orl. Irest much bounden to you: fare you well! 

[Exit Le Beau. 
Thus must I from the smoke Into the smother; 
From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother:— 
But heavenly Rosalind! [Exit, 

Scene III.— .4 Room in tlie Palace, 
Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind;— Cupid have 
mercy! not a word? 

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast 
away upon durs; throw some of them at me: come, 
lame me with reasons. 

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when 
the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other 
mad without any. 

Cel. But is all this for your father? 

Ros. No, some of it is for my father's child: O, how 
full of liriars is this working-day world ! 

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in 
holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, 
our very petticoats will catch them. 

lios. I could shake them off my coat; these burs 
are In my heart. Cel. Hem them away. 

Ros. I would try; If I could cry hem, and iiave him. 

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 

Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than 
mvself . 

Cel. O, a good vnsh upon you! you will try In 
time. In despite of a fall.— But, turning these jests 
out of service, let us talk in good earnest: Is It pos- 
sible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong 
a likmg with old Sir Rowland's youngest son? 

Ros. The duke my father loved his father dearly. 

Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love 
his son dearly? Bv this kind of chase, I should hate 
him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate 
not Orlando. 

Ros. No, 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? 

Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him 
because I do:— Look, here comes the duke. 

Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest 
And get you from our court. [haste, 

Ros. Me, uncle? Duke F. You, cousin: 

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles. 
Thou diest for It. 

Ros. I do beseech your grace. 

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: 
If with myself I hold Intelligence, 
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; 
If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle, 
Never, so much as In a thought unborn, 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitors; 

If their purgation did consist in words, 
They are as innocent as grace itself: 
Let it sufHce thee, that 1 trust thee not. _ 

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: 
Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's 
enough. [dom; 

Ros, So was I when your highness took his duke- 
So was I when your highness banish'd him: 
Treason Is not inherited, my lord; 
Or, if we did derive It from our friends. 
What 's that to me? my father was no traitor: 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much 
To think my poverty Is treacherous. 

Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 

Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, 
Else had she with her father rang'd along. 

Cel, I did not then entreat to have her stay. 
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse; 
I was too young that time to value her. 
But now I know her: If she be a traitor. 
Why so am I; we still have slept together. 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; 
And wheresoe'er we went, nke Juno's swans. 
Still we went coupled, and inseparable. 

Duke F, She is too subtle for thee; and her 
Her very silence, and her patience, [smoothness. 
Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; 
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more 

virtuous. 
When she is gone: then open not thy lips; 
Firm and Irrevocable is my doom 
Which I have passed upon her; she Is banish'd. 

Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege; 
I cannot live out of her company. 

Duke F. You are a fool:-'You, niece, provide 
yourself; 
If you outstay the time, upon mine honour, 
And In the gi'eatness of my word, you die. 

[Kxeunt Duke Frederick a?id Lords. 

Cel. O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go? 
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. 
I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. 

Ros, 1 have more cause. 

Cel, Thou hast not, cousin,- 

Prithee, be cheerful; know'st thou not the duke 



Hath banish'd me, his daughter? 

Ros, That ho hath not. 

Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then th<' love 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one; 
Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? 
No; let my father seek another heir. 
Therefore devise with me how we may fly. 
Whither to go, and what to bear with us: 
And do not seek to take your charge upon you. 
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; 
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 
Say what thou canst, I '11 go along with thee. 

Ros. Why, whither shall we go? 

Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden. 

Ros. Alas, what danger w ill it be to us. 
Maids as we are. to travel forth so far! 
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 

Cel. I '11 put myself in poor and mean attire 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face. 
The like do you; so shall we pass along, 
And never stir assailants. 

Ros. Were it not better. 

Because that I am more than common tall. 
That I did suit me all points like a man? 
A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh, 
A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will) 
We '11 have a swashing and a martial outside; 
As many other mannish cowards have. 
That do outface it with their semblances. 

Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? 

Ros. I '11 have no worse a name than Jove's own 
And therefore look you call me Ganymede. [page, 
But what will you be call'd? 

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state; 
No longer Celia, but Allena. 

Ros. But, cousin, what If we assay'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel? 

Cel. He '11 go along o'er the wide world with me; 
Leave rvie alone to woo him: Let 'a away. 
And get our jewels and our wealth together; 
Devise the Attest time, the safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight: Now go In we content. 
To liberty, and not to banishment. (_Exeunt. 

ACT. IL 

Scene I,— The Forest of Arden. 

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in the 

dress of Foresters. 

Duke. S, Now, my co-mates, and brothers In exile , 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court? 
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam. 
The seasons' difference, — as, the icy fang. 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind. 
Which when It bites and blows upon my body. 
Even tin I shrink with cold, I smile, and say 
This Is no flattery,— these are counsellors 
That feelingly persuade me what I am. 
Sweet are the uses of adversity; 
Which like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel In his head; 
And this our life, exempt from public haunt. 
Finds tongues in trees, books In the running brooks. 
Sermons In stones, and good In everything. 

Ami. I would not change it; Happy Is your grace. 
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
Into so quiet and so sweet a stj'le. 

Duke. S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison? 
And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, — 
Being native burghers of this desert city, — 
Should, in their own confines, with forked heads 
Have their round haunches gor'd. 

1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, 

The melanchol.v Jaques grieves at that: 
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
To-day, my lord of Amiens and myself 
Did steal tiehlnd him, as he lay along 
Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood: 
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag. 
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt. 
Did come to languish; and. Indeed, my lord. 
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans. 
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
Almost to bursting; and the big round tears 
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool. 
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook. 
Augmenting It with tears. 

Duke S. But what said Jaques? 

Did he not moralize this spectacle? 

1 Lord. O yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping into the needless stream; 

' Poor deer,' quotn he, ' thou mak'st a testament 
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more [alone. 
To that which had too much.' Then being there 
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friend; 
'T is right,' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part 
The fiux of company: ' Anon, a careless herd. 
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him. 
And never stays to greet him; ' Ay,' quoth Jaques, 
' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 
'T is just the fashion: Wherefore do you look 
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? ' 
Tlius most invectlvely he pierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court. 
Yea, and of this our life: swearing, that we 
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what 's worse, 
To fright the animals, and to kill them up. 
In their asslgn'd and native dwelling-place. [tlon? 
Duke S. And did you leave him in this contempla- 

2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and comnK^nt- 
Upon the sobbing deer. [ing 

Duke S. Show me the place; 

I love to cope him In these sullen fits, 
For then he 's full of matter. 

2 iMrd, I '11 bring you to him straight. [Kxeunt. 

Scene II.— ^ Room in the Palace. 
Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants. 
Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw them? 
It cannot be: some villains of my court 
Are of consent and sufferance in this. 

1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 
The ladies, her attendants of her ciiamber, 
Saw her abed; and, in the morning early. 
They found the bed untreasur'd of tiieir mistress 



I 



ra 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



LACT II. 



2 Lord. My lord, the roy nlsli clown, at whom so oft 
Your grace was wont to lauRli, is also missing. 
Hesperla, Mie princess' gentlcwmnan, 
Confesses, that she secretly o'erlieatd 
Your daughter and her cousin mucli commend 
The parts and graces of the wrestler 
That did but lately foil with sinewy Charles; 
And she believes, wherever they are gone, 
That youth is surely in their company. 

Ditke F. Send to his brother; fetch that gallant 
If he be absent, bring his brother to me, [hither; 

I '11 make him find him: do this suddenly; 
And let not search and Inquisition quail 
To bring again these foolish runaways. ZExeunt. 

Scene HI.— Before Oliver's House. 
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. 

Orl. Who 's there? [master, 

Adam. What ! my young master !— 0, my gentle 
O, my sweet master, O you memory 
Of old sir Rowland ! why. what make you here ? 
Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? 
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? 
Why would you be so fond to overcome 
The bony priser of the humorous duke? 
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
Their graces serve them but as enemies? 
No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master. 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
O, what a world is this, when what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 

Orl. Why, what 's the matter? 

Adam. O unhappy youth, 

Come not within these doors; within this roof 
The enemy of all your graces lives: 
Ydur brother — (no, no brother; yet the son — 
Yet not the son; I will not call him son — 
Of him I was about to call his father,)— 
Hath heard your praises; and this night he means 
To burn the lodging where you use to lie. 
And you within it: If he fail of that. 
He will have other means to cut you off: 
I overheard him and his practices. 
This Is no place, this house is but a butchery; 
Abhor It, fear it, do not enter it. [go? 

Ort. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me 

Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 

OrU What, wouldst thou have me go and beg ray 
food ? 
Or. with a base and boisterous sword, enforce 
A thievish living on the common road? 
This I must do, or know not what to do: 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can: 
I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. 

Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred crowns, 
The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father. 
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse. 
When service should in my old limbs lie lame. 
And unregarded age in corners thrown; 
Take that; pnd He that doth the ravens feed, 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. 
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold; 
All this I give ypu: Let me be your servant; 
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty; 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood: 
Nor did not with unbashf ul forehead woo 
The means of weakness and debility; 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter. 
Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you; 
I '11 do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

Orl. Ogood old man; how well in thee appeal's 
The constant service of the antique world. 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times. 
Where none will sweat but for promotion; 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having: it is not so with thee. 
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree. 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield, 
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry: 
But come thy ways, we '11 go along together: 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent. 
We '11 light upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee. 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.— 
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; 
But at fourscore, it is too late a week: 
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better. 
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. [Exe. 

Scene XV.— The Forest o/Arden. 

Enter Rosalind in boy's clothes, Celia dressed like a 
Shepherdess,' and Touchstone. 

Ros. O Jupiter ! how merry are my spirits ! 

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were 
not weary. 

Bos. I could And in my heart to disgrace my man's 
apparel, and to cry like a woman: but I must com- 
fort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to 
show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, cour- 
age, good Aliena. 

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go further. 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you, 
than bear you: yet I should bear no cross if I did 
bear you; for, I think, you have no money in your 
purse. 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Ardeu. 

Touch. Ay, now I am in Arden: the moi'e fool 
I; when I was at home, I was in a better place; but 
travellers must be content. 

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone:— Look you, 
who comes here; a young man, and an old, in solemn 
talk. 

Enter Corin and Silvlus. 

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. 

Sll. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! 

Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now. 

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess; 
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: 
But if thy love were ever like to mine, 
(As sure I think did never man love so,) 
How many actions moijt ridiculous 
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? 

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 

SU. O, thou didst then never love soheartlly: 



If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 

That ever love did make thee run into. 

Thou hast not lov'd: 

Or if thou hast not sat as I do now. 

Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 

Thou hast not lov'd: 

Or if thou hast not broke from company 

Abruptly, as my passion now makes me. 

Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe! 

[Exit Silvius. 

Ros. Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound, 
I have by hard adventure found mine own. 

Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was in 
love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him 
take tliat for coming anight to Jane Smile: and I 
remember the kissing of her batler, and the cow's 
dugs that her pretty chopped hands had milked: 
and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of 
her; from whom I took two cods, and, giving her 
them again, said, with weeping tears, 'Wear these 
for my sake.' We, that are true lovers, run into 
strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is 
all nature in love mortal in foli.v. 

Eos. Thou spealc'st wiser than thou art 'ware of. 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, 
till I break my shins against it. 

Bos. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion 

Is much upon my fashion. [with me. 

Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale 

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man. 
If he for gold will give us any food: 
I faint almost to death. 

Touch. Holloa; you clown! 

Bos. Peace, fool; he 's not thy kinsman. 

Cor. Who calls? Touch. Your betters, sir. 

Cor. Else are they very wretched. 

Bos. Peace, I say:— 

Good even to you, friend. 

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 

Bos. I prithee, shepherd, it that love, or gold. 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment. 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed: 
Here 's a young maid with travel much oppress'd. 
And faints for succour. 

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her. 

And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her: 
But I am shepherd to another man, 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze; 
My master is of churlish disposition. 
And little recks to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitality : 
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed. 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now. 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
That you will feed on; but what is, come see. 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 

Bos. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? 

Cor. That young swain that you saw here but ere 
That little cares for buying anything. [while. 

Bos. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty. 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock. 
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 

Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, 
And willingly could waste my time in it. 

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold; 
Go with me; it you like, upon report. 
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be, 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Eice . 

Scene Y.-The same. 
Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. 

SONG. 
Ami. Under the greenwood tree, 
Who loves to lie with me. 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy. 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaq. More, more, I prithee, more. [Jaques. 

Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur 

Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck 
melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: 
More, I prithee, more. I you. 

Ami. Mv voice is ragged; I know I cannot please 

Jag. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire 
you to sing: Come, more; another stanza; Call you 
them stanzas? 

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. 

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me 
nothing: Will you sing? 

Ami. More at your request than to please myself. 

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank an.v man I 'II thank 
you: but that they call compliment is like the en- 
counter of two dog-apes; and when a man tlianks 
me heartily, methiuks I have given him a penny, and 
he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and 
you that will not, hold your tongues. 

Ami. Well, I 'II end the song.— Sirs, cover the 
while; the duke will drink under this tree: -he hath 
been all this day to look you. 

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He 
is too disputable for my company: I think of as many 
matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make 
no boast of them. Come, warble, come. 

SONG. 
Who doth ambition shun, [All togetlier here. 
And loves to live 1' the sun. 
Seeking the food he eats. 
And pleas'd with what he gets. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy. 
But winter and rough weather. 
Jixg. I '11 give you a verse to this note, that I made 
yesterday in despite of my Invention. 
Ami. And I '11 sing it. 
Jaq^. Thus it goes:— 

If it do come to pass. 
That any man turn ass, 
Leaving his weaitli and ease, 
A stubborn will to please, 
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame; 
Here shall he see 
Gross fools as he. 
An if he will come to me. 
Ami. What 's that ducdame? 



Jaq. 'T Is a Greek invocation, to call fools into a 
circle. I '11 go sleep if I can; it I cannot, 1 UI rail 
against all the first-born of Egypt. 

Ami. And I '11 go seek the duke; his banquet is pre- 
pared. [Exeunt severally. 

Scene VI.— The saine. 

Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: O, I die 
for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my 
grave. Farewell, kind master. 

Orl. Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in 
thee? Live a little; comfort a little: cheer thyself 
a little: If this uncouth forest yield anything savage, 
I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to 
tliee. Tliy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. 
For my sake, be comfortable, hold death awhile at 
the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; 
and if I bring thee not something to eat I will give 
thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come 
thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said! thou 
look'st cheerly: and I '11 be with thee quickly.— Yet 
thou llest in the bleak air: Come, I will bear thee to 
some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a 
dinner, if there live anything in this desert. Cheerly, 
good Adam! [Exetcnt. 

^SOENE VII.— ITie same. 
A table set <nKf Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Lords, 
and others. 

Dvke S. I think he be transform 'd into a beast; 
For I can nowhere find him like a man. 

1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 

Dulee S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
We shall have shortly discord in tlie spheres:— 
Go, seek him; tell him, I would speak with him. 

Enter Jaques. 

1 Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach. 

DukeS. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is 
this. 
That your poor friends must woo your company? 
What! you look merrily. 

Jaq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool 1' the forest, 
A motley fool; a miserable world: 
-4s I do live by food, I met a fool; 
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun. 
And rall'd on lady Fortune in good terms. 
In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 
' Good morrow, fool,' quoth I: 'No, sir,' quoth he, 
' Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune:' 
And then he drew a dial from his poke; 
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye. 
Says, very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock: 
Thus we may see,' quoth he, 'how the world wags: 
' Tls but an hour ago, since it was nine; 
And after one hour more, 't will be eleven; 
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. 
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot. 
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear 
The motle.v fool thus moral on the time. 
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 
That fools should be so deep-contemplative; 
And I did laugh, sans intermission. 
An hour b.v his dial.— O noble fool! 
A worthy tool! Motley's the only wear. 

Duke A. What fool is this? 

Jaq. A worthy fool!— One that hath been a couit- 
And says, if ladies be but young, and fair, [ier; 

They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,— 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage,— he hath strange places cramm'd 
With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms:— O, that I were a fool! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat. 

Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 

Jaq. It is my only suit: 

Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them. 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 
To blow on whom I please; for so fools have: 
And they that are most galled with my folly. 
They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so? 
The why is plain as way to parish church: 
He that a fool doth ver.y wisely hit 
Dotli very foolishly, although he smart, 
[Not to] seem senseless of tne bob: if not. 
The wise man's folly is anatomized 
Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. 
Invest me in my motley; give me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. [do. 

Buke S. Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst- 

.Taq. What, for a counter, would I do but good? 

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin : 
For thou thyself hast been a libertine. 
As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
And all the embossed sores, and headed evils. 
That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, 
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

Jaq. Why, ivho cries out on pride. 
That can therein tax any private party? 
Doth it now flow as hugely as the sea. 
Till that the wearer's very means do ebb? 
What woman in the city do I name 
When that I say. The city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? 
Who can come in, and say that I mean her. 
When such a one as she, such is her neighbour? 
Or what is he of basest function. 
That says, his bravery is not on my cost, 
(Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
His folly to the mettle of my speech? [wherein 

There then; How then? what then? Let me see 
My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right. 
Then he hath wron«'d himself; If he be free. 
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
Unclaim'dol any man.— But who comes here? 
Enter Orlando, ivith his sword drawn. 

Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 

Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet. 

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 

Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 

Diike S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy <lir 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, [trtss 

Thai in civility thou seem'st so empty? 

Or!. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point 
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred, 



Scene v:i.] 



AS YOU LINK IT. 



78 



And know some miituro. But forbear, I say; 
He dies that touelios any of this fruit 
Till I and my affairs are answi-rcd. 

Jaq. An you will not be answered wltli reason, 
I must die. [sliall force, 

Duke S. What would you have? Tour eeulicuess 
More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orl. 1 almost die for food, and let me have It. 

Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
table. 

Orl. Speak you so Kently? Pardon me, I pray you: 
I tlioiight that all thiiiRS had been savage here; 
Vndtlierefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are. 
That in this desert inaccessible. 
Under the shade of melanclioly boughs. 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; 
If ever you have loolc'd on better da,\ s; 
It ever been where bells have knoll'd to chui'ch; 
If ever sat at anj' good man's feast; 
If ever from vour eyelids wip'd a tear. 
And know what 't is to pity and be pitied; 
Let gentleness my strong enlorcement be: 



Full of wise saws and modern instances. 
And .so he plays his part: Tlie sixtii age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon; 
Witli spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; 
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
For liis shrunk shank; and his big manly voice. 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his so:ind: Last scene of all. 
That ends this strange eventful liistory. 
Is second childislmess, and more ol>livion; 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 

Reenter Orlando, uWi Adam. 

Duke S. Welcome: Set do^vn your venerable bur- 
And let him feed. |den, 

Orl. I thank you most for him. 

Adam. So had you need; 
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 

Duke S. Welcome, fail to: I will not trouble you 
As yet, to question you about your fortimes:— 
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing. 

Amiens sinrjs. 



I should not seek an absent argument 

Of my revenge, tliou present: But look to It; 

Find out tiiy brotlier, wheresoc'er he is; 

Seek lilm with candi<'; bring 1dm dead or living 

Within this twelvcnioni h, or turn thou no more 

To seelc a living in our tiriitoi-y. 

Tliy lands, and all tilings tliat thou dost call thine, 

Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands; 

Till thou canst qtilt thee by thy bi'other's mouth, 

Of what we tliinic against thee. 

OU. O, tliat your liigliness knew my heart in this! 
I never lov'd my brother in my life. 

J)uke F. More villain thou.— Well, push him out of 
And let my officers of such a nature Ldoors; 

Make an extent upon his house and lands: 
Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Exewni. 

Scene II.— JTie Forest. 
Enter Orlando, loith a paper. 

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: 
And, thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey 




ACT in.— SCENE ni.] 



Touch. Now, if thou wert a poet I might have some hope thou didst feign. 



In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 

Duke S. True Is it that we have seen better days: 
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church; 
And sat at good men's feasts; and wip'd our eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engeilder'd: 
And therefore sit you down In gentleness. 
And take upon command what help we have, 
Tnat to your wanting may be mlnister'd. 

Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while. 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 
And give it food. There is an old poor man, :; 

Who after me hath many a weary .step * 

Llmp'd in pure love; till he be first sufhc'd, 
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, 
I win not touch a bit. Duke S. Go find hi. n out, 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 

Orl. I thank ye: and be bless'd for your good com- 
fort! [Exit. 

Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy: 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
Wherein we play in. 

Jaq. All the world 's a stage 

And all the men and women merely players: 
They have their exits, and their entrances; 
And one man in his time plays many parts. 
His acts being seven ages. At fir.st, the Infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms; 
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel. 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school: and then, the lover. 
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then, a soldier; 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like a pard. 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel. 
Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth: and then, the justice; 
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd. 
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut. 



SONG. 
L 
Blow, blow, thou winter wind. 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's Ingratitude; 
Thy tooth is not so keen. 
Because thou art not seen. 
Although thy breath be rude. 
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: 
Then, heigh ho! the holly! 
This life is most jolly. 
II. 
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
That dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot: 
Though thou the waters warp. 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As friend reniember'd not. 
Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! &c. 

Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's 
As you have whisner'd faithfully you were: [son, — 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face. 
Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke. 
That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune. 
Go to my cave and tell me.— Good old man. 
Thou art right welcome as thy master is; 
Support him by the arm.— Give me your hand. 
And let me all your fortunes understand. [Ei-eunt. 

ACT in. 

Scene 1.—A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, and 

Attendants. 

Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot 

But were I not the better part made mercy, | be: 



With thy chaste eye from thy pale sphere above. 
Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. 

O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books. 

And in their barks my thoughts I '11 character; 

That every eye, which in this forest looks. 
Shall see thy virtue witness'd everywhere. 

Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree 

The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. [Exit. 

Enter Corln and Touchstone. 

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master 
Touchstone? 

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself it is a 
good lite; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life 
it is naught. In respect that it is solitary I like it 
very well; but in respect that it is private it is a very 
vile life. Now, in respect it is in the fields it pleaseth 
me well; but In respect it is not in the court it is 
tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my 
humour well: but as there is no more plenty in It, it 
goes much against my .stomach. Hast any phllosophv 
in thee, shepherd? 

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one 
sickens the worse at ease he is; and that he that 
wants money, means, and content, is without three 
good friends: That the property of rain is to wet, 
and fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat sheep: 
and that a great cause of the night is lack of the 
sun: That he that hath learned no wit by nature 
nor art may complain of good breeding, or comes of 
a very dull kindred. 

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast 
ever in court, shepherd? Cur. No, truly. 

Touch. Then thou art damn'd. 

Cor. Nay, I hope, — - 

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill-roasted 
egg, all on one side. 

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. 

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court thou 



74 



.1^' roU LIKK IT. 



[Act 111, 



never saw'st good manners; If thou never saw'st 
good manners then thy manners must be wicked; 
and wickedness is sin, and sin Is damnation: Thou 
art in a parlous state, shepherd. 

Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone: those that are good 
manners at tlie court are as ridiculous In the coun- 
try, as the behaviour of the country is most mock- 
able at the court. You told me, you salute not at the 
court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy wovild 
be uncleanly. If courtiers were shepherds. 

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. 

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and 
their fells, you know, are greasy. 

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? 
and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as 
the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: a better in- 
stance, I say; come. 

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shal- 
low, again: A more sounder instance, come. 

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the sur- 

fery of our sheep; And would you have us kiss tar? 
he courtier's hands are perf um'd with civet. 

Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms'-meat, in 
respect of a good piece of flesh: Indeed I Learn of 
the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth than 
tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the in- 
stance, shepherd. 

Cor. You nave too courtly a wit forme; I '11 rest. 

Toucft.. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, 
shallow man! God make incision In thee! thou art 
raw. 

Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get 
that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happi- 
ness; glad of other men's good, content with my 
harm: and the greatest of my pride Is, to see my ewes 
graze and my lambs suck. 

Touch. That is another simple sin In you; to bring 
the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get 
your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd 
CO a bell-wether; and to betray a she-lamb of a 
twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly 
rara, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not 
damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shep- 
herds: I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. 

Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my 
new mistress' brother. 

Enter Rosalind, reading a paper. 

Boa. From the east to western Ind, 
No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her worth, being mounted on the wind. 
Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures, fairest lin'd. 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no face be kept In mind. 
But the fair of Rosalind. 

Touch. I 'U rhyme you so, eight years together; 
dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: 
(t Is the right butter-woman's rank to market. 

Boa. Out, fool ! Touch. For a taste: 

If a hart do lack a hind. 

Let him seek out Rosalind. 

If the cat will after kind. 

So, be sure, will Rosalind. 

Wlntred-parments must be lln'd, 

So must slender Rosalind. 

They that reap must sheaf and bind; 

Then to cart with Rosalind. 

Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 

Such a nut is Rosalind. 

He that sweetest rose will find. 

Must find love's prick and Rosalind. 

This Is the very false gallop of verses: Why do you 
Infect yourself with them? 

Boa. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a tree. 

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 

Roa. I '11 graff it with you, and then I shall grafC it 
with a medlar: then It will be the earliest fruit in 
the country: for you '11 be rotten ere you be half 
ripe, and that 'a the right virtue of the medlar. 

Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, 
let the forest judge. 

Enter Cella, reading a paper. 

Boa. Peace ! 
Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. 

del. WTiy should this a desert beV 

For it is unpeopled? No; 
Tongues I '11 hang •n every tree. 

That shall <;ivil sayings show. 
Some, how brief the lite of man 

Runs his erring pilgrimage; 
That the stretcliiug of a span 

Buckles in his sum of age. 
Some, of violated vows 

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend: 
But upon the fairest boughs, 

Or at every sentence' end, 
Will I Rosalinda write; 

Teaching all that read, to know 
The quintessence of every sprite 

Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore heaven nature charg'd 

That one body should be flU'd 
With all graces wide enlarg'd: 

Nature presently dlstiU'd 
Helen's cheek, but not her heart; 

Cleopatra's majesty; 
Atalanta's better part; 

Sad Lucretla's mode.sty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devis'd; 
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts. 

To have the touches dearest prlz'd. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should 
And I to live and die her slave. [have 

Roa. O most gentle Jupiter! what tedious homily 
of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, 
and never cried, ' Have patience, good people.' 

CeL How now ! back friends;— Shepherd, go off a 
little: go with him, sirrah. 

Touch. Come, sheplierd, let us make an honour- 
able retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet 
with scrip and scrlppage. {E.v. Cor. and Touch. 

Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? 

Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for 
some of tliem had in them more feet than the verses 
would hear. fvorses. 

Cel. That 's no matter; the feet might bear the 

t^s. Ay, but the feet v.ere lame, and could not 



bear themselves without the verse, and therefore 
stood lamely in th(! verse. 

Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how 
thy name should be hanged and carved upon these 
trees? 

Roa. I was seven of the nine days out of the won- 
der before you came; for look here what I found 
on a palm-tree: I was never so berhymed since 
Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I 
can hardly remember. 

Cel. Trow you who hath done this? 

Ros. Is it a man? 

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
neck: Change your colour? 

Ros. I prithee, who? 

Cel. O lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends to 
meet; but mountains may be removed with earth- 
quakes, and so encounter. 

Roa. Nay, but who is if Cel. Is it possible? 

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary 
vehemence, tell me who it is. 

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful 
wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that 
out of all whooping. 

Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though 
I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and 
hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is 
a South-sea of discovery. I prithee, tell me, who 
Ls it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst 
stammer, that thou mlghtst pour this concealed 
man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a nar- 
row-mouthed bottle: either too much at once, or 
none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy 
mouth, that I may diink thy tidings. 

Cel. So you may put a man In your belly. 

Roa. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? 
Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? 

Cel. Nay, he hath but a little t)eard. 

Ros. why, God will send more, if the man will be 
thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard. If thou 
delay me not the knowledge of his chin. 

Cel. It is young Orlando; that tripped up the wrest- 
ler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. 

Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak sad 
brow, and true maid. Cel. I' faith, coz, 't is he. 

Ros. Orlando? Cel. Orlando? 

Roa. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my doublet 
and hose?— What did he when thou saw'st him? 
What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? 
What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where 
remains he? How parted he with tliee? and when 
Shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. 

Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 
'tisa word too great for any mouth of this age's size: 
To say ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than 
to answer In a catechism. 

Roa. But doth he know that I am In this forest and 
In man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the 
day he wrestled? 

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the 
propositions of a lover: but take a taste of my find- 
ing him, and relish it with a good observance. I 
found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. 

Ros. It may well be called Jove s tree, when it 
drops forth such fruit. 

Cel. Give me audience, good madam. 

Ros. Proceed. [knight. 

Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded 

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well 
becomes the ground. 

Cel. Cry, holloa ! to thy tongue, I prithee; it cur- 
vets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. 

Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my hart ! 
Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou 
brlng'st me out of tune. 

Boa. Do you not know I am a woman? when I 
think I must speak. Sweet, say on. 

Enter Orlando and Jaques. 

Cel. You bring me out:— Soft! comes he not here? 

Bos. 'T is he; slink by, and note him. 

[Cella and Rosalind retire. 

Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good 
faith, I had a? lief have been myself alone. 

Orl. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I 
thank you too for your society. 

Jao. God be wi' you; let 's meet as little as we can. 

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 

Jag. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 
love-songs in their barks. 

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with 
reading them ill favouredly. 

Jaq. Rosalind Is your love's name? 

OrL Yes, just. Jaq. I do not like her name. 

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when 
she was christened. 

Jag. What stature Is she of? 

Orl. Just as high as my heart. 

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you 
not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and 
conned them out of rings? 

Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, 
from whence you have studied your questions. 

Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made 
of Atlanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and 
we two will rail against our mistress the world, and 
all our misery. 

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world but my- 
self; against whom I know most faults. 

Jaq. The worst fault .vou have, is to be in love. 

Orl. 'T is a fault I will not change for your best 
virtue. I am weary of you. 

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I 
found you. 

Orl. He is drowned In the brook; look but In, and 
you shall see him. 

Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. 

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cipher. 

Ja^. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good 
signior love. 

Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good 
monsieur melancholy. 

{Ejnt Jaques— Ceiia ayid Rosalind conic forward. 

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and 
under that habit play the knave with him.— Do you 
hear, forester? 

Orl. Very well; What would you? 

Ros. I pray you, wliat is 't o'clock? 

Orl. You should ask me what time o' day, there's 
no clock in the forest. 

Ros. Then there is no true lover In the forest; else 
sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, 
would detect the lazy foot of time as well as a clock. 



i'ltee dwell you, pretty youth? 

Vitn this shepherdess, my sister; here In the 



Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had not 
that been as proper? 

Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces 
with divers persons: I '11 tell you who lime ambles 
withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops 
withal, and who he stands still withal. 

Orl. I prithee, who doth he trot withal? 

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, be- 
tween the contract of her marriage, and the day it 
is solemnized; If the Interim be but a se'nnlght, 
time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of 
seven year. Orl. Who anjbles time withal? 

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich 
man that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps easily 
because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily 
because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden 
of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no 
burden of heavy tedious penury: These time ambles 
withal. 

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? 

Ros. With a thief to the gallows: for though he go 
as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon 
there. Orl. Who stays It still withal? 

Roa. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep 
between term and term, and then they perceive not 
how time moves. 

Orl WIf 

Roa. Witli 
skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. 

Orl. Are you a native of this place? 

Bos. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is 
kindled. 

Orl. Your accent Is somethlneflnerthan you could 
purchase in so removed a dwelling. 

Bos. I have been told so of many: but. Indeed, an 
old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who 
was in his youth an Inland man; one that knew 
courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have 
heard him read many lectures against it; and I 
thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with 
so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed 
their whole sex withal. 

Orl Can you remember any of the principal evils 
that he laid to the charge of women? 

Boa. There were none principal; they were all like 
one another, aa halfpence are: every one fault seem- 
ing monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. 

Orl. I prithee recount some of them. 

Ros. No; I will not cast away my physic but on 
those that are sick. There Is a man haunts the 
forest that abuses our young plants with carving 
Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon haw- 
thorns, and elegies on brambles; all forsooth, deify- 
ing the name of Rosalind: If I could meet that 
fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, 
for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. 

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, tell 
me your remedy. 

Roa. There is none of my uncle's marks upon yon: 
he taught me how to know a man in love; in which 
cage of rushes, 1 am sure, you are not prisoner. 

Orl. What were his marks? 

Bos. A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue 
eye, and sunken; which you nave not: an unques- 
tionable spirit; which you have not: a beard neg- 
lected; which you have not: (but I pardon you for 
that; for, simply, your having In beard is a younger 
brother's revenue:) Then your hose should be un- 
gartered, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve un- 
buttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about 
you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you 
are no such man; you are rather point-device in 
your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seem- 
ing the lover of any other. 

Orl. Fair youth, 1 would I could make thee believe 
I love. 

Boa. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that 
you love believe It; which, I warrant, she Is apter to 
do than to confess she does: that Is one of the 
points in the which women stiU give the He to their 
consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that 
hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind Is so 
admired? 

Orl I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of 
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. 

Bos. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
speak? [much. 

Orl Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
Roa. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, de- 
serves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen 
do; and the reason why they are not so punished and 
cured is, that the lunacy Is so ordinary that the 
whippers are In love too: Yet I profess curing it by 
Orl Did you ever cure any so? [counsel. 

Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to Ima- 

§ine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every 
ay to woo me: At which time would I, being but) 
a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, 
longing, and Uklng; proud, fantastical, apish, shal- 
low, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every 
passion something, and fOr no passion truly anything, 
as boys and women are for the most part cattle of 
this colour: would now like him, now loathe him ■ 
then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep 
for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from 
his mad humour of love, to a loving humour of mad 
ness; which was to forswear the full stream of the 
world, and to live in a nook merely monastic: And 
thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me 
to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, 
that there shall not be one spot of love In 't. 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 

Roa. I would cure you. If you would but call me 
Rosalind, and come eveiy day to my cote, and woo 
me. 

Orl Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me 
I where it is. 

Roa. Go with me to it, and I 'II show It you: and, by 
the wav, you shall tell me where in the forest you 
live: Will you go? 
I Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 

Bos. Nay, you must call me Rosalind:— Come, sis- 
ter, win you go? lExeunt. 

Scene III. 

jEnfer Touchstone nncf Audrey; Jaques at a distance, 

observing them. 

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up 
your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? am I the 
man yet? Dotii my simple feature content you? 
i Aytil. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what feat- 
ures? 

Touch. I am here vyith thee and thy goats, as the 



Scene hi.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



75 



most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the 
Ootbs. 

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited I worse than Jove 
in a thatched house ! [Aside. 

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood, 
nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward 
child, understanding, it strilces a man more dead 
than a great reckoning in a little room: Truly, I 
would the gods had made thee poetical. 

Aud. I do not know what poetical is: Is it honest 
in deed, and word? Is it a true thing? 

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most 
loignlng; and lovers are given to poetry; and what 
they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do 
ft-ign. fnie poetical ? 

Aud. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made 

Tbuch. I do, truly; for thou swear'st to me thou 
art honest; now, if th-ju wert a poet I might have 
some hope thou didst feign. 

Aud. Would you not have me honest? 

Touch. No, trulv, unless thou werthardfavour'd: 
for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honry a 
sauce to sugar. Jaq. A material fool ! l.4siVfe. 

Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the 
gods make me honest. 

Touch. Truiy, and to cast away honesty upon a foul 
slut were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am 
foul. 

Tbuch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! 
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may 
be, I will marry thee: and to that end. I have been 
with sir Oliver .Mar-text, the vicar ot the next vil- 
lage; who hath promised to meet me in this place of 
the forest, and to couple us. 

Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside. 

Aiid. Well, the gods give us joy ! 

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful 
heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no 
temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. 
But what though? -Courage I As horns are odious, 
they are necessary. It is said. Many a man knows 
no end of his goods: right; many a man has good 
horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the 
dowry of his wife: 't is none of his own getting. 
Horns? Even so: Poor men alone? No, no, the no- 
blest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the 
single man therefore blessed ? No: as a walled town 
is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of 
a married man more honourable than the bare brow 
of a bachelor: and by how much defence is better 
than no skill, by so muoh is a horn more precious 
than to want. 

Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. 
Here comes sir Oliver:- Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are 
well met: Will you despatch us here under this tree, 
or shall we go with you to your chapel? 

Sir Oil. Is there none here to give the woman? 

Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 

Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage 
is not lawful. 

Jag. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I '11 
give ner. 

Touch. Good even, good master 'What ye call't:' 
How do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild 
you for your last company: I am very glad to see 
you: — Even a toy in hand here, sir:— Nay; pray, be 
covered. 

Jaq. will you be married, motley ? 

Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his 
curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his de- 
sires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nib- 
bling. 

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you 
to church, and have a good priest that can tell you 
what marriage is: this fellow will but join you to- 
gether as they join wainscot; then one ot you will 
prove a shrunk panel, and, like green timber, warp, 
warp. 

Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better to 
be married of him than of another: for he is not like 
to marry me well; and not being well married, it 
^vlli be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my 
wife, [Aside. 

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey: 
We must l>e married, or we must Uve in bawdry. 
Farewell, good master Oliver ! 
Not O sweet Oliver, 
O brave Oliver, - 
Leave me not behind thee: 
But wind away. 
Begone, I say 
I will not to wedding with thee. 
[Exeunt Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey. 

Sir Oli. 'T Is no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave 
of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [E.cit. 

Scene IV.— 27ie same. Before a Cottage. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. 

Cel. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to con- 
sider that tears do not become a man. 

Ros. But have I not cause to weep? fweep. 

Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore 

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. 

Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his 
kisses are Judas's own children, 

Ros. I' faith his hair is of a good colour. 

Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the 
only colour. 

Ros. And his kissing Is as full of sanctity as the 
touch of holy bread. 

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a 
nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religious- 
ly; the very ice of chastity is in them. 

Ros. But why did he swear he would come this 
morning, and comes not? 

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth In him. 

Ros. Do you think so? 

Cel. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse,nor a horse- 
stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as 
concave as a covered goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. 

Ros. Not true in love? 

Cel. yes, when he is in; but, I think he Is not in. 

Ros. You have heard hira swear downright he was. 

CeU Was is not is; besides, the oath of a lover Is no 
stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both 
the conflrmer of false reckonings: He attends here 
m the forest on the duke your father. 

Bos. I met the duke yesterday, and had much 



?uestlon with him: He asked me, of what parentage 
was; I told him, of as good as he; .so he laughed, and 
let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there 
's such a man as Orlando? 

Cel. O, that 's a brave man! he writes brave verses, 
speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks 
tnem bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of 
his lover; as a pulsny tilter, that spurs his horse but 
on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but 
all 's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides:- 
Who comes here? 

Enter Corln. 

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquir'd 
After the shepherd that complaln'd of love; 
Who vou saw sitting bv me on the turf. 
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistress. 

Cel. Well, and what of hira? 

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
Between the pale complexion of true love 
And the rod glow of scorn and proud disdain. 
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 
tf you will mark it. Ros. O, come, let us remove: 

The sight of lovers feedeth those in love: 
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say 
I '11 prove a busy actor in their play. {Exeunt. 

Scene \.— Another part of the Forest. 
Enter Silvlus and Phebe. 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: 
Say, that you love me not; but say not so 
In bitterness: The common executioner. 
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes 
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, [hard 
But first begs pardon; Will you sterner be 
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? 

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance. 

Phe. I would not be th.y executioner; 
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye; 
'T is pretty, sure, and very probable. 
That eyes, that are the f rail'st and softest things, 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies. 
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers' 
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; 
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; 
Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; 
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, 
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. 
Now show the wound mine eves hath made In thee- 
Scratch the but with a pin, and there remains 
Some scar of it; le; n upon a rush. 
The cicatrice aud capable impressure. 
Thy palm .some moment keeps: but now mine eyes. 
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not: 
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
That can do hurt. Sil. O dear Phebe, 
It ever (as that ever may be near) 
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy. 
Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
That love's keen arrows make. 

Phe. But, till that time, 

Come not thou near me: and, when that time comes. 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; 
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. 

Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing. 

Who might be your mother? 
That you insult, exult, and all at once. 
Over the wretched? What though you have no 
(As, by my faith, I see no more in you [beauty. 

Than without candle may go dark to bed,) 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? 
I see no more in you than in the ordinary 
Of nature's sale-work:— Od's my little life! 
I think, she means to tangle my eyes too:— 
No. 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it; 
'T is not your inky brows, your black silk hair. 
Your bugle e.vcballs, nor your cheek of cream, 
That can entame my spirits to your worship. 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her. 
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? 
You are a thousand times a properer man. 
Than she a woman: 'T is such fools as you 
That make the world full of lU-tavoured children: 
'T is not her glass, but you, that flatters her; 
And out of you she sees herself more proper 
Than any of her lineaments can show her. 
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees, 
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love: 
For I must tell you friendly in your ear. 
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets: 
Cry the man mercy; love him: take his offer; 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So, take her to thee, shepherd; fare you well. 

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together; 
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 

Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness, ana 
she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be so, as fast 
as she answers thee with frowning looks, I '11 sauce 
her with bitter words. — Why look you so upon me? 

Phe. For no ill will I bear you. 

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me. 
For I am falser than vows made in wine: 
Besides, I like j'ou not: If you will know my house 
'T is at the tuft of olives, here hard by:— 
Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard; 
Come, sister: Shepherdess, look on him better. 
And be not proud: though all the world could see, 
None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
Come, to our flock. [Exe. Ros., Cel., and Corin. 

Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might; 
' who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?' 

Sil. Sweet Phebe,— 

Phe. Ha ! what say'st tbou, SUvius? 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 

Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle SUvlus. 

Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be; 
If you do sorrow at my grief in love. 
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermin'd. 

Phe. Thou hast my love; Is not that neighbourly? 

Sil. I would have you. 

Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 

Silvlus. the time was that I hated thee; 
And yet it is not that I hear thee love: 
But since that thou canst talk of love so well. 
Thy company, which erst was Irksome to me, 
I will endure; and I 'II employ thee too; 
But do not look for further recom pence 
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 

Sil. So holy and so perfect Is my love, 



And I In such a poverty of grace. 

That I shall thlnlc it a most plenteous crop 

To glean the broken ears after the man 

That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then 

A scatter'd smile, and that I 'II live upon. [while? 

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere- 

Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; 
And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds. 
That the old carlot once was master of. 

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; 
'T Is but a peevish boy:— vet he talks well;— 
But what care I for words? yet words do well. 
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
It Is a pretty youth:— not very pretty: - [him: 

But, sure, he 's proud; and yet his pride becomes 
He 'U make a proper man; The best thing In him 
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue 
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall; yet for his years he 's tall: 
His leg Is but so so; and yet 't Is well: 
There was a pretty redness in his Up; 
A little riper and more lusty red [ference 

Than that mix'd In his cheek; 't was just the |dlf- 
Betwlxt the constant red, and mingled damask. 
There be some women, Silvlus, had they mark'd him 
In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
To fall in love with him: but, for my part, 
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet 
Have more cause to hate him than to love him: 
For what had he to do to chide at me? 
He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black: 
And now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: 
I marvel why I answer'd not again: 
But that 's all one; omittance is no quittance. 
I '11 write to him a very taunting letter. 
And thou Shalt bear it; Wilt thou, SUvlus? 

.9/7. Phebe, with all my heart. 

Phe. I '11 write It straight: 

The matter 's in my head, and in my heart: 
I will be bitter with him, and passing short: 
Go with me, Silvlus. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. — Tlie same. 

Enter Rosaline, Celia, and Jaques. 

JoAji. I, prithee, pretty youth, let me be better ac- 
quainted with thee. 

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 

Jag. I am so: I do love it better than laughing. 

Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are 
abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every 
modern censure, worse than drunkards. 

Jog. Why, 't is good to be sad and say nothing. 

Ros. Why then, 't Is good to be a post. 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 
which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is 
fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor 
the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, 
which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor 
the lover's wh.ch is all these: but it is a melrncholy 
of mine own, compounded of many simples, extract- 
ed from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry con- 
templation of my travels, in which ray often 
rumination wraps me in a most humerous sadness. 

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great 
reason to be sad : I fear, you have sold .vour o^vn 
lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, 
and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
hands. Jag. Yes, I have gained my experience. 

Enter Orlando. 

Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had 
rather have a fool to make me merry, than experi- 
ence to make me sad: and to travel for it to. 

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! 

Jag. Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in 
blank verse. [Exit. 

Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look you lisp 
and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of 
your own country; be ou,t of love with your nativity, 
and almost chide God for making you that counten- 
ance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam 
in a gondola. — Why, how now, Orlando! where have 
you been all this whOe? You a lover?— An you serve 
me such another trick, never come in my sight 
more [my promise. 

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an nour of 

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? He that 
win divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break 
but a part of the thousandth part ot a minute in the 
affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath 
clapped him o' the shoulder, but I '11 warrant him 
heart- whole. 

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more In my 
sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. 

Orl. Of a snail? 

Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, 
he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, 
I think, than you make a woman: Besides, he brings 
his destiny with hira. Orl. What 's that? 

Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to 
be beholden to your wives for: but becomes armed 
in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. 

Orl. Virtue is no horn-raaker; and my Rosalind is 
virtuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 

Cel. It pleases hira to call you so; but he hath a 
Rosalind of a better leer than you. 

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a 
holiday humour, and like enough to consent: — 
What would you say to me now, an I were your very 
very Rosalind? 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when 
you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might 
take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when 
they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking 
(God warn us!) matter, the cleanliest shift Is to kiss. 

Orl. How if the kiss be denied? 

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there be- 
gins new matter. [mistress? 

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved 

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mis- 
tress; or I should think ray honesty ranker than my 
wit. Orl. What, of my suit? 

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your 
suit. Am not I your Rosalind? 

Orl. I take some Joy to say you are, because J 
would be talking of her. 

Ros. Well, In her person, I say — I will not have you. 

Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. 

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world 
is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time 
there was not any man died In his own person, w:de. 



76 



AS YUV LIKE IT. 



1 



LACT V. 



licet. In a love cause. Troilus had his brains dashed 
out with a Grecian club: yet he did what he could 
to die before; and he Is one of the patterns of love, 
Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, 
though Hero had turned nun, If it had not been for 
a hot midsummer night: tor, good youth, he went 
but forth to wash him In the Hellespont, and, being 
taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the fool- 
ish clironlclers of that age found it was— Hero of 
Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died from 
time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not 
for love. 

Oi-U I would not have my right Rosalind of this 
mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But come, 
now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on 
disposition; and ask me what you"Nvlll, I will grant it. 

Orl. Then love mo, Rosalind. 

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and 

Orl. And vn\t thou liave me? [all. 

Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 
•Orl. What sayest thou? 

Ros. Are you not good? Orl. I hope so. 

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a 
good thing?— Come, sister, you shall be the priest, 
and marry us.— Give me your hand, Orlando:— What 
do you say, sister? Orl. Pray thee, miarry us. 

Cel. I cannot say the words. 

Ros. You must begin, ' Will you, Orlando,'- 

Cel. Go to: Will you, Orlando, have to wife this 

Rosalind? Orl. I will. Ros. Ay, but when? 

Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. 

Ros. Then you must say,— 'I take thee, Rosalind, 

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. [for wife. 

Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but, — 
I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There 's 
a girl goes before the priest: and, certainly, a 
woman's thought runs before her actions. 

Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged. 

Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, 
after you have possessed her. 

Orl. For ever, and a day. 

Ros. Say a day, without the ever; No, no, Or- 
lando; men are April when they woo, December 
when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, 
but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be 
more jealous of thee than a Barbery cock-pigeon 
over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against 
rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy 
In my desires than a monkey: I will weep for no- 
thing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that 
when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like 
a hyen, and that when thou art Inclined to sleep. 

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so? 

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 

Orl. O, but she is wise. 

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: 
the wiser, the waywarder: Make the doors upon a 
woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut 
that, and 't wUl out at the key -hole; stop that, 'twill 
fly with the smoke out at the chimney. 

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he 
might say,— 'Wit, whither wilt?' 

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for It, till you 
met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. 

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? 

Ros. Marry, to say— she came to seek you there. 
You shall never take her without her answer, unless 
you take her without her tongue. O, that woman 
that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, 
let her never nurse her child herself, for she will 
breed it like a fool. 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. 

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two 
o'clock I will be with thee again. 

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways;— I knew 
what jT)u would prove; my friends told me as much, 
and I thought no less:- that flattering tongue of 
yours won me: — 't Is but one cast away, and so, — 
come, death.— Two o'clock is your hour? 

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 

Ros. By my troth, and In gool earnest, and so God 
mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dan- 
gerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come 
one minute behind your hour, I will think you the 
most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow 
lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosa- 
lind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of 
the unfaithful; therefore beware my censure, and 
keep your promise. 

Orl. WIttt no less religion than if thou wert indeed 
my Rosaland: So, adieu. 

Ros. Well, time is the old iustice that examines all 
such offenders, and let time try: Adieu ! [Ex. Orl. 

Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your love 
prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked 
over your head, and show the world what the bird 
hath done to her own nest. 

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou 
didst knr w how many fathom deep I am In love ! 
But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an 
unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. 

Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour 
affection in, it runs out. 

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that 
was begol; of thought, conceived of spleen, and born 
of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses 
every one's eyes, because his own her out, let him 
be judge, how deep I am In love:— I '11 tell thee, 
Alieiia, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I '11 
go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. 
Cel. And I '11 sleep. {Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— Another Part of the Forest. 
Enter Jaques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. 

■Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? 

1 Lord. Sir, it was I. 

Jaq. Let 's present him to the duke, like a Roman 
conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's 
horns upon his head, for a branch of victory: Have 
you no son:.', forester, for this purpose? 

2 Lord. Yes, sir. 

Joq. Sing It; 't Is no matter how it be In tune, so it 
make noise enough. 

SONO. 

1. What shall he have that klll'd the deer? 

2. His leather skin, and horns to wear. 
Take thou no scorn, to wear the hora; 
It was a crest ere thou \vast born. 

1. Thy father's father wore it; 

2. And tiiy father bore it; 

Ml. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn. 

Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. {Exe unt. 



Scene III.— rft« Forest. 
Enter Rosalind and Cella. 

Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? 
and here much Orlando ! 

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled 
brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone 
forth— to sleep: Look, who comes here. 
Enter Sllvius. 

Sd. My errand Is to you, fair youth:— 
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this: 

[Giving a letter. 
I know not the contents; but, as I guess, 
By the stern brow and waspish action 
Which she did use as she was writing of It, 
It bears an angry tenor: pardon me, 
I am but as a guiltless messenger. 

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, 
And play tlie swaggerer; bear this, bear all: 
She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners; 
She calls me proud; and, that she could not love me 
Were man as rare as phoenix; Od 's my will ! 
Her love is not the hare tliat I do hunt. 
Why writes she so to me?— Well, shepherd, well, 
This Is a letter of your own device. 

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents; 
Phebe did write It. 

Ros. Come, come, you are a fool, 

And tum'd into the extremity of love. 
I sa^v her hand; she has a leathern hand, 
A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think 
That her old gloves were on, but 't was her hands; 
She has a huswife's hand: but that 's no matter: 
I say, she never did invent this letter; 
This IS a man's invention, and his hand. 

RiL Sure, it is hers. 

Ros. Why, 't is a boisterous and a cruel style, 
A style for challengers; why, she defies me. 
Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain * 
Could not drop forth such giant rude invention, 
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect [ter? 

Than in their countenance:— Will you hear the let- 

Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; 
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 

Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how the tyrant writes. 

'Art thou god to shepherd tum'd, [Reads. 

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?' 
Can a woman rail thus? 
Sil. Call you this railing? 
Ros. ' Why, thy godhead laid apart, 

Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? ' 
Did you ever hear such railing? 

' Whiles the eye of man did woo me. 
That could do no vengeance to me.— 
Meaning me a beast. — 

' If the scorn of your bright eyne 
Have power to raise such love in mine, 
Alack, in me what strange effect 
Would they work in niiid aspect? 
Whiles you chid me, I did love; 
How then might your prayers move? 
He that brings this love to thee 
Little knows this love in me: 
And hy him seal up thy mind; 
Whether that thy youth and kind 
Will the faithful offer take 
Of me, and all that I can make; 
Or else by him my love deny. 
And then I '11 study how to die.' 

Sil. Call you this chiding? 
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd! 

Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity.— 
Wilt thou love such a woman?— What, to make thee 
an Instrument, and play false strains upon thee! not 
to be endured!— Well, go your way to her, (for I 
see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say 
this to her;— That if she love me, I charge her to 
love thee: if she will not, I will never have her, un- 
less thou entreat for her.— If you be a true lover, 
hence, and not a word; for here comes more com- 
pany. [Exit SUvius. 
Enter Oliver. 
OU. Grood-raorrow, fair ones: Pray you if you know 
Where ' ' the purlieus of this forest, stands 
A sheep-cote, fenced about with olive-trees? 
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bot- 
tom. 
The rank of osiers, \)y the murmuring stream, 
Lett on y ur right hand, brings you to the place: 
But at this hour the house doth keep Itself, 
There's none within. 

OU. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
Then should I know you by description; 
Sue*! garmr— ts, and such years: ' The boy is fair. 
Of female Livour, and bestows himself 
Like a ripe sister: the woman low. 
And browner than her brother.' Are not you 
The owner of the house I did inquire for? 
Cel. It '■=: no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. 
OU. Orlando doth commend him to you both; 
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind, 
He sends this bloody napkin; Are you he? 
Ros. I am: what must we understand by this? 
OU. Some of my shame; if you will know of me 
What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
This handkercher was stain'd 
Cel. I pray you, tell it. 

OU. When last the young Orlando parted from you, 
He left a promise to return again 
Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest. 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo, what tefel ! he threw his eye aside. 
And, mark, what object did present Itself! 
Under an old oak, whose boughs were moss'd with 
And high top bald with dry antiquity, [age, 

A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair. 
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself. 
Who with her head, nimble In threats, approach'd 
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly 
Seeing Orlando, it unllnk'd itself. 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush: under which bush's shade 
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. 
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, 
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 't is 
The royal disposition of that beast. 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead; 
This seen, Orlando did approach the man. 
And found it was hls'brother, his elder brother. 



Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same 
brother; 
And he did render hlra the most unnatural 
That Uv'd 'mongst men. 

OH. And well he might so do, 

For well I know he was unnatural. 

Ros. But, to Orlando;— Did he leave him there. 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? 

OU. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so: 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge. 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion. 
Made him give battle to the lioness. 
Who quickly fell before him; In which hurtling, 
From miserable slumber I awak'd. 

Cel. Are you his brother? 

Ros, Was it you he rescued? 

Cel. Was 't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? 

OH. 'T was I; but 't is not I: I do not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 

Ros. But, for the bloody napkin?— 

OU. By and by. 

When from the first to last, betwixt us two. 
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, 
.As.^^fw I came into that desert place; — 
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke. 
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment. 
Committing me unto my brother's love; 
Who led me instantly unto his cave. 
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
The lioness had torn some flesh away, 
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted. 
And cry'd in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound; 
And, after some small space, being strong at heart. 
He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 
To tell this story, that you might excuse 
His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Gany- 
mede? [Rosalind /amis. 

OH. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 

Cel. There is more in lt:—Cousin— Ganymede! 

OU. Look, he recovers. 

Ros. I would I were at home. 

Cel. We 'U lead you thither: — 
I pray you, will you take him by the arm? 

OU. Be of good cheer, youth:— You a man?— You 
lack a man's heart. 

Ros. I do so, I confess It. Ah, sirrah, a body 
would think this was well counterfeited: I pray you, 
tell your brother how well I counterfeited.— Heigh 
ho! 

OH. This was not counterfeit; there Is too great 
testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion 
of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 

OU. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit 
to be a man. 

Ros. So I do: but, I' faith, I should have been a wo- 
man by right. 

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, 
draw homewards.— Good sir, go with us. 

on. That will I, for I must bear answer back 
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 

Ros. I shall devise something: But, H pray you, 
commend my counterfeiting to tum:— Will you go? 

[Exeunt. 

ACT. V. 

Scene I.— The same. 

^nfer Touchstone and Audrey. 

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience. 
gentle Audrey. 

Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all 
the old gentleman's saying. 

Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most 
vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here In 
the forest lays claim to you. 

Aud. Ay, I know who 't is; he hath no Interest in 
me In the world: here comes the man you mean. 

Enter William. 

Touch. It Is meat and drink to me to see a clown. 
By my troth, we that have good wits have much to 
answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot bold. 

Will. Good even, Audrey. 

Aud. God ye good even, William. 

Will. And good even to you, sir. 

Touch. Good even, gent'e friend: Cover thy head, 
cover thy head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old 
are you, friend? Will. Five-and-twenty, sir. 

Touch. A ripe age: Is thy name William? 

Will. William, sir. . 

Touch. A fair name: Wast born 1' the forest here? 

WUl. Av, sir, I thank God. 

Touch. Thank God!— a good answer: Art rich? 

Will. Faith, sir, so, so. 

Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent 
good: and yet It is not; It is but so, so. Art thou wise? 

Will. Av, sir, I have a pretty wit. 

Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remem- 
ber a saying: ' The fool doth think he is wise, but 
the wise man knows himself to be a fool.' The 
heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a 
grape, would open his lips when he put it into his 
mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to 
eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid? 

WiU. I do, sir. 

Touch. Give me your hand: Art thou learned? 

Will. No, sirt 

Touch. Then learn this of me; To have, is to have: 

j For it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, being poured 

out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth 

I empty the other: For all your writers do consent, 

that ipse is he; now you are not ipse, for 1 am h«. 
] WiU. Which he, sir? 

' Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman: 
Therefore, you, Clown, abandon, which is in the 
r vulgar, leave the society, whicli in the boorish is, 
company of this female, which in the common is, 
woman, which together Is, abandon the society of 
this female; or, clown, thou perlshest; or, to thy bet- 
ter understanding, diest; or to wit, I kill thee, make 
thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty 
into bondage: I will deal in poison with tliee, or in 
bastinado or in steel; I will bandy with tliee in fac- 
tion; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a 
hundred and fifty ways; therefore tremble and de- 
part. Aud. Do, good William. 

Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit 

Enter Corln. 



SOKNB I.] 



AS YUU LIKK IT. 



n 



Cor. Our master and mistress seeks you; come, 
>iway, atvay. 

Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey;— I attend, I at- 
tend. 

Scene 1\.—The same. 
Enter Orlando and Oliver. 

Orl. Is 't possible, that on so little acquaintance 
you should like lier? that, but seeing, you should 
love her? and, loving, woo? and, wooing, she should 
grant? and will you persevere. to enjoy her? 

Oli. Neither call the giddiness ot it in question, the 
poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden 
wooing, nor her sudden consentinK; but say with me, 
I love Allena; sav with her, that she loves nie; con- 
sent with both, that we may enjoy each other: it shall 
be to your good; for my father's house, and all the 
revenue that was old sir Rowland's, will I estate 
upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. 

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be 

to-raorrow: thither will I invite the duke, and all his 

contented followers: Go you, and prepare Allena; 

for, look you, here comes my Rosalind, 

Enter Rosalind. 

Ros. Gk)d save you, brother. 

OU. .\nd you, fair sister. 

Bos. O, ray dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see 
thee wear thy heart in a scarf. 

Orl. It is my arm. 

Ro3. I thought thy heart had been wounded with 
the claws of a lion. 

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 

Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited 
toswound, when he showed me your handkercher? 

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 

Ros. O, I know where you are:— Nay, 't is true: 
there was never anything so sudden, but the fight of 
two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of— 'I came, 
saw, and overcame: ' For your brother and my sis- 
ter no sooner met, but tliey looked; no sooner looked, 
but they loved; no sooner loved, hut they sighed; no 
sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason; 
no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the 
remedy: and In these degrees have they made a pair 
of stairs to marriage, w'hich they will climb incon- 
tinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they 
are In the very wrath of love, and they will together; 
clubs cannot part them. 

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will 
bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a 
thing It is to look into happiness through another 
man's eyes ! By so much tlie more shall I to-morrow 
be at the height of heart heaviness, by how much I 
shall think my brother happy, in having what he 
wishes for. 

Ros. Why then, to-morrow I carmot serve your turn 
for Rosalind? 

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 

Ros. I win weary you no longer then with idle talk- 
ing. Know of me then, (for now I speak to some pur- 
pose,) that I know you are a gentlejnan of good con- 
ceit: I speak not this that you should bear a good 
opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know 
you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem 
than may in some little measure draw a belief from 
you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Be- 
lieve then, if you please, that I can do strange things; 
I have, since 1 was tnree years old, conversed with a 
magician, most profound in his art, and yet not 
damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart 
as your gesture cries it our, when your brother mar- 
ries Allena shall you marry her: I know into what 
straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impos- 
sibLe to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to 
set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, 
and without any danger. 

Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings? 

Ros. By my life I do; which I tender dearly, though 
I say I am a magician: Therefore, put you In your 
best array, bid your friends ; for if you will be 
married to-morrow, you shall; and to Rosalind, if 
you wllL 

Enter Silvlus and Phebe. 

Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover ot 
hers. 

P/ie. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, 
To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Ros. I care not if I have: it is my study 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: 
You are there foUow'd by a faithful shepherd; 
Look upon him, love him: he worships you. [love. 

Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 't is to 

Sil. It Is to be all made of sighs and tears; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It Is to be all made of faith and service; — 
And so am I tor Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I tor Rosalind. 

Ros. And I for no ivoman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
All made of passion, and all made of wishes; 
All adoration, duty, and observance. 
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience. 
All purity, all trial, all observance; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

-Kos. And so am I for no woman. 

Phe. It this be so, why blame you me to love you? 

[To Rosalind. 

Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love vou? 

[To Phebe. 

Orl. If this be so, why blame .vou me to love you? 

Ros. Who do you speak to, • Why blame you me to 
love you?' 

Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. 

Ros. Pray you, no more of this; 't is like the howl- 
ing of Irish wolves against the moon.— I will help 
you. [to SilvlusJ it I can:— I would love you, [to 
Phebe] It I could.— To morrow meet me altogether.— 
I will marry you, [to Phebe] if ever I marry woman, 
and I'll be married to-morrow:— I will satisfy you, 
[to Orlando] if ever I satisfled man, and you shall be 
married to-raorrow:—I win content you, Ko SilviusJ 
if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be 
married to-morrow.— As you j(o Orlando] love Rosa- 
lind, meet; as you [to Silvius] love Phebe, meet; And 
as I love no woman, I '11 meet. — So, tare you well: I 
have left you commands. 



Sil. I'll not fall, if I live. 
Phe. Nor I. 



Orl. Nor I. [Exe. 



Scene III.— The same. 
Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey: to- 
morrow will we be married. 

Aud. I do desire it with all my heart: and I hope It 
is no dishonest desire, to desii e to be a woman of the 
world. Here comes two of the banish'd duke's 
pages. 

Enter two Pages. 

1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. [a song. 
Touch. By my troth, well met: Come, sit, sit, and 

2 Page. We are for you; sit 1' the middle. 

1 Page. Shall we clap into 't roundly, without 
hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse; which 
are the only prologues to a bad voice? 

2 Page. I' faith, i' faith; and both In a tune, like 
two gipsies on a horse. 



It was a lover, and his lass. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
That o'er the green corn-fleld did pass, 

In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

II. 
And therefore take the present time. 

With a he.y, and a ho, and a hey nonino; 
For love is crowned with the prime 

In spring time, &c. 

m. 
Between the acres of the rye, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; 
These pretty country folks would lie. 

In spring time, &c. 
rv. 
This carol they began that hour. 

With a he.v, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
How that a lite was but a flower 

In spring time, &c. 

Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was 
no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very 
untuneable. 

1 Page. You are deceived, sir; we kept time, we 
lost not our time. 

Touch. By ray troth, yes; I count it but time lost to 
hear such a foolish song. God be with you; and God 
mend your voices! Come, Audrej-. [Ex. 

Scene XV.— Another Part of the Forest. 

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, 

Oliver, and Celia. 

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the bo.y 
Can do all this that he hath promised? [not; 

Orl. \ sometimes do believe, and sometimes do 

As those that fear, — they hope and know they fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 

Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact Is 
urg'd:— 
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [To the Duke. 
You will bestow her on Orlando here? 

Duke. S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with 
her. 

Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I bring 
her? [To Orlando. 

Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 

Ros. You say, you '11 raarry me, if I be willing? 

[To Phebe. 

Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. 

Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me. 
You '11 give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? 

Phe. So is the bargain. 

Ros. You say, that you '11 have Phebe, if she will? 

I To Silvius. 

Sil. Though to have her and death were both one 
thing. 

Ros. 1 have promised to make all this matter even. 
Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daugh- 
ter; — 
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:— 
Keep you your word, Phebe, that you '11 marry me; 
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd: — 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you 'U marry her. 
If she refuse me:— and from hence I go. 
To make these doubts all even. [Ex. Ros. and Cel. 

Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy 
Some lively touches ot my daughter's favour. 

Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, 
Methought he was a brother to your daughter: 
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-horn; 
And hath been tutor'd In the rudiments 
Ot many desperate studies by his uncle. 
Whom he reports to be a great magician. 
Obscured in the circle ot tliis forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 

Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and 
these couples are coming to the ark ! Here comes a 
pair ot very strange beasts, which in all tongues are 
called fools. 

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the 
motley -minded gentleman that I have so often met 
in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears. 

Touch. It any man doubt that, let him put me to 
my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flat- 
tered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, 
smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tai- 
lors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have 
fought one. Jaci. And how was that ta'en up? 

Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was 
upon the seventh cause. 

Jag. How seventh cause?— Good my lord, like this 

Diike S. I like him very well. Ifellow. 

Touch. God 'lid you, sir; I desire you of the like. 
I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country 
copulatives, to swear, and to forswear; according as 
marriage binds and blood breaks: A poor virgin, 
sir, an Ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor 
humour ot mine, sir, to take that that no man else 
will: Rich honesty dwells like a raiser, sir, in a poor- 
house; as your pearl, in your foul oyster. 

Duke S. By my faith, he Is very swift and senten- 
tious, [dulcet diseases. 

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such 



Jaq. But, for the seventh cause: how did you find 
the quarrel on the seventh cause? 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed;— Bear 
your bod.y more seeming, Audrey:— as thus, sir. I 
did dislike the cut ot a certain courtier's beard; he 
sent me word. If I said his beai'd was not cut well, 
he was in the mind It was: This is called the ' Re- 
tort courteous." If I sent him word again it was not 
well cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please 
himself: This is called the 'Quip modest.' If again, 
it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment: 'This 
is called the 'Reply churlish.' It again, it was not 
well cut, he would answer, I spake not true: 'Ihls 
is called the ' Reproof valiant.' It again. It was not 
well cut, he would say, I lie: This is called the 
'Countercheck quarrelsome:' and so to the ' Lie cir- 
cumstantial,' and the ' Lie direct.' [well cut? 

Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not 

Touch. I durst go no further than the 'Lie circum- 
stantial,' nor he durst not give me the 'Lie direct:' 
and so we measured swords and parted. 

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees 
of the lie? 

Touch. O, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as 
you have books for good manners. I will name you 
the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous; the 
second, the Quip modest; the third, the Reply 
churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth, 
the Countercheck quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie 
with circumstance; the seventh, the Lie direct. AH 
these you may avoid, but the lie direct; and you 
may avoid that too, with an Jf. I knew when seven 
justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the 

garties were met themselves, one ot them thought 
ut of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and 
they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your jy is 
the onl.v peace-maker; much virtue in If. 

Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he 's as 
good at anything, and yet a fool. 

Duke S. Houses his tolly like a stalking-horse, and 
under the presentation ot that, he shoots his wit. 

Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind and Celia. 
Still Music. 
Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven. 
When earthly things made even 

Atone together. 
Good duke, receive thy daughter, 
Hymen from heaven brought her, 

Yea, brought her hither; 
That thou might'st join her hand with his. 
Whose heart within her bosom is. 

Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. 

[To Duke S. 
To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Orlando. 

Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my 
daughter. 

Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosa- 

Phe. It sight and shape be true, [lind. 

Why then,— ray love adieu! 

Ros. I '11 have no father, if you be not he: — 

[To Duke S. 
I '11 have no husband, if you be not he, [To Orl. 

" ■ ■ .y ■ . . . fro Phe. 



Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 



Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion: 
'T is I must make conclusion 

Of these most strange events: 
Here 's eight that must take hands. 
To join in Hyraen's bands. 

If truth holds true contents. 
You and you no cross shall part: 

[To Orlando and Rosalind, 
You and you are heart and heart: 

[To Oliver and Celia. 
You [to Phebe] to his love must accord. 
Or have a woman to your lord:— 
You and you are sure together, 

[To Touchstone and Audrey. 
As the winter to foul weather. 
Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing. 
Feed yourself with questioning: 
That reason wonder may diminish. 
How thus we met, and these things finish. 



Wedding is great Juno's crown; 

O blessed bond of board and bed I 
'T is Hymen peoples every town: 

High wedlock then be honoured: 
Honour, high honour and renown. 
To Hymen, god ot every town ! 

Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me; 
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 

Plie. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; 

Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. [To Sil. 

Enter Jaques de Bois. 

Jaq. de B. Let me have audieiice for a word, ortwo; 
I am the second son of old sir Rowland, 
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly: 
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot. 
In his own conduct, purposely to take 
His brother here, and put him to the sword: 
And to the skirts of this wild wood he carae; 
Where, meeting with an old religious man. 
After some question with him, was converted 
Both from his enterprise, and from the world: 
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother. 
And all their lands restor'd to thera again 
That were with hira exil'd: This to be true, 
I do engage my life. 

Duke S. Welcome, young man; 

Thou ofter'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: 
To one his lands withheld; and to the other, 
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest, let us do those ends 
That here were well begun, and well begot: 
-\nd after, every ot this happy number. 
That haveendur'd shrewd days and nights with us. 
Shall share the good of our returned fortune, 
According to the measure of their states. 
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity. 
And fall into our rustic revelry:— 
Play, music;- and you brides and bridegrooms all. 
With measure heap'd in joj', to the measures fall. 

Jaq. Sir, by your patience; If I heard you rightly 
The duke hath put on a religious life, 
And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 

Jaq. de B. He hath. 



78 



T AMINO OF THE SHREW. 



Jaq. To Iiim will I: out of these convertites 
There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. — 
You to your former honour I bequeath; [To Duke S. 
Your patience, and jour virtue, well deserves it:— 
You [to Orlando] to a love, that your true faith doth 

merit:— 
You Ito Oliver] to your land, and love, and great 

allies;— 
You [to Sllvius] to a lone and well-deserved bed:— 
And you [to Touchstone] to wrangling; for thy lov- 
ing voyage 
Is but for two months victuall'd:- so to your plea- 
I am for other than for dancing measures, fsures; 

Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 

Jaq. To see no paatlme I:— what you would have 



I '11 stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. 

Jhike S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these 

And we do trust they '11 end in true delights. [rites, 

[A dance. 

EPILOGUE. 

Bos. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epi- 
logue: but it Is no more unhandsome, than to see the 
lord the prologue. If it be true, that 'good wine 
needs no oush,' 't is true, that a good play needs no 
epilogue: Yet to good wine they do use good bushes: 
and good plays prove the better by the help of good 
epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am 
neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with 



[Act j. ■ 



you In the behalf of a good play! I am nof furnish- 
ed like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become 
me: my way is to conjure you; and I '11 begin with 
the women. I charge you, O women, for the love 
you bear to men, to like as much of this play »g 
please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love 
you bear to women, (as I perceive by your simper- 
ing, none of you hates them,) that between you and 
the women, the play may please. If I were a wo- 
man, I would kiss as many of you as had beards 
that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and 
breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many 
as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, 
will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid 
me farewelL [Exeunt. 



TAMING OF THE SHR^W. 



INDUCTION. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
A I,ORD. Christopher Sly, a drunken Tinker. Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, and other Servants. 



Scene J.— Before an Alehouse on a Heath. 
Enter Hostess and Sly. 

Sly. I 'U pheese you. In faith. 

Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! 

Sly. Y' are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues: 
Look In the chronicles, we came in with Richard 
Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris; let the 
world slide: Sessa! Lburst? 

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have 

Sly. No, not a denier: Go by S. Jeronimy,— Go to 
thy cold bed, and warm thee. 

Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the 
thlrdborough. [Exit. 

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I '11 answer 
him by law: I '11 not budge an inch, boy; let him 
come, and kindly. 

[Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep^ 
Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his 
Train. 

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my 
hounds: 
Brach Merriman,— the poor cur is emboss'd; 
.^.nd couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd Brach. 
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault? 
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 

1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; 
He cried upon it at the merest loss. 
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: 
Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 

Lord. 'Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet, 
I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
But sup them well, and look unto them all; 
To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 

1 Hun. I will, my lord. fdoth he breathe? 
Tjord. What 's here? one dead, or drunk? See, 

2 Hun. He breathes, my lord: Were he not warm'd 

with ale, 
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundlj'. 

Lord. O monstrous beast; how like a swine he lies! 
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image ! 
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
What think you, if he were convey 'd to bed, 
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fln- 
A most delicious banquet by his bed, Fgers, 

And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 
Would not the beggar then forget himself? 

1 Hun. BeUeve me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 

2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he 

wak'd. 

Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless 
fancy. 
Then take him up, and manage well the jest: 
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber. 
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: 
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters. 
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet: 
Procure me music ready when he wakes, 
■To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound; 
And If he chance to speak, be ready straight, 
And, with a low submissive reverence. 
Say,— What is It your honour will command? 
Let one attend him with a silver bason. 
Pull of rose water, and bestrew'd with flowers; 
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper. 
And say,— Will 't please your lordsliip cool your 
Some one be ready with a costly suit, [hands? 

And ask him what apparel he will wear; 
Another teil him of his hounds and horse. 
And that his lady mourns at his disease: 
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic; 
And, when he says he is,— say, that he dreams, 
For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 
This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; 
It will be pastime passing excellent. 
If it be husbanded with modesty. 

1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part 
Ashe shall think, by our true diligence, 
He Is no less than what we say he is. 

Jtord. Take him up gently and to bed with him; 
And each one to his office, when he wakes. 

[Some bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. 
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 't Is that sounds: 

[Exit Servant. 
Belike some noble gentleman, that means. 
Travelling some journey, to repose him here. 
Re-enter a Servant. 



How now? who is it? 

Serv. An it please your honour, 

Players that offer service to your lordship. 

Lord. Bid them come near: 

Enter Players. 
Now, fellows, you are welcome. 

Players. We thank your honour. 

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 

2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. 

Lord. With all my heart.— This fellow I remember. 
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son;— 
'T was where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: 
I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part 
Was aptly fltted, and naturally perform'd. [means. 

1 Play. I think, 't was Soto that your honour 

Lord. 'T is very true;— Thou didst it excellent.— 
Well, you are come to me in happy time; 
The rather for I have some sport in hand, 
Wherein your cunning can assist me much. 
There is a lord will hear you play to-night: 
But I am doubtful of your modesties; 
Lest, over-eyeing of his odd behaviour, 
(For yet his honour never heard a play,) 
You break Into some merry passion, 
And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs. 
If you should smile, he grows impatient. 

1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves. 
Were he the veriest antic in the world. 

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery. 
And give them friendly welcome every one: 
Let tnem want nothing that my house affords. — 

[E.'ceunt Servant and Players. 
Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew, my page, 

\To a Servant. 
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: 
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber. 
And call him madam, do him obeisance. 
Tell him from me, as he will win my love. 
He bear himself with honourable action. 
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladles 
Unto their lords, by them accomplished: 
Such duty to the drunkard let him do. 
With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy; 
And say, — What is 't your honour will command. 
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife. 
May show her duty, and make known her love? 
And then, with kind embracements. tempting kisses. 
And with declining head into his bosom, 
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
To see her noble lord restored to health. 

Who, for this seven years hath e.steemed hint 

No better than a poor and loathsome beggar: 

And if the boy have not a woman's gift. 

To rain a shower of commanded tears. 

An onion will do well for such a shift; 

Which in a napkin being close convey'd. 

Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 

See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst; 

Anon I '11 give thee more instructions. 

[Exit Servant. 
I know the boy will well usurp the grace. 
Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman: 
I long to hear him call the drunkard husband; 
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter. 
When they do homage to this simple peasant. 
I '11 in to counsel them; haplv my presence 
May well abate the over-merry spleen. 
Which otherwise would grow into extremes. [Bxe. 

Scene II.— ^ Bedchamber in the Lord's House. 
Sly is discovered in a rich night-gown, with Attend- 
ants ; same vrith upparel, otliers with bason, ewer, 
and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, dressed like a 
servant. 
Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. [sack? 

1 Serf. Will 't please your lordship drink a cup of 

2 Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of these 

conserves? [day? 

3 Sei-v. What raiment will your honour wear to- 
Sly. I am Chrlstophero Sly. Call not me— honour, 

nor lordship : I never drank sack in my life; and if 
you give me any conserves, give me conserves of 
beef : Ne'er ask me what raiment I '11 wear : for a 
have no more doublets than backs, no more stock- 
ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, 
sometime, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my 
toes look through the overleather. 



Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour In your hon- 
O, that a mighty man of such descent, [our ! 

Of such possessions, and so high esteem. 
Should be infused with so foul a spirit! 

Sly. What! would you make me mad? Am not I 
Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath ; by 
birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by trans- 
mutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession 
a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife of 
Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not four- 
teen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up 
for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What ! I am 
not bestraugth : Here's 

1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 

2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop. 
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your 

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. [house, 

O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; 

Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment. 

And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. 

Look how the servants do attend on thee. 

Each in his ofllce ready at thy beck. 

Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, 

[Music 
And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 
Oi^ wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to acoucn. 
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 
On purpose trinim'd up for Semiramis. 
Say, thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground: 
Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd. 
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks wiU soar 
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt? 
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them. 
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 

1 Serv. Say, thou wUt course; thy greyhounds are 
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. [[as swift 

2 Serv. Do.st thou love pictures? we will retch thee 
Adonis, painted by a running brook; [straight 
And Cytherea all in sedges hid. 

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath. 
Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 

Lord. We'll show thee lo, as she was a maid; 
And how she was beguiled and surpris'd. 
As lively painted as the deed was done. [wood; 

ZServ. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny 
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds 
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep. 
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: ^ 
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
Than any woman in this waning age. , • ._ ^ . 

1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed lor 
Like envious floods o'er-ran her lovely face, [thee. 
She was the fairest creature in the world; 

And yet she is inferior to none. 

Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? 
Or do I dream, or have I dream'd till now? 
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak: 
I smell sweet ."iavours, and I feel soft things:— 
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed; 
And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly. 
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight; 
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. [hands? 

2 Serv. Will "t please your mightiness to wash your 

[Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin. 
O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd ! 
O, that once more you knew but what you are ! 
These fifteen years you have been in a dream; 
Or, when vou wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 

Sly- These fifteen years? by my fay, a goodly nap. 
But did I never speak of all that time? 

: Serv. O yes, my lord; but very idle words:— 
For though you li^y here in this goodly chamber. 
Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door; 
And rail upon the hostess of the house; 
And say, you would present her at the leet. 
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts: 
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 

Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. [maid; 

3 Se.rv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such 
Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up,— 

As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, 
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimperneli; 
And twenty more such names and men as these. 
Which never were, nor no man ever saw. 

Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends ! 

Alt. Amen. 



Scene ii.] 



TAMIXG OF THE umiEW. 



7!» 



Sly. I thank thee, thou shalt not lose by it. 
Enter the Page, as a lady, with. Attendants. 

Page. How fares my noble lord? 

Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here Is cheer enough. 
Where is my wife? 

Page. Here, noble lord. What is thy will with her? 

Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband? 
My men should call me lord; I am your goodman. 

Pnge. My husband and my lord, my lord and hus- 
I am your wite in all obedience. fbnnd; 

Sly. I linow it well: What must I call her? 

Lord. Madam. 

Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? I ladies. 

Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call 

Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, 
And slept above some fifteen years or more. 



Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me; 
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. 

Sly. 'T is niucli. Servants, leave me and her alone. 
Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. 

Page. Thrice nol)ie lord, let me entreat of you 
To pardon me yet for a night or two; 
Or, if not so, until the sun be set: 
For your physicians have expressly charg'd. 
In peril to incur your former malady. 
That I should yet absent me from your bed: 
I liope, this reason stands for my excuse. 

Sly. Ay, It stands so, that I may hardly tarry so 
long. But I would l>e loath to fall into my dreams 
again. I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh 
and the blood. 

Enter a Servant. 



Sen: Your honour's players, hearing your amend- 
Are come to piay a pleasant comedy, [ment. 

For so your doctors lioid it very meet: 
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal*d your blood, 
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy. 
Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play. 
And frame your mind to mirth aiid merriment, 
Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. 

Sly. Marry, I will let them play: Is it not a com- 
monly, a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick? 

Page. No, my good lord: it Is more pleasing stuff. 

Sly. What, household stuff? 

Page. It is a kind of history. 

Sly. Weil, we '11 see 't: Come, madam wife, sit by 
my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be 
younger. IThey sit down. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



BAPnsTA, a rich gentleman o/ Padua. 

ViNCENTio, an old gentleman of Pisa. 

LocENTio, son to Vincentio, in love tvith 
Bianca. 

Petrocio, a gentleman of Verona, be- 
trothed to Katbarina. 



Gremio, 

hortensio, 

Tranio, 

BlONDEIXO, 

CURTIS ' \ s«™<»"'« *" Petrucio. 



[ suitors to Bianca. 
I servants to Lucentio. 



Pedant, an old fellow set up to per- 
sonate Vincentio. 

Katharina, the shrew, ) daughters to 
Bianca, her sister, J Baptista. 

Widou\ 



Tailor, Baberdaslier, and Servants at- 
tending on Baptista and Petrucio. 

SCENE. —So7(ie«»ngs in Padua; and 
sometimes in Petrucio's House tn 
the Country. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— Padua. A Publio Place. 
Enter Lucentio and Tranio. 

Luo. Tranio, since for the great desire I had 
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, 
I am arrlv'd for fruitful Lombardy, 
The pleasant garden of great Italy; 
And, by mv father's love and leave, am arm'd 
With his g'ood will, and thy good company, 
My trusty servant, well approv'd in all; 
Here let us breatlie, and haply institute 
A course of learning, and ingenious studies. 
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
Gave me my being, and my father first, 
A merchant of great trafQc through the world, 
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolll. 
Vincentio's son, brought up In Florence, 
It shall Ijecome, to serve all hopes conceiv'd. 
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds: 
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study. 
Virtue, and that part of philosophy 
Will I apply, that treats of happiness 
By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. 
Tell me thy mind, for I have Pisa left, 
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves 
A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep, 
And with satiety seelcs to quench his thirst. 

Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, 
I am in all affected as yourself; 
Glad that you thus continue your resolve, 
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
Only, good master, while we do admire 
This virtue, and this moral discipline. 
Let 's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray; 
Or so devote to Aristotle's checlcs, ... 

As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd: 
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, 
And practise rhetoric in your common talk: 
Music and poesy use to quicken you; 
The mathematics, and the metaphysics. 
Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves yOH: 
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en; — 
In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 

Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. 
If, Blondello, thou wert come ashore, 
we could at once put us in readiness; 
And take a lodging, fit to entertain 
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. 
But stay awhile: What companyis tills? 

Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. 

Enter Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, and 
Hortensio. Lucentio ana, Trania stand aside. 

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther, 
For now I firmly am resolv'd you know; 
That Is, not to bestow my youngest daughter, 
Before I have a husband for the elder; 
If 'ither of you both love Katharina, 
Because I know you well, and love you well. 
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. 

Ore. To cart her rather: She's too rough for me: 
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife? 

Kath. I pray you. sir, [to Bap.] is it your will 
To make a stale of me amongst these mates? 

Bor. Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates 
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould, ffor you, 

Ka,th. T faith, sir, you shall never need to fear: 
I wis, it is not half way to her heart: 
But, If it were, doubt not her care should be 
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool, 
And paint your face, and use you like a fool. 

Hot. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us! 

Ore. A.nd me too, good Lord! [ward; 

Tra. Hush, master ! here is some good pastime to- 
That wench is stark mad, or ivonderf ul froward. 

Luc But In the other's silence do I see 
Maid's mild behaviour and sotiriety. 
Peace, Tranio. 

Tra. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill. 

Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
What I have said, Bianca, get you in: 
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca; 
For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. 

Kath. A pretty peat; 't is best 
Put finger in the eye -an she knew why. 

Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. 
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe: 
My Iwoks and instruments shall be my company; 
On them to look, and practise by myself. 

Zruc. Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva 

„ speak. [Aside. 

Hot. Signlor Baptista, will you be so strange? 
Sorry am I that our good will effects 
Bianca's grief. Ore. Why, will you mew her, 

Signlor Baptista, for this fiend of hell, 
And make her bear the penance of her tongue' 

Bap. Gentlemen, content ye; lam resolv'd: 
Go In, Bianca. [Eayit Bianca. 



And, for I know she taketh most delight 

In music, instruments, and poetry. 

Schoolmasters will I keep within my house. 

Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio, 

Or signlor Gremio, you, know any such. 

Prefer them hither; for to cunning men 

I will be very kind, and liberal 

To mine own children in good bringing-up; 

And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay; 

Fori have more to commune witli Bianca. [Exit, 

Kath. Why, and I trust I may go too. May I not? 
WTiat, shall I be appointed hours; as though, belike, 
I knew not what to take, and what to leave! Ha! 

[Exit. 

Ore. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts 
are so good here Is none will hold you. Their lave 
Is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our 
nails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake 's 
dough on both sides. Farewell:— Yet, for the love 
I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can b.y any means light 
on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, 
I will wish him to her father. 

Hot. So veill I, signlor Gremio: But a word, I pray. 
Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd 
parle, know now, upon advice, it toueheth us both, 
—that we may yet again have access to our fair mis- 
tress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love,— to la- 
bour and effect one thing specially. 

Ore. What 's that, I pray? 

Bor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 

Ore, A husband! a devil. 

Bor. I say, a husband. 

Ore. I say, a devil: Thmk'st thou, Hortensio, 
though her rather be very rich, any man is so very 
a fool as to be married to hell? 

Hor. Tush, Gremio, though It pass your patience 
and mine to endure her loud alarums, why. man, 
there be good fellows in the world, an a man could 
light on them, would take her with all faults, and 
money enough. 

Ore. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry 
with this condition,— to be whipped at the highcross 
every morning. 

Bor. 'Faith, as you say, there 's small choice in 
rotten apples. But, come; since this bar in law 
makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly 
maintained, till by helping Baptista's eldest daugh- 
ter to a husband, we set his youngest free for a hus- 
band, and then have to 't afresh.— Sweet Bianca!— 
Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets 
the ring. How say you, signlor Gremio? 

Ore. I am agreed: and 'would I had given him the 
best horse in Padua to benin his wooing, that would 
thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid 
the house of her. Come on. 

[Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. 

Tra. [Advancing.'] I pray, sir, tell me,— Is it possi- 
ble 
That love should of a sudden take such hold? 

Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, 
I never thought it possible, or likely; 
But see! while idly I stood looking on, 
I found the effect of love in idleness: 
And now in plainness do confess to thee,— 
That art to me as secret, and as dear. 
As Anna to the queen of Carthage was,— 
Tranio, I burn, I plnQ, I perish, Tranio, 
If I achieve not this young modest girl: 
Counsel me, Tranio, for 1 know thou canst; 
Assist me, Tranio, fori know thou wilt, 

Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now; 
Affection is not rated from the heart: 
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — 
Redime te captum quani queas minima. 

Luc. Gramercies, lad; go forward, this contents; 
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel 's sound. 

Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid. 
Perhaps you mark'd not what 's the pith of alL 

Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, 
Such as the daughter of Agenor had. 
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand. 
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 

Tra. Saw you no more? mark'd you not, how her 
Began to scold; and raise up such a storm, (sister 
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? 

Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move. 
And with her breath she did perfume the air; 
Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. 

Tra. Nay, then, 't is time to stir him from his 
I pray, awake, sir: If you love the maid, [trance. 
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it 
Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd, [stands: 

That, till the father rids his hands of her. 
Master, your love must live a maid at home; 
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up. 
Because she will not be annoy 'd with suitors. 

Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father 's he! 
But art thou not advis'd, he took some care 
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? 



Tra. Ay, many, am I, sir; and now 't is plotted. 

Luc. I have it, Tranio. 

Tra. Master, for my hand. 

Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 

Luc. Tell me thine first. 

Tra. You will be schoolmaster. 

And undertake the teaching of the maid: 
That 's your device. 

Luc. It is: May it be done? 

Tra. Not possible. For who shall bear your part. 
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son' 
Keep house, and ply his book; welcome his friends. 
Visit his countrymen, and banquet them? 

Luc. Basta; content thee; for I have it full. 
We have not yet been seen in any house; 
Nor can we be distinguished by our faces. 
For man or master: then it follows thus;— 
Thou Shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead. 
Keep house, and port, and servants, as I should: 
I will some other be; some Florentine, 
Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 
'T IS hatch'd, and shall be so:— Tranio, at once 
Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak: 
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee; 
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. 

Tra. So had you need. [They exchange habrits. 

In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, 
And I am tired to be obedient; 
(For so your father charg'd me at our parting; 

Be serviceable to my son,' quoth he. 
Although, I think, 't was in another sense,) 
I am content to be Lucentio, 
Because so well I love Lulentio. 

Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: 
And let me be a slave, t' achieve that maid 
Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. 

Enter Blondello. 
Here comes the rogue.— Sirrah, where have j'ou 
been? [are you? 

Bion. Where have I been ? Nay, how now, where 
Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes? 
Or you stol'n his' or both? pray, what 's the news? 

Luc. Sirrah, come hither; 't is no time to jest. 
And therefore frame your manners to the time. 
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life. 
Puts my apparel and my countenance on. 
And I for my escape have put on his; 
For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried. 
Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes. 
While I make way from hence to save my life; 
You understand me? Bion. I, sir? near a whit. 

Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth; 
Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. 

Bion. The better for him. 'Would I were so too! 

Tra. So would I, faith, boy, to have the next wish 
after,— [daughter. 

That Lucentio Indeed had Baptista's youngest 
But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, I 
advise [panics: 

You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com- 
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio; 
But in all places else, your master Lucentio. 

Luc. Tranio, let 's go:— 
One thing more rests, that thyself execute; [why,— 
To make one among these wooers: If thou ask me 
Sufliceth, my reasons are both good and weighty. 

[Exeunt. 
[The Presenters above speak.J 

I Scrv. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the 
play. 

Sly. Yes, by saint Anne, do I. A good matter 
surely. Comes there any more of it? 

Page. My lord, 't is but begun. 

Sly. T is a very excellent piece of work, madam 
lady. 'Would 't were done! [They sit and mark. 

Scene 11,— The saine. Before Hortensio's Bouse. 
Enter Petrucio and Grumlo. 

Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave. 
To see my friends in Padua; but. of all. 
My best beloved and approved friend, 
Hortensio; and, I trow, this is his house: 
Here, sirrali Grumio; knock, I say. 

Oru. Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is there 
any man has rebused your worship? 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. 

Oru. Knock you here, sir? why, sir, what am I, sir, 
that I should knock you here, sir? 

Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate. 
And rap me well, or I '11 knock your knave's pate. 

Oru. My master is grown quarrelsome: I should 
knock you first. 
And then I know after who comes by the worst. 

Pet. Will it not be? 
Faith, sirrah, an you '11 not knock, I '11 wring it; 
I '11 try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 

[Be wrings Grumio by the ears. 



80 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act II. 



Gru. Help, masters, helpl my master is mad. 
Fet. Now, knock when I bill jou:slirah! villain! 

Jinter Hortcnsio. 
Hor. How now? what 's the matter?— My old friend 
Grumiol and my good friend Petrucio!— How do you 
all at Verona? 

Pet. Slgnior Hortenslo, come you to part the fray? 
Con tiitto il core Oene trovato, may I say. 

Hor. AUa no.ttra casa bene venutOt 
Molto honoriito signor inio Petnicio. 
Rise, Grumlo, rise; we will compound this quarrel. 

Orii. Nay, 'tis no matter, what lie 'leges in Latin. 
—If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his 
service,— Loolc you, sir,— he bid me knock him, and 
rap him soundly, sir: Well, was It fit for a servant to 
use his master so; being, perhaps, (for aught I see,) 
two and thirty,- a pip out? 

Whom, 'would to God, I had well knocked at first, 
Then had not Grumlo come by the worst. 

Pet. A senseless villain!- Good Hortenslo, 
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, 
And could not get him for my heart to do it. 

Oru. Knock at the gate?— O heavens! 
Spake you not these words plain,— ' Sirrah, knock 

me here, 
Rap me here,knocK me well, and knock me soundly?' 
And come you now witli— knocking at the gate? 
Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. 
/ Hor. Petrucio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge: 
Why, this a heavy chance 'twixt him and yon; 
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant, Grumlo. 
And tell me now, sweet friend,— what happy gale 
Blows vou to Padua here, from old Verona? 

Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through the 
To seek their fortunes farther than at home, (world, 
Where small experience grows. But, in a few, 
Slgnior Hortensio, thus It stands with me:— 
Antonio, my father, is deceas'd; 
And I have thrust myself into this maze, 
Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may: 
Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home. 
And so am come abroad to see the world. 

Hor. Petrucio, shall I then come roundly to thee, 
And wish thee to a shrewd lll-favour'd wife? 
Thou 'dst thank me but a little for my counsel: 
And yet I '11 promise thee she shall be rich. 
And very rich:— but thou 'rt too much my friend. 
And I 'li not wish thee to her. 

Pet. Slgnior Hortenslo, 'twlxt such friends as we 
Few words suffice: and, therefore, if thou know 
One rich enough to be Petruclo's wife, 
<As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,) 
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, 
As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd 
As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse. 
She moves me not, or not removes, at least, 
Affection's edge in me. Were she as rough 
As are the swelling Adriatic seas; 
1 come to wive it wealthily in Padua; 
If wealthily, 'hen happily in Padua. 

Chru. Nay, lookyou, sir, he tells you flatly what his 
mind Is: Why, give him gold enough and marry him 
to a puppet, or an aglet-baby; or an old trot with 
ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as many 
diseases as two and fifty horses: why, nothing comes 
amiss, so money comes withal. 

Hor. Petrucio, since we are stept thus far in, 
I will continue that I broach'd in jest. 
I can, Petrucio, help thee to a wife 
With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous; 
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman: 
Her only fault (and that is faults enough,) 
Is,— that she is intolerable cur.st. 
And shrewd, and froward: so beyond all measure, 
That, were my state far worser than it is, 
I would not wed her for a mine of gold. [effect: 

Pet. Hortenslo, peace; thou know'st not gold's 
Tell me her father's name, and 't Is enough; 
For I win board her, though she chide as loud 
As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. 

Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
An affable and courteous gentleman; 
Her name Is Katharina Minola, 
Eenown'd In Padua for her scolding tongue. 

Fet. I know her father, though I know not her; 
And he knew my deceased father well: 
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; 
And therefore let me be thus bold with you. 
To give you over at this first encounter. 
Unless you will accompany me thither. 

Oru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour 
lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, 
she would think scolding would do little good upon 
him: She may, perhaps, call him half a score knaves, 
or so: why, that '8 nothing; an he begin once, he '11 
rail in his rope tricks. I '11 tell you what, sir,— an she 
stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her 
face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall have 
no more eyes to see withal than a cat: you know hlra 
not, sir. 

Hor. Tarry, Petrucio, I must go with thee; 
For in Bapttsta's keep my treasure is: 
He hath the jewel of my life in hold. 
His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca; 
And her witholds from me, and other more 
Suitors to her, and rivals in my love: 
Supposing it a thing Impos.sible, 
<For those defects I have before rehears'd,) 
That ever Katharina will be woo'd. 
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en, 
That none shall have access unto Bianca, 
Tin Katharine the curst have got a husband. 

Oru. Katharine the curst ! 
A title for a maid of all titles the worst. 

Hor. Now shall my friend Petrucio do me grace; 
And offer me, disguis'd In sober robes, 
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca: 
That BO I may by this device, at least. 
Have leave and leisure to make love to her. 
And, unsuspected, court her by herself. 

Enter Gremio; tiHth him Lucentlo disguised, 
with books under his arm. 

Oru. Here 's no knaverj' I See; to beguile the old 
folks, how the young folks lay their heads together I 
Master, master, look about you: Who goes there? 
lia! 
Hot. Peace, Grumlo; 't is the rival of my love:— 

Petrucio, stand by a while. 
Oru. A properstripllng, and an amorous ! 

[They retire. 
Ore. O, very well: I have perus'd the note. 



Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound: 
All books of love, see that at any hand; 
And see you read no other lectures to her: 
You understand me:— Over and beside 
Slgnior Baptista 's liberality, 

I'll mend it with a largess:— Take your papers too. 
And let me have them very well perfum'a; 
For she is sweeter than perfume itself. 
To whom they go. What will you read to her? 
Luc. What'er I read to her, I'll plead tor you. 
As for my patron, (stand you soassur'd,) 
As firmly as yourself were still in place: 
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words 
Than you, unless you weie a scholar, sir. 
Ore. O this learning ! what a thing it is ! 
Gru. O this woodcock ! what an ass it is ! 
Pft. Peace, sirrah. 

Hor. Grumlo, mum !— God save you, signior Gre- 
mio! 
Gre. And you 're well met, signior Hortenslo. Trow 
you, 
Whither I am going?— To Biptista Jllnola. 
I promis'd to inquire carefully 
About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca: 
And, by good fortune, I have lighted well 
On this young man; for learning and behaviour. 
Fit for her turn; well read in poetry 
And other books,— good ones, I warrant ye. 

Hor. "T is well: and I have met a gentleman. 
Hath promis'd me to help me to another, 
A fine musician to instruct our mistress: 
So shall I no whit be behind In duty 
To fair Bianca, so beloved of me, 
Gre. Beloved of me,— and that my deeds shall 

prove: 
Gru. .4.nd that his bags shall prove. [Aside. 

Hor. Gremio, 't is now no time to vent our love; 
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, 
I '11 tell you news indifferent good for either. 
Here Is a gentleman, whom by chance I met. 
Upon agreement from us to his liking. 
Will undertake to woo curst Katharine; 
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. 

Gre. .So said, so done, is well:— 
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? 

Pet. I know she is an irksome brawling scold; 
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. 
Ore. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman? 
Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son: 
My' father dead, my fortune lives for me; 
And I do hope good days, and long, to see. 
Cfre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, were 
strange: 
But if you have a stomach, to 't o' God's name; 
You shall have me assisting in all. ' 
But, will you woo this wild cat? 
Pet. Will I live? 

Oru. Will he woo her? ay , or i '11 hang her. [Aside. 
Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent? 
Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears? 
Have I not in my time heard lions roar? 
Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds, 
Eage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat? 
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field. 
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? 
Have I not In a pitched battle heard 
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? 
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue; 
That gives not half so great a blow to hear, 
As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire? 
Tush! tush! fear boys Avith bugs. 
Gru. For he fears none. [Aside. 

Ore. Hortensio, hark! 
This gentleman is happily arrlv'd, 
My mind presumes, for his own good, and yours. 

Hor. I promis'd, we would be contributors. 
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 
Ore. And so we will, provided that he win her. 
Oru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. 

[Aside. 

Enter Tranio, bravely apparelled; and 
Biondello. 

Tra. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold. 
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
To the house of signior Baptista Minola? 

Bion. He that has the two fair daughters:- is 't he 
you mean? 

Tra. Even he, Biondello. 

Gre. Hark you, sir; you mean not her to 

Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir. What have you to 
do? 

Fet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. 

Tra. I love no chiders, sir.— Biondello, let 's away. 

Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside. 

Hor. Sir, a word ere you go;— 
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no? 

Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any offence? 

Gre. No; if, without more words, you will get you 
hence. 

Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free 
For me. as tor you? 

Ore. But so is not she. 

Tra. For what reason, I beseech you? 

Gre. For this reason, if you '11 know. 
That she 's the choice love of slgnior Gremio. 

ITor. That she 's the chosen of signior Hortensio. 

Tra. Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen, 
Do me this right,— hear me with patience. 
Baptista is a noble gentleman. 
To whom my father is not all unknown; 
And, were his daughter fairer than she is. 
She may more suitors have, and me for one. 
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; 
Then well one more may fair Bianca have: 
And so she shall; Lucentlo shall make one. 
Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. 

Gre. What! this gentleman will out-talk us all. 

Luc. Sir, give him head; I know, he'll prove a jade. 

Pet. Hortenslo, to what end are all these words? 

Hor. Sir. let me be so bold as ask you. 
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? 

Tra. No. sir; but hear I do, that he hath two; 
The one as famous for a scolding tongue. 
As is the other for beauteous modesty. 

Pet. Sir, sir, the first 's for me; let her go by. 

Ore. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; 
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 

Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth;— 
The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for. 
Her father keeps from all access of suitors. 
And will not promise herto any man. 
Until the elder sister first be wed: 
The younger then Is free, and not before. 



Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man 
Must stead us all, and me among the rest; 
An if you break the ice, and do this feat,— 
Achieve the elder, set the younger free 
For our access,— whose hap shall be to have her. 
Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. 

Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive; 
And since you do profess to be a suitor. 
You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
To whom we all rest generally beholden. 

Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack: In sign whereof. 
Please ye we may contrive this afternoon. 
And quaff carouses to our mistress' health; 
And do as adversaries do in law,— 
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends, [gone. 

Gru. Bion. excellent motion! Fellows, let's be- 

Hor. The motion 's good indeed, and be It so;— 
Petrucio, I shall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

-ScENK I.— The same. A Room in Baptista's 
^^ House. 

Enter Katharina and Bianca. 
Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yonr- 
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me; [self. 

That I disdain: But for these other gawds. 
Unbind my hands, I '11 put thenj off myself, 
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; 
Or, what you will command me, will I do, 
So well I know my duty to my elders. 

Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell 
Whom thou lov'st best: see thou dissemble not, 
Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive, 
I never yet beheld that special face 
Which I could fancy more than any other. 
Kath. Minion, thou liest: Is 't not Hortensio? 
Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear, 
I '11 plead for you myself but you shall have him. 

Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches more; 
You will have Gremio to keep you fair. 

Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so? 
Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive, 
You have but jested with me all this while: 
I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 
Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. 

[Strikes her. 
Enter Baptista. 
Bav. Why, how now, dame! whence grows this In- 
solence? 
Bianca, standaside;— poor girl! she weeps:— 
Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. 
For shame, thou hilding, of a devilish spirit. 
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wTongthee? 
When uid she cross thee with a bitter word? 
Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I 'II be reveng'd. 
[Flies after Bianca. 
Bap. What, in my sight?- Bianca, get thee in. 

[Exit Bianca. 
Kath. What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I 
She is your treasure, she must have a husband; [see 
I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day. 
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. 
Talk not to me. I will go sit and weep, 
Till I can find occasion of revenge. [Exit Kath. 

Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as T? 
But who comes here? 

Enter Gremio, with Lucentlo in the habit of a mean 
man; Petrucio, with Hortensio as a musician; and 
Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and books. 
Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. 
Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio: God save 
you, gentlemen ! 

Pet. And you, good sir ! Pray, have you not a 
Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous? [daughter 

Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. 
Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. 
Fet. You wrong me, signior Gremio; give me leave. 
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir. 
That, hearing of her beauty, and her wit. 
Her affability, and bashful modesty. 
Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviour, 
Am bold to show myself a forward guest 
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness 
Of that report which I so oft have heard. 
And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
I do present you with a man of mine, 

[Presenting Hortensio. 
Cunning in music, and the mathematics. 
To instruct her fully in those sciences. 
Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant: 
Accept of him or else you do me wrong; 
His name is Licio, born In Mantua. [sake: 

Bap. You 're welcome, sir; and he for your good 
But for my daughter Katharine, this I know, , 

She Is not for your turn, the more my grief. 

Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her; 
Or else you like not of my company. 

Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. 
Whence are you, sir? what may I call yourname? 

Pet. Petrucio is my name; Antonio's son, 
A man well known throughout all Italy. 
Sap. I know him well: you are welcome for his 
Gre. Saving your tale, Petrucio. I pray, [sake. 

Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too: 
Baccare ! you are marvellous fonvard. 
Pet. O, pardon me, slgnior Gremio; I would fain 
be doing. [wooing. 

Ore. I doubt It not, sir; but you will curse yoin- 
Neighbour, this Is a gift very grateful, I am sure of 
it. To express the like kindness myself, that have 
been more klndlv beholden to you than any, I freely 
give unto you this voung scholar, [presenting Lu- 
centlo] that hath been long studying at Rhelms; as 
cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as 
the other in music and mathematics: his name is 
Camblo; pray accept his service. 

Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio: wel- 
come, good Camblo.— But, gentle sir, [to Tranio] 
methinks, you walk like a stranger. May I be so 
bold to know the cause of your coming? 

Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own; 
That, being a stranger In this city here. 
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
tinto Bianca, f,air, and virtuous. 
Nor is your firm resolve unkno>vn to me. 
In the preferment of the eldest sister: 
This liberty is all that I request,— 
That upon knowledge of my parentage, 
I may have welcome 'niongst the rest that woo. 
And free access and favour as the rest. 
And, toward the education of your daughters, 
I here bestow a simple Instrument, 



Scene i.] 



TAMING OF THE SHURW. 



Mill this small packet of Greek and Latin books: 
if you accept them, then their worth is great. 

Bap. Lucentio Is your name? of whence, I pray? 

n-o. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vlncentlo. 

Bap. A mighty man of Pisa: by report 
I know him well: vou are very welcome, sir. 
Take you [to Hor. U'- ' ' :te, and you [to tue.] the set 

of books, 
You shall go see your ruplls presently. 
Holla, within ! 

Enter a Servant. 

Sirrah, lead , u. . . ,A^^^^' 

These - ^ntlemen to my daughters; nnA tell them 
These are t'selr tutors; bid them use them well. 

IExitSeTvaat,.~ith Hortrnsio, Lucentio, and 
Biundello. 
We will go walk a little in the orchard. 
And then to dinner: You are passmg welcome. 
And so I pray vou all to think yourselves. 

Pet. Signior Baptlsta, my business asketh haste. 
And every day I cannot come to woo. 
You knew my father well: and In nlm, me, 



n, with .1 most Impatient devilish spirit, 

ts, Oiill you these?' quoth she: ' I '11 fume with 



When, 
Fret.' . 

them:' 

And, wi'J' that word, she struck me on the head. 
And tliroi'.gh the instrument my pate made way; 
And the. 1 stoo' amazed tor a while. 
As on a p ory, lookin through the lute; 
While she 'Id call '■?,— rascal r Idler, 
And I ..n-ling J.-ck; \7it'' twenty such vile terms, 
As ''"■ haL. stU'' '-'^ t3 mib.'.se mo co. 

Pel. 'low, by tl;o world, it is a lusty wench; 
I love her tan times more Chan e'er I did: 
O, how 1 long ' > have si/me chat with her ! 

Ba'i. Wc'l, f . with me, and '-:; not so discomfited: 
Proceed i practice with my younger daughter; 
She '.. "pt to learn, anC thankful for good turns-l 
Signior Pc^ruclo, will you go with us: 
Or shall I Eisni" Jiy daughter Kate <n you? 

Pet. I pia.,' " ou do; I wi ' atten her here,— 

[Exetmt Laptista, remio, Tranio, and Hor. 
And woo her with some spirit when she comes. 
Say, that she rail; whj', then I '11 tell her plain 



And yet as lieavj- as my weight should he. 

Pet. Should be? should? buz ! 

Kath. Well ta'en. and like a buzzTrd. 

Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take 
thee? 

Kath. Ay, for a turtle; as he takes a buzzard. 

Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too 
angry. 

Kath. If I be waspisli, best beware my sting. 

Pet. Mv remedy is then, to pluck it out. 

Kath. Ay, If the fool could And it where It lies. 

Pet, who knows not where a wasp does wear his 
sting? 
In his tail. 

Kath. In his tongue. 

Pet. Whose tongue? 

Kath. fours, if you talk of tails; and so farewell 

Pet. Whai, with my tongue in your taU? nay, come 
again, • 

Good Kate; I am a gentleman. 

Kath. That I '11 try. [Strikin/i hinu 

Pet. I swear I 'IlcUit yoii.il you strike again. 




ACT JV. — SCENE I. 

Left solely heir to all his lands and goods. 
Which I have better'd rather than decreased: 
Then tel! me,— If I get your daughter's love. 
What dowi:" shall I have with her to wife? 

Bap. Ar'?- my death, the one half of my lands : 
-ind, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. 

Pet. And, for that dowry, I '11 assure her of 
Her widowhood,— be it that she survive me, — 
Tn all ny lands .":■'■' leases whatsoever: 
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us. 
That covenants -lay be kept on either hand. 

Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtaln'd. 
That is.— her love; for that is all in all. 

Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, 
1 am as peremptory as she proud-minded; 
And where two raging (Ires meet together. 
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: 
Though 'ittle fire grows great with little wind, 
V * extreme gusts will blow out Are and all: 
S^ 'o her, and so she yields to me; 
For » am rough, and woo not like a babe. 

Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happv be thy 
speed ' 
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 

Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, 
That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 
Reenter Hortensio, with his head broken. 

Bap. How now, my friend? why dost thou look so 
pale? 

jEfor. For fear, I promise you, it I look pale. 

Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mu- 

^ .siclan? 

nor. I think, she '11 sooner prove a soldier; 
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 

Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the 
lute? 

Bor. Why, no: for she hath broke the lute to me. 
1 did bu'i. tell her she mistook her frets. 
And bow'd her hand to teach her Angering; 



Pet. There, take it to j-ou, trencliers, cups, and all. 

She sings as sweetly as a nightingale: 

Say, that she frown; I '11 say, she looks as clear 

As morning roses newly wash'd with dew: 

Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word; 

Then I '11 commend her volubility. 

And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: 

If she do bid me pack, I 'II give lier thanks 

As though she bid me stay by her a week; 

If she deny to wed, I '11 crave the day 

When I shall ask the banns, and when be married:— 

But here she comes; and now, Petrucio, speak. 

Enter Kathariua. 
Good-morrow, Kate; for that 's your name, I hear. 

Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard of 
hearing; 
They call me— Katharine, that do talk of me. 

Pet. You lie, in faith: for you are call'd plain Kate, 
.\nd bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; 
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate. 
For dainties are all cates; and therefore, Kate, 
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;— 
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in everj' town. 
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,) 
Jlyself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. 

Kath. Mov'd ! in good time; let him that mov'd 
you hither 
Remove you hence: I knew you at the Arst, 
You were a moveable. 

Pet. Why, what 's a moveable? 

Kath. A joint-stool. 

Pet. Thou hast hit it: come, sit ou me. 

Kath. Asses are made to bear, aud so are you. 

Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. 

Kath. No such .I'ade as you, if me you mean. 

Pet. Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee: 
For, knowing thee to be but young and light — 

Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catcli; 



Kath. Somay you lose your arms: 
If you strike me you are no gentleman; 
And if no gentleman, why, then no arms. 
Pet. ,\ herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books. 
Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomb? 
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hon. 
Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven. 
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must nor look 

so sour. 
Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. 
Pet. Why, here 's no crab; and therefore look not 

sour. 
Kath. There is, there is. 
Pet. Then show it me. 

Kath. Had I a glass, I wo\ild. 

Pet. What, you mean my f aee? 
Kath. Well aini'd of .such a young one. 

Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for 
you. 
' Kath. Yet you are withered. 
Pet. "V is with cares. 

Kath. leave not. 
Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape not 

so. 
Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go. 
Pef. No, not a whit. I find you passing gentle. 
( 'T was told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen, 
I And now I And a report a very liar: 
I For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing court- 
! eous, 

I But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers: 
I Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance. 
i Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will; 
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk; 
But thou with mildness entertain'st (hy wooers. 
With gentle conference, soft and affable. 
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? 
O slanderous world ! Kate. like the hazel-twig. 
Is straight, and slender; and as brown in hue 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



lAoT m. 



As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. 
O, let me see thee walk: thou rtost not halt. 

Kath. Go, fooK and whom thou keep'st command. 

Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove. 
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? 
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate; 
Arifl then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful. 

Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech? 

Fet. It Is extempore, from my mother-wit. 

Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son. 

Pet. Am I not wise? 

Kath. Yes; keep you warm. 

Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, In thy bed: 
And therefore, setting all this chat aside. 
Thus in plain terms:— Your father hath consented 
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on; 
And, will you, nlU you, I will marry you. 
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; 
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, 
(Thy lieauty that doth make me like thee well,) 
Thou must be married to no man but me; 
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate; 
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate 
Conformable, as other household Kates. 
Here comes your father; never make denial, 
I must and will have Katharine to my wife. 

Re-enter Baptlsta, Greraio, and Tranio. 

Sap. Now, signlor Petrucio: How speed yovi with 
my daughter? 

Pet. How but well, sir? how but well? 
It were impossible I should speed amiss. 

Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in your 
dumps? 

Kath. Call you me daughter? now I promise you. 
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, 
To wish me wed to one half lunatic; 
A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, 
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 

Pet. Father, 't is thus,— yourself and all the world, 
That talk'd of her. have t'alk'd amiss of her; 
If she be curst, it is for policy: 
For she 's not froward, but modest as the dove; 
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; 
For patience she will prove a second Grissel; 
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity: 
And to conclude,— we have 'greed so well together, 
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 

Kath. I 'il see thee hang'd on Sundaj' first. 

Ore. Hark, Petrucio ! she says she '11 see thee 
hang'd first. 

Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good niglit 
our part ! 

Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for my- 
self; 
If she and I be pleas'd, what 's that to you? 
'T is bargaln'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, 
That she shall still be curst in company. 
I tell .vou, 't is Incredible to believe 
How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate ! 
She hung about my neck: and kiss on kiss 
Slie vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, 
Thar in a twink she won me to her love. 
O, j'ou are novices I 't is a world to see. 
How tame, when men and women are alone, 
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. 
Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice, 
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day: 
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; 
I will be sure my Katharine shall be fine. 

Bap. I know not what to say: but give me your 
hands; 
God send you joy, Petrucio ! 't is a match. 

<?re. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. 

Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; 
1 will to Venice; Sunday comes apace: 
We will have rings, and things, and fine array; 
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday. 

{Exeunt Petrucio and Katharina sevemlly. 

Ore. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? 

Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a morcliant's 
part. 
And venture madly on a desperate mart. 

Tra. 'T was a commodity lay fretting by you; 
'T will bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 

Bap. The gain I seek is— quiet in the matcli. 

Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch. 
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter; 
Now is the day we long have looked for; 
I am your neiglibour, and was suitor first. 

Tra. And I am one that love Bianca more 
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. 

Ore. Youngling I thou canst not love so dear as I. 

Tra. Grey-beard ! thy love doth freeze. 

Ore. But thine doth fry. 

Skipper, stand back, 't is age that nourishcth. 

Tra. But youth. In ladies' eyes that flourislvth. 

Bap. Content you, gentlemen; I will coi.iiiouiul 
this strife: 
'T Is deeds must win the prize; and he, of both, 
That can assure my daughter greatest dower, 
Shall have my Bianca's love. 
Say, signlor Gremio, what can you assure her? 

Gre. First as you know, my Iiouse within the city 
Is richly furnished with plate and gold; 
Basyns, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands; 
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry: 
In ivory coffers I have stufE'd my crowns; 
In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints. 
Costly apparel, tents and canopies. 
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, 
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work. 
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong 
To house, or housekeeping: then, at my farm, 
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, 
Slxscore fat oxen standing in my stalls, 
And all things answerable to this portion. 
Myself am struck in years, I must confess; 
And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers. 
If, whilst I live, she will be only mine. 

Tra. That, only, came well in. Sir, list to me; 
I am my father's heir, and only son; 
If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
I'll leave her houses three or four as good, 
Within rich Pisa walls as any one 
Old signlor Gremio has in Padua; 
Besides two thousand ducats by the year, 
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. 
What ! have I plnch'd you, slgnior Gremio? 

Ore. Two thousjind ducats by the year of laud ! 
My land amounts not to so imich in all: 
Tiiat she shall iiave; besides an wrgosy 
That now is lying in Marseilles' road. 
What I have I choked yon with an argosy? 



Tra. Gremio, 't Is known my father hath no less 
Than three great argosies; besides two galUasses, 
And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her. 
And twice as mucii, whate'er thou offer'st next. 

Ore. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more; 
And she can have no more than all I have. 
If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 

Tra, Why, then the maid Is mine from all the 
world. 
By your firm promise. Gremio Is outvied. 

Bap. I must confess your offer is the best; 
And, let your father make her the assurance, 
She is your own; else, you must pardon me: 
If you should die before him, where 's her dower? 

Tra. That 's but a cavil; he Is old, I young. 

Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old? 

Bajy. Well, gentlemen, 
I am thus resolv'd:— On Sunday next you know 
My daughter Katherine is to be married: 
Nov\', on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
Be bride to you, if you make this aasurance; 
If not, to slgnior Gremio: 
And so I take my leave, and thank you both. [Exit. 

Ore. Adieu, good neighbour.— Now I fear thee not ; 
Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool 
i'o give thee all, and, in his waning age, 
Set foot under thy table: Tut ! a toy! 
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit. 

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wlther'cl hide ! 
Yet I have faced it with a card often. 
'T is in my head to do my master good: — 
I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio 
Must get a father call'd— suppos'd Vincentio, 
And that 's a wonder: fathers, commonly. 
Do get their children; but, in this case of wooing, 
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. 

[Exit. 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— A Room in Baptista's Iiouse. 

Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. 

Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: 
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
Her sister Katharine weleom'd you withal? 

IIoi: But, wrangling pedant, this is 
The patroness of heavenlj' harmony: 
Then give me leave to have prerogative; 
And when in music we have spent ah hour. 
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 

L)ic. Preposterous ass ! that never read so far 
To know the cause why music was ordain'dl 
Was it not, to refresh the mind of man, 
After his studies, or his usual pain? 
Then give me leave to read philosophy. 
And, while I pause, serve in your harmony. 

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. 

Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double \vrong. 
To strive for that which resteth in my choice: 
I am no breeching scholar in the schools; 
I '11 not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times, 
But learn my lessons as I please myself. 
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down: 
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; 
His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd. 

Hor. You '11 leave his lecture when I am in tune? 
[To Bianca. — Hortensio retires. 

Luc. That will be never;— tune your Instrument. 

Bian. Where left we last? 

Luc. Here, madam:— 
Ilac iliat Simois; hie est Sigeia tellus; 

Hie steierat Pria-nii regia cclsa senis. 

Bian. Conster them. 

Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before,— Simois, I am 
Lucentio,- Tiic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa,— Sigeia 
tellus, disguised thus to get your \ove;—Hic steterat, 
and that Lucentio that comes a-woolng,— Priaini, is 
my man Tranio,— rcffia, bearing my port,— ceisa 
senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon. 

Hor. Madam, my instrument 's in tune, 

[Returning. 

Bian. Let 's hear;— [Hortensio i)7«i/s. 

fye! the treble jars. 
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 
Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Hac 

ibat Simois, I know you not; hie est Sigeia tellus, 

1 trust you not;— Hie steterat Priami, take heed he 
hear us not;— regia, presume not;— cclsa senis, de- 
spair not. 

Hor. Madam, 't is now in tune. 

Luc. All but the base. 

Hor. The base is right; 't is the base knave that 
jars. 
How fiery and forward our pedant is! 
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: 
Pedascule, I '11 watch you better yet. 

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 

Luc. Mistrust it not; for sure iEacides 
Was Ajax,— called so from his grandfather. 

Bian. 1 must believe my master; else, I promise 

you, 

I should be arguing still upon that doubt: 
But let it rest.— Now, Licio, to you:— 
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray. 
That I have been thus pleasant with you both. 
Hor. You may go walk, [to Lucentio! and give me 
leave awhile; 
My lessons make no music in three parts. 

Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wail. 
And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd, 
Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside. 

Hor. Madam, before you touch the Instrument, 
To learn the order of my fingering, 
I must begin with rudiihents of art; 
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort. 
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual. 
Than hath been taught by any of my trade: 
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 
Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. 
Hor. You read the gamut of Hortensio. 
Bian. [Reads.] Gamut I am, the ground of all ac- 
cord, 
A re, to plead Hortensio's passion; 
B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, 

C fa ut, that lores with all affection: 
D sol re, one cU^', tivo notes have I; 
I E la ml, s/totuioiiu, or J die. 
; Call you this gamut? tut! 1 like it not: 
Old fashions please me best; 1 am not so nice, 
"To change true rules for odd inventions. 
Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your 
books. 



And help to dress your sister's chamber up; 
You know, to-morrow is the wedding day. 

Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be 
gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Serv. 

iitc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. 

[Exit. 

Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant; 
Methinks, he looks as thougn he were In love: 
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble. 
To cast thy wand'rlng eyes on every stale. 
Seize thee that list: If once I find thee ranging, 
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit. 

Scene IL.—The same. Before Baptista's House. 

Enter Baptlsta, Tranio, Katharina, Bianca, 
Lucentio, and Attendants 

Bap. Signlor Lucentio, [to Tranio] this is the 
'pointed day 
That Katharine and Petrucio should be married, 
lAn d yet we hear not of our son-in-law: 
Iwhat will be said? what mockery will it be. 
To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends 
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage? 
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? 

Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be 
forc'd 
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, 
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen; 
Who woo'd In haste, and means to wed at leisure. 
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool. 
Hiding his bitter Jests in blunt behaviour: 
And, to be noted for a merry man, 
He 'U woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, 
Make friends, invite them, and proclaim the banns; 
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
And say,—' Lo, there is mad Petruclo's wife, 
If it would please him come and marry her.' 

Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista too; 
Upon my life, Petrucio means but well, 
Whatever fortu-ne stays him from his word: 
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; 
Though he be merry, yet withal he 's honest. 

Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him. 
though! 
[Exit ivceping, followed by Bianca, and others. 

Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; 
For such an injury would vex a saint. 
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. 
Enter Blondello. 

JBion. Master, master! news, old news, and such 
news as you never heard of! 

Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be? 

JJion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruclo's 
coming? 

Bap. Is he come? 

Bion. Why, no, sir. 

Bap. ^Vhat then? 

Bion. He Is coming. 

Bap. When will he be here? 

Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you 
there. 

Tra. But, sa.v, what:— To thine old news. 

Bion. Why, Petrucio is coming in a new hat and 
an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned; 
a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one 
buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta'en 
out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, and 
ehapeless; with two broken points; His horse hipped 
with an old mothy saddle, and stirrups of no kindred: 
besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose 
in the cltine; troubled with the lampass, infected 
with the fashions, full of wind-galls, sped with 
spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the 
fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with 
the bots; swayed in the back, and shoulder-shotten; 
ne'er legg'd before; and with a half-checked bit, and 
a head-stall of sheep's leather, which being restrain- 
ed to keep him from stumbling, hath been often 
burst, and now repaired with knots; one girth six 
times pieced, and a woman's crupper of velui'e, 
which hath two letters for her name, fairly set down 
in studs, and nere and there pieced with pack- 
thread. 

Bap. Who comes with him? 

BiOTi. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world capari 
soned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg, 
and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered witli 
a red and blue list; an old hat, and The humour of 
forty fancies pricked in 't for a feather: a monster, 
a very monster in apparel; and not like a Christian 
footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. 

Tra. "T is some odd humour pricks him to tills 
fashion; 
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparel'd. 

Bap. I am glad he has come, howsoe'er he comes. 
- Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 

Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes? 

Bion. Who? that Petrucio came? 

Bap. Ay, that Petrucio came. 

iJion. No. sir; I say his horse comes with him on 
his back. 

Bap. Why, that 's all one. 

Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, 
A horse <ind a man is more than one, and yet not 
many. 

Enter Petrucio and Grumlo. 

Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who 's at 
home? 

Bap. You are welcome, sir. 

Pet. . And yet I come not well. 

Bap. And yet you halt not. 

Tra. Not so 'well apparel'd 

As I wish you were. 

Pet. Were it better I should rush In thus. 
But where Is Kate? where is my lovely bride? 
How does my father?— Gentles, methinks you frown: 
And wherefore gaze this goodly company; 
As if they saw some wondrous monument, 
Some comet, or unusual prodigy? 

Bap. Why, sir, yon know, this is your wedding-day 
First we were sad, fearing you would not come ; 
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 
Fye! doff this habit, shame to your estate. 
An eye-sore to our solemn festival. 

Tra. And tellus, what occasion of import 
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife. 
And sent you hither so unlike yourself? 

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: 
Sufflceth, I am come to keep my word, 
Though in some part enforced to digress; 
Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse 



Scene ii.] 



TAMING OF TlIK allRKW. 



$S 



As you shall well be satisfied wlthaL 

But, where Is Kate? I stay too long from her: 

The morning wears, 't is time we were at church. 

Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes; 
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. 

Pet. Not I, believe me; thus I Ml visit her. 

Bap. But thus I trust, you will not marry her. 

Pet. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done 
with words; 
Tome she Is married, not unto my clothes: 
Could I repair what she will wear in me. 
As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
'T were well for Kate, and better tor myself. 
But what a fool am I, to chat with you. 
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, 
And seal the title with a lovely kiss! 

t Exeunt Petrucio, Grumio, and Blondello. 

Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire: 
We win persuade him, be it possible. 
To put on better ere he go to church. _ 

Bap. V 11 after him, and see the event of this, [Ex. 

Tra. But, sir, to love concerneth us-to add 
Her father's liking: Which to bring to pass, 
As I before Imparted to your worship, 
I am to get a man,— whate'er he be. 
It skills not much; we'll fit him to our turn,— 
And he shall be Vincentlo of Pisa; 
And make assurance here in Padua, 
Of greater sums than I have promised. 
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope. 
And marry sweet Bianca witli consent. 

Luc. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster 
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 
'T were good, methinks, to steal our marriage; 
Which once perfo"rm'd, let all the world say— no, 
I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world. 

Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, 
And watch our vantage in this business: 
We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, 
The narrow-prying father, Minola, 
The quaint musician, amorous Licio; 
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. 

Enter Gremio. 
Slgnior Gremio ! came you from the church? 

Ore. As willingly as e'er I came from school. 

Tra, And is the bride and bridegroom coming 
home? 

Ore. A bridegroom, say you? 't Is a groom Indeed, 
A grumbling groom, and that tne gii-1 shall And. 

Tra. Curster than she? why, 't Is impossible. 

Ore. Why, he 's a devil, a devil, a very flend. 

Tra. Why, she 's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. 

Ore. Tut ! she 's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. 
I'll tell you, sir Lucentio: When the priest 
Should ask— if Katharine should be his wife, 
'Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he; and swore so loud 
That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book: 
And, as he stoop d again to take it up. 
This mad-brain d bridegroom took him such a cuff, 
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest; 
'Now take them up,' quoth he, "if any list.' 

Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again? 

Ore. Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd, 
and swore. 
As if the vicar meant to cozen him. 
But after many cermonies done. 
He calls for wine:—' A health,' quoth he, as if 
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates 
After a storm:— Quaft'd off the muscadel. 
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face; 
Having no other reason,— 
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly. 
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. 
This done, he took the bride about the nock. 
And klss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack. 
That, at the parting, all the church did echo. 
And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame; 
And after me, I know, the rout is coming: 
Such a mad marriage never was before. 
Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [XKsic. 

Enter Petrucio, Katharina, Bianca, Baptista, Hor- 
tensio, Grumio, and Train. 

Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your 
pains: 
I know, you think to dine with me to-day. 
And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer; 
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence. 
And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 
Bap. Is 't possible you will away to-night? 
Pet. I must away to-day, before night come: . 
Make it no wonder; if you knew my biisiness. 
You would entreat me rather go than stay. 
And, honest company, I thank you all. 
That have beheld me give away myself 
To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife. 
Dine with my father, drink a health to me; 
For I roust hence, and farewell to you all, 
Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 
Pet. It may not be. 

Ore. Let me entreat yoa. 

Pet. It cannot be. 

Kath. Let me entreat you. 

Pet. I am content. 

Kath. Are you content to stay? 

Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay; 
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 
Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. 
Pet. Grumio, my horse. 

Oru. Ay, sir, they te ready; the oats have eaten 
the horses. 

Kath. Nay, then. 
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; 
No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
The door is open, sir, there lies your way. 
You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; 
For me, I '11 not be gone, till I please myself: 
'T is like, you '11 prove a jolly surly groom. 
That take it on you at the first so roundly. 
Pet. O Kate, content thee; prithee be not angry. 
Kath. I will be angry. What hast thou to do? 
Father, be quiet: he shall stay my leisure. 
Ore. Ay, marry, sir: now it begins to work. 
Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: 
I see, a woman may be made a fool. 
If she had not a spirit to resist. 

Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command: 
Obey the bride, you that attend on her: 
Go to the feast, revel and domineer. 
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead. 
Be mad and merry,— or go hang yourselves; 
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. 
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; 



I will be master of what is mine own: 

She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house. 

My household-stuff, my fleUl, my barn. 

My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing; 

And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; 

I '11 bring mine action on the proudest he 

That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, 

Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves; 

Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man:— 

Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, 

I '11 buckler thee against a million. 

[Exeunt Petrucio, Katharina, and Grumio. 
Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
Ore. Went they not quickly I should die with 

laughing. 
Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like! 
Lue. Mistress, what 's your opinion of your sister? 
Bian. That, being mad herself, she 's madly mated. 
Ore. I warrant him, Petrucio Is Kated. 
Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and 
bridegroom wants 
For to supply the places at the table. 
You know there wants no junkets at the feast; 
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place; 
And let Bianca take her sister's room. 
Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? 
Bap. She shall, Lucentio.— Come, gentlemen, let 's 
go. [Exeunt, 

ACT IV. 
Scene I.— ^ Hall in Petrucio's Country Kotise. 
Enter Grumio. 

Oi-u. Fye.f ye, on all tired jades! on all mad mas- 
ters! and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? 
was ever man so rayed? was ever man so weary? I 
am sent before to make a Are, and they are coming 
after to warm. them. Now, were not I a little pot, 
and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, 
my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my 
belly, ere I should come by a Are to thaw me:— But, 
I, with bio wing the Are, shall warm myself ; for, con- 
sidering the weather, a talle r man than I will take 
cold. Holla, hoa! Curtis! 

Enter Curtis. 
Ctni. Wlio is that calls so coldly? 
Gru. A piece of ice: If thou doubt It, thou may'st 
slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater 
a run but my head and my neck. A Are, good 
Curtis. 
Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? 
Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore Are, fire; 
cast on no water. 
Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she 's reported? 
Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but, 
thou know'st, winter tames man, woman and beast; 
for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mis- 
tress, and myself, fellow Curtis. 
Curt. Away, you three inch fool! I am no beast. 
Oru. Am I but three inches? why, thy hoin is a 
foot; and so long am I, at the least. But wilt thou 
make a Are, or shall I complain on thee to our mis- 
tress,whose hand {she beingnow at hand,) thou Shalt 
soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy 
hot office? 

Curt. 1 prithee, good Grumio, tell me. How goes 
the world? 

Oru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; 
and, therefore. Are: Do thy duty, and have thy 
duty; for my master and mistress are almost frozen 
to death. 

Curt. There 's flre ready; And, therefore, good 
Grumio^he news? 

Gru. Why, Jack, boy! ho, boy! and as much news 
as thou wilt. 
Curt. Come, you are so full of conyeatching. 
Gru. \V liy, therefore, Are; for I have caught ex- 
treme cold. Where 's the cook? is supper ready, the 
house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; the 
serving-men in their new f ustian,the white stockings. 
and every officer his wedding garment on? Be the 
jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets 
laid, and every thing in order? 
Curt. AH ready. And, therefore, I pray thee, news? 
Gr2i. First, know, my horse is tired; my master 
and mistress fallen out. 
Curt. How? 

Oru. Out of their saddles into the dirt. And there- 
by hangs a tale. 
Curt. Let 's ha 't, good Grumio. 
Crru. Lend thine ear, 
Curt. Here. 

Gru. There. [Striking him. 

Curt. This 't is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 
Gru. And therefore 't is called, a sensible tale: and 
this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech 
listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came do\vn 
a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress:— 
Cicrt. Both on one horse? 
Oru. What 's that to thee? 
Cttrt. W hy, a horse. 

Gru. Tell thou the tale.— But hadst thou not cross- 
ed me, thou should 'st have heard how her horse fell, 
and she under her horse; thou should'st have heard, 
in how miry a place: how she was bemoiled; how he 
left her with the horse upon her; how he beat me 
because her horse stumbled; how she waded through 
the dirt to pluck him off me; how he swore; how she 
prayed, that never pray'd before; how I cried; how 
the horses ran away; how her bridle was burst; how 
I lost my crupper; with many things of worthy me- 
mory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou re- 
tern unexperisnced to thy grave. 

C«rt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than 
she. 

Oru. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all 
shall find, when he comes home. But what talk I of 
this?— Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, 
Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest. Let their heads be 
sleekly combed, their blue coats brushed, and their 
garters of an indifferent knit: let them curtsey 
with their left legs; and not presume to touch a hair 
of my master's horse-tail, till they kiss their hands. 
Are they all ready? 
Curt. They are. 
Oru. Call thein forth. 

Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my mas- 
ter, to countenance my mistress. 
Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 
Curt. Who knows not that? 

Chru. Thou, it seems, that callest for company to 
countenance her. 
Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 



Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. 
Enter several Servants. 

Nath. Welcome home, Grumio. 

Phil. How now, Grumio? 

Jos. What, Grumio' 

Nich. Fellow Grumio! 

Nath. How now, old lad? 

Gru. Welcome, you;— how now, you:— what, you; — 
fellow, you;— and thus much for greeting. Now, my 
spruce companions, is all ready, and all things 
neat? 

Nath. All things is ready: how near is our master?' 

Oru. E'en at hand, alighted by this: and there- 
fore be not,— Cock's passion, silence!— I hear my 
master. 

Enter Petrucio and Katharina. 

Pet. Where be these knaves? What, no man at 
door. 
To hold n,y stirrup, nor to take my horse? 
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? 

All Serv. Here, here, sir; here, sir. 

Pet. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! 
You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! 
What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? 
Where is the foolish knave I sent before? 

Gnt. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. 

Pet. You peasant swain! you whoreson malt horse 
drudge ! 
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park. 
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? 

Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made. 
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel; 
There was no link to color Peter's hat. 
And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing: 
There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Greg- 
ory: 
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; 
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. 

Pet, Go, rascals, go,*and fetch my supper in.— 

[Exeunt some of the Servants. 
Where is the life that late I led— [Sings. 

Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome. 

Soud, soud, soud, soud! 

Be-enter Servants, with Supper, 

Why, when, I say?— Nay, good sweet Kate, be 

merry. 
Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains; When? 
It was the friar of orders grey [Sings. 

As he forth tcalked on his way: — 
Out, out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry; 
Take that, and mend the plucking of the other. — 

[Strikes him. 
Be merry, Kate:— Some water here; what, ho! 
W^here 's my spaniel Trollus?— Sirrah, get you hence. 
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: 

[Exit Servant, 
One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted 

AVith. 

Where are my slippers? — Shall I have some water? 

[A bason is presented to him. 
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily:— 

rServant lets the ewer fall. 
You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? 

[Strikes him. 

Kath. Patience, I pray you; 't was a fault unwill- 
ing. 

Pet. A whoreson, beetle-headed, fiap ear'd knave! 
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. 
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?— 
What is this? mutton? 

1 Scrv. Ay. 

Pet. Who brought it? 

1 Scrv. I. 

Pet. "I is burnt; and so is all the meat: 
What dogs are these?— Where is the rascal cook? 
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser. 
And serve it thus to me that love it not? 
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all: 

[Throws the meat &c., about the stage. 
You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves! 
What, do you grumble? I '11 be with you straight. 

Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; 
The meat was well, if you were so contented. 

Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 't was burnt and dried away; 
And I expressly am forbid to touch it. 
For it engenders choler, planteth anger; 
And better 't were that both of us did fast. 
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric. 
Than feed It with such over-roasted Aesh. 
Be patient; to-morrow it shall be mended. 
And, for this niglit, we '11 fast for company: 
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 

[Exeunt Petrucio, Katharina, and Curtis. 

iVatA, [Adva-iu:ing.] Peter, didst ever see the like? 

Peter. He kills her in her own humour. 

Re-enter Curtis. 

Gi-u. Where is he? 

Curt. In her chamber. 
Making a sermon of contlnency to her: 
And rails, and swears, and rates; that she, poor soul. 
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak; 
And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
Away, away! for he Is coming hither. [Ex:unt. 

Be-enter Petrucio. 
Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign. 
And 't is my hope to end successfully: 
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty: 
And, till she stoop, she must not be fuil-gorg'd. 
For then she never looks upon her lure. 
.\nother way I have to man my haggard. 
To make her come, and know her keeper's call, 
Tliat Is, to watch her, as we watch these kites. 
That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. 
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; 
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not; 
As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
I '11 find about the making of the bed; 
And here I '11 fiing the pillow, there the bolster. 
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets: — 
Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend. 
That all is done in reverend care of her; 
And, In conclusion, she shall watch all night: 
And, If she chance to nod, I '11 rail and brawl. 
And with the clamour keep her still awake. 
This Is a way to kill a wife with kindness; 
And thus I '11 curb her mad and headstrong humour: 
He that knows better how to tame a shrew, 
Now let him speak; 't is charity to show. [Exit, 



^ 



TAMING OF THE MMW. 



[Act IV. 



Scene II.— Padua. Before Baptlsta's Housi:. 
Enter Tranio and Hortensio. 
IVo. Is 't possible, friend Llclo, that mistress 
Blanca 
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? 
I tell you, sir, she bears nie fair in hand. 

Hur. Sir, to satisfy you In what I have said. 
Stand by, and raarlc the manner of his teaching. 

iThey stand aside. 
Enter Blanca and Lucentio. 
Lite. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? 
£ian. What, master, read you? first resolve me 

that. 
I,Hc. I read that I profess the art to love. 
Bian. And may you prove, sir, master of your art ! 
Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my 
heart. [They retire. 

Hor. Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me, I 
_, pray. 

You that durst swear that your mistress Blanca 
tov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. 

Tra. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind! 
itell thee, Lieio, this is wonderful. 

Hor. Mistake no more: I am not Llclo, 
3Jor a musician, as I seem to be: 
But one that scorn to live in this disguise, 
For such a one as leaves a gentleman, 
And makes a god of such a cullion: 
Know, sir, that t am call'd Hortensio. 

Tra. Signior Hortensio, I hare often heard 
Of your entire affection to Blanca: 
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, 
I ^vlll with you,— if you be so contented,— 
Forswear Blanca, and her love for ever. 
Mor. See, liow they kiss and court ! Signior Lu- 
centio, 
Here is my liand, and here I firmly vow 
Never to woo her more: but do forswear her. 
As one unworthy all the former favours 
That I have fondly ilatter'd her withal. 

Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oatU. 
Spver to marry with l>er though she would entreat: 
i^e on her! see, how beastly she doth court him. 
Sor. 'Would all the world, but he, had quite for- 
sworn I 
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, 
I will be married to a wealthy widow 
Ere three days pass; wliich hath as long lov'd me. 
As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard: 
And so farewell, signior Lucentio. 
Kindness in women, not tlieir beauteous looks. 
Shall win my love: and so I take my leave. 
In resolution as I swore before. 

[E.vit Hortensio.— Lucentio and Blanca advance. 
Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace 
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case ! 
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love; 
And have forsworn you with Hortensio. 
Bian. Tranio, you jest. But have you both forsworn 

me? 
l^a. Mistress, we have. 

L'lc. Then we are rid of Llclo. 

Tra. V faith, he '11 have a lusty widow now, 
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 
Bian. GrOd give him joy! 
Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her. 

Bian. He says so, Tranio. 

Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. 
Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such a 

place? 
Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petrucio is tlie master; 
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long. 
To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue. 
Enter Biondello, running. 
Blon. O master, master, I have watch 'd so long 
That I 'm dog-weary: but at last I spied 
An ancient engle coming down the hill. 
Will serve the turn. 
Tra. What is he, Biondello? 
Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedaut,^ 
I know not what; but formal in apparel. 
In gait and countenance surely like a father. 
Luc. And what of him, Tranio? 
Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, 
I '11 make him glad to seem Vincentlo; 
And give assurance to Baptista Minola, 
As if ne were the right Vincentio. 
Take in your love, and then let me alone. 

[Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca. 
Enter a Pedant. 
Bed. Qod save you, sir ! 

Ttvu And you, sir! you are welcome. 

Ti-avel you far on, or are you at the farthest? 
Fed. Sir, ati the farthest for a week or two; 
But then up farther: and as far as Rome; 
And so to Tripoli, if GrOd lend me life. 
Tra. What countryman, I pray? 
Fed. Of Mantua. 

Tra. Of Mantua, sir?— marry, God forbid! 
And come to Padua, careless of your life? 
Fed. My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard. 
Tra. "r is deatli for any one in Mantua 
To come to Padua. Know you not the cause? 
Your ships are staid at Venice: and the duke 
iFor private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,) 
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly: 
T is marvel; but that you are but newly come. 
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 

Fed. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so; 
For I have bills for money by exchange 
From Florence, and must here deliver them. 

Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy. 
This will I do, and this I will advise you: 
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? 

Fed. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been; 
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio? 
Fed. I know him not, but I have heard of him; 
A merchant of incomparable wealth. 

Tra. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say. 
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 

Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all 
one. [Aside. 

Tra. To save your lite in this extremity, 
This favour will I do you for his sake; 
.\nd think it not the worst of all your fortunes, 
That you ere like to sir Vincentio. 
His name and credit shall you undertake, 
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd. 
Look, that you take upon you as you should; 
You understand me, sii-;- so shall you stay 



Till you have done your business in the city: 
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 

Fed. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever 
The patron of my life and liberty. 

TYa. Then go with me, to make the matter good. 
This, by the way, I let you understand; 
My father is here look d for every day. 
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
•Twixt me and one Baptlsta's daughter here: 
In all these circumstances I '11 instruct you: 
CK; with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you. [Ex, 

SCENK III.— yl Boom in Petrucio's House. 
Enter Katharina and Grumio. 
j Crru. No, no: forsooth, I dare not, for my life. 
I Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite ap- 
I pears: 

I What, did he marry me to famish me? 
Beggars that come unto my father's door. 
Upon entreaty, have a present alms: 
1 If not, elsewhere they meet with charity: 
But I, who never kjiew how to entreat, 
Nor never needed that I should entreat. 
Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; 
With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed: 
And that which spites me more than all these wants, 
He does it under name of perfect love; 
As who should say, if I should sleep, or eat, 
'T were deadly sickness, or else present death. 
I prithee go, and get me some repast; 
I care not what, so it be wholesome food. 
Oru. What say you to a neat's foot? 
Kath. *T is passing good; I prithee let me harre it. 
Chni. I fear, it Is too choleric a meat: 
How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd? 
Kath. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me. 
Gru. I cannot tell; I fear,, 't is choleric. 
What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard? 
Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. 
Crru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 
Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest, 
ff/ ». Nay, then I will not; you shall have the nras- 
tard. 
Or else you get no beef of Grumio. 
Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. 
Oru. Why, then the mustard without the beef. 
Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deltiding slave, 

^ [Beats him. 
That feed'st me with the very name of meat: 
Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you. 
That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
Go, get thee gone, I say. 

Enter Petrucio, tcith a dish of meat; a7id Hortensio. 

Pet. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all 
amort? 

Hor. Mistress, what cheer? 

Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. 

Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. 
Here, love: thou seest how diligent I am. 
To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee: 

[Sets the dish on a table. 
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. 
What, not a word? Nay, then thou lov'st it not; 
And all my pains is sorted to no proof: 
Here, take away this dish. 

Kath. I pray you, let it stand. 

Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanksj 
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. 

Kath. I thank you, sir. 

Hor. Signior Petrucio, fye I you are to blame t 
Come, mistress Kate, I '11 bear you company. 

Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me. 

[Aside. 
Much good do It unto thy gentle heart ! 
Kate, eat apace; — And now, my honey love. 
Will we return unto thy father's house; 
And revel it as bravely as the best, 
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, 
With itifEs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and thingsr 
With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, 
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. 
What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure. 
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. 

Enter Tailor. 
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments; 

Enter Haberdasher. 
Lay forth the gown.— What news with you, sir? 

Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeait. 

Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer: 
A velvet dish;— fye, fye ! 't is lewd and filthy. 
Why, 't is a cockle, or a walnutshell, 
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap; 
Away with it. come, let me have a Digger. 

Kath. I '11 have no bigger; this doth fit the tiroe. 
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 

Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too. 
And not till then. 

Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside. 

Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak; 
And speak I will. I am no child, no babe: 
Your betters have endur'd me say my mind; 
And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart; 
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break; 
And rather than it shall, I will be free 
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 

Pet. Why, thou say'st true; it is a palti-y cap, 
A custard coffin, a bauble, a silken pie: 
I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. 

Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap; 
And it I will have, or I will have none. 

Pet. Thy gown? why, ay.— Come, tailor, let us see 't. 

mercy, God ! what masking stuff is here ! 
What 's this? a sleeve? 't is like a demi-cannon: 
What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple tart? 
Here 's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash. 
Like to a censer in a barber's shop: 

Why, what o' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? 

Hor. I see, she 's like to have neither cap nor 
gown. [Aside. 

Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well. 
According to the fashion and the time. 

Pet. Marry, and did; but if you be remember'd, 

1 did not bid you mar it to the time. 
Go, hop me over every kennel home. 

For you shall hop without my custom, sir: 
I '11 none of it; hence, make your best of It. 

Kath. I never saw a better fashion 'd gown, 
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commend- 
able: 



Belike, you mesin to ntake a puppet of me. 

Pet. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of 
thee. 

Tai. She says, your worship means to make a pup- 
pet of her. 

Pet. O monstrous arrogance ! Thou Uest, thou 
thread, 
Thou thimble. 

Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, 
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou: 
Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread! 
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; 
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard. 
As thou Shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st! 
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. 

Tai. Your worship is deceived; the gown is made 
Just as my master had direction: 
Grumio gave order how it should be done. 
, Gi-u. I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. 
,^^ai. But how did you desire it should be made;-* 
r^Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 

Tai. But did you not request to have it cut? 

Gru. Thou bast faced many things. 

Tai. I have. 

G>-u. Face not me: thou hast braved many men; 
brave not me. I will neither be faced nor braved. 
1 say unto thee— I bid thy master cut out the gown; 
but I did not bid him cut it to pieces; ergo, thou 
llest. 

Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. 

Pet. Read it. 

Gru. The note lies in 's throat, if he say I said so. 

Tai. Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown: 

Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew 
me in the skirts of It, and beat me to death with a 
bottom of brown thread: I said, a gown. 

Pet. Proceed. 

Tai. With a small compassed cape; 

Gru. I confess the cape. 

Tat. With a trunk sleeve; 

Gru. I confess two sleeves. 

Tai. The sleeves curiously cut. 

Pet. Ay, there 's the villainy. 

Gru. Error i' tlie bill, sir; error 1' the bill. I com- 
manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed up' 
again: and that I 'II prove upon thee, though thy 
little finger be armed in a thimble. 

Tai. This is true, that I say: an I had thee in place 
where thou should'st know it. 

Gru. lam for thee straight: take thou the bill, give 
me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. 

Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no 
odds. 

Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 

Gru. You are i' the right, sir; 't is for my mistress. 

Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. 

Gru. Villain, not for thy life: Take up my mis- 
tress' gown for thy master's use! 

Pet. Why, sir, what 's your conceit In that? 

Gru. Oj.sir, the conceit isdeeperthan you thinkfor: 
Take my mistress' gown to tils master's use! 
O, fye, fye, fye! 

Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid :— 

[Aside. 
Go, take it hence; begone, and say no more. 

Hor. Tailor, I '11 pay thee for thy gown to-morrow. 
Take up no unkindness of his hasty words: 
Away, I say; commend me to thy master. 

[E.eeunt Tailor and Haberdasher. 

Pet. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your fa- 
ther's 
Even in these honest mean habiliments; 
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor: 
For 't is tlie mind that makes the body rich; 
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
So honour peereth in the meanest Iiabit. 
What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
Because his leathers are more lieautifui? 
Or is the adder better than the eel. 
Because his painted skin contents the eye? 
O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse 
For this poor furniture and mean array. 
If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me: 
And therefore, frolic; we will hence forthwith,. 
To feast and sport us at thy father's house. 
Go, call my men, and let us straight to him; 
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end. 
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. 
Let 's see; I think, 't is now some seven o'clock. 
And well we may come there by dinner-time. 

Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 't is almost two; 
And 't will be supper-time ere you come there. 

Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse: 
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do. 
You are still crossing it.— Sirs, let 't alone; 
I will not go to-day; and ere I do. 
It shall be what o'clock I say it is, , 

Hor. Why, so! this gallant will command the sun. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene rv.— Padua. Before Baptlsta's House. 

Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like Vin- 
centio. 

Tra. Sir, this is the house. Please it you, that I call? 

Fed. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, 
Signior Baptista may remember me, 
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, 
Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus. 

Tra. 'T is well; and hold your own, in any case. 
With such austerity as 'longeth to a father. 
Enter Biondello. 

Fed. I warrant you: But, sir, here comes your boy; 
'T were good he were school'd. 

Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello, 
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you; 
Imagine 't were the right Vincentio. 

Bion. Tut! fear not me. 

Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? 

Bion. I told him, that your father was at Venice; 
And that you look'd for him this day at Padua. 

Tra. Thou 'rt a tail fellow; hold thee that to drinlc 
Here comes Baptista:— set your countenance, sir. 

Enter Baptista and Lucentio. 
Signior Baptista, you are happily met:— 
Sir, [to the Pedant] 
This is the gentleman I told you of: 
I pray you, stand good father to me now. 
Give me Bianca for my patrimony. 

Fed. Soft, son! 
Sir, by your leave, having come to Padua 
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause 



I 



Scene iv. 1 



TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



85 



I'f love between your daughter and liiMself : 

And,— for the good report I hear of you; 

And for the love he beareth to your daughter 

And she to him,— to stay him not too long, 

I am content, in a good father's care, 

To have him match'd; and,— If you pleas'd to like 

No worse than 1, sir— upon some agreement, 

Me shall you find ready and willing 

With one consent to have her so bestow'd; 

For curious I cannot be with you, 

Slgnlor Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 

Bap. Sir, pardon me In what I have to say; — 
Tour plainness and .your shortness please me well. 
Right true it is. your son Lucentio here 
Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, 
Or both dissemble deeply thelraffections: 
And, therefore, if you say no more than this. 
That like a father you will deal with him. 
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower. 
The match is made, and all is done: 
Your son shall have my daughter with consent. 

Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know 
best. 
We be allied; and such assurance ta'en. 
As shall with either part's agreement stand? 

Bap. Xot in my house, l,ut'entio; for, you know. 
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants: 
Besides, old Gremlo is heark'ning still; 
And, happily, we hiight be interrupted. 

Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you: 
There doth my father lie; and there, this night. 
We 'U pass the business privately and well: 
Send for your daughter oy your servant here, 
3Iy boy shall fetcli the scrivener presently. 
The worst is this, that, at so slender warning, 
Vou 're like to have a thin and slender pittance. 

Bap. It likes me well: Cambio, hie you home, 
.•Vnd bid Blanea make her ready straight; 
And, If you will, tell what hath happened: 
Lucentio's father is arilved in Padua, 
And how she 's like to be Lucentio's wife! 

Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart! 

Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. 
Siguior Baptista, shall I lead the way? 
Welcome! one mess Is like to be your cheer; 
Come, sir; we wUl better it In Pisa. 

Bap. 1 follow y OS! . 

[Exeunt Tranlo, Pedant, anA Baptista. 

Bicm. Cambio. 

Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello? 

Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon 
you? 

Luc. Biondello, what of that? 

Bion. 'Faith nothing; but he has left me here be- 
hind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs 
and tokens. 

Luc. Ipray thee, moralize them. 

Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with 
the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 

Luc. And what of him? 

Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to the 
supper. 

Luc. And then? 

Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church Is at 
vour command at all hours. 

Luc. And what of all this? 

Bion. I cannot tell: expect they are busied about 
a counterfeit assurance: Take you assurance of 
her, cum, privilegio ad intprimendum sobint: to 
the church;— take the priest, clerk, and some suffi- 
cient honest witnesses: 
If this be not that you look for, I have no more to 

say. 
But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. [Going. 

Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? 

Bion. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in 
an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley 
to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu, 
sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint 
Luke's, to bid the priest to be ready to come against 
you come with your appendix. [Exit. 

Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented: 
She will ba pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt? 
Hap what hap may, I '11 roundly go about her; 
It shall go hard. If Cambio go without her. [E.vit. 

Scene Y.—Apziblic Road. 
Enter Petrucio, Katharina, and Hortensio. 

Pet. Come on, o' God's name; once more tovi-ard 
our father's. 
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon! 

Kath. The moon! the sun; it Is not moonlight now. 

Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. 

Kath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright. 

Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself , 
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, 
Or ere I journey to your father's house: 
Go one, and fetch oui- horses back again. 
Evermore cross'd and cross'd: nothing but cross'd! 

Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 

Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, 
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please: 
And if you please to call it a rush candle, 
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 

Pet. I say, it is the moon. 

Kath. I know It is the moon. 

Pet. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun. 

Kath. Tken, God be blesa'd, it is the blessed sun: 
But sun it is not, when you say it is not; 
And the moon changes, even as your mind. 
What you will have it nam'd, even that it is; 
And so it shall be so for Katharine. 

flbr. Petrucio, go thy ways; the field is won. 

Pet. Well, forward, forward: thus the bowl should 
run. 
And not unluckily against the bias. 
But soft; what company is coming here? 

£nfer Vinci ntio, in a travelling dress. 
Good morrow, gentle mistress: Where awav? 
_ „ [ToVincentio 

Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too. 
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? 
Such war of white and red within her cheeks? 
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty. 
As those two eyes become that heavenly face? 
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee: 
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. 

Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman 
of him. [sweet, 

Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and 
whither away; or where is thy abode? 
Happy the parents of so fair a child; 
Happier the man, whom favourable stars 



Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow! 

Pet. Why, how now, Kate? I hope thou art not 
mad: 
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd; 
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 

Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes. 
That have been so bedazzled with the sun. 
That everything I look on seemeth green: 
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father; 
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. 

Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and, withal, make 
known 
Which way thou tra vellest: if along with us, 
We shall be joyful of thy company. 

Vin. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress. 
That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me, 
My name is called Vincentio: my dwelling Pisa; 
And bound I am to Padua; there to visit 
A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 

Pet. What is his name? 

Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir- 

Pot. Happily met; the happier for thy son. 
And now by law, as well as reverend age, 
I may entitle thee my loving father; 
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman. 
Thy son by this hath married: Wonder not. 
Nor be not griev'd; she is of good esteem. 
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; 
Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
Let me embrace with old Vincentio: 
And wander we to see thy honest son, 
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 

Vin. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure. 
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
Upon the company you overtake? 

Hor. I do assure thee, father, so It is. 

Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; 
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. 

I Exeunt Petrucio, Katharina, and Vincentio. 

Hor. Well, Petrucio. this hath put me in heart. 
Have to my widow; and if she he froward. 
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. 

[Exit. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— Padua. Before Lucentio's House. 

Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio, and Bianca; 
Gremio icalking on the other side. 

Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready. 

Luc. I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need 
thee at home, therefore leave us. 

Bion. Nay, faith, I '11 see the church o' your back, 
and then come back to my master as soon as I can. 
[Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello. 

Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 
Enter Petrucio, Katharina, Vincentio, and At- 
tendants. 

Pet. Sir, here 's the door, this is Lucentio's house. 
My father's bears more toward the market place; 
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 

Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go; 
I think I shall command youv welcome here. 
And by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. 

[Knocks. 

Gre. They 're busy within, you were best knock 
louder. 

Enter Pedant above at a window. 

Ped. What 's he that knocks as he would beat down 
the gate? 

Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, sir? 

Ped. He 's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. 

Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pounds 
or two to make merry withal? 

Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he 
shall need none, so long as I live. 

Pet. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in 
Padua.— Do you hear, sir!''- to leave frivolous cir- 
cumstances,— I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, that 
his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door 
to speak with him. 

Ped. Thou liest; his father is come from Pisa, and 
is here looking out at the window. 

Vin. Art thou his father? 

Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe 
her. 

Pet. Why, how now, gentleman? [To Vincen.T 
why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another 
man's name. 

Ped. Lay hands on the villain. I believe 'a means 
to cozen somebody in this city under my counte- 
nance 

Re-enter Biondello. 

Bion. I have seen them in the church together; 
God send 'em good shipping!— But who is here? mine 
old master, Vincentio? Now, we are undone, and 
brought to nothing. 

Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. [Seeing Biondello. 

JBion. I hope I may choose, sir. 

Vin. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you 
forgot me? 

Bion. Forgot you? no, sir: I could not forget you, 
for I never saw you before in all my life. 

Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never 
see thy master's father, Vincentio? 

Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master? Yes, 
man-y, sir; see where he looks out of the window. 

Vin. Is 't so, indeed? [JJeo(s Biondello.' 

Bion. Help, help, help! here 's a madman will 
murder me. [Exit. 

Ped. Help, son! help, signior Baptista! 

„ „ [Exit from the window. 

Pet. Prithee, Kate, let 's stand aside, and see the 

end of this controversy. [They retire. 

Re-enter Pedant below; Baptista, Tranio, and 

Servants. 

Tra. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my serv- 
ant? 

Vin. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir?— O 
immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a 
velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat!— O, 
I am undone, I am undone! While I play the good 
husband at home, my son ana my servant spend all 
at the universitj*. 

Tra. How now? what 's the matter? 

Bap. What, is the man lunatic? 

Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by 
your habit, but your words show you a madman. 
Why, sir, what cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? 
I thank my good father, I am able to maintain ft. 



Vin. Thy father? O villain! he is a sail-maker In 
Bergamo. 

Bap. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir: Pray, 
what do you think is his name? 

Vin. His name? as If 1 knew not his name: I have 
brought him up ever since he was three years old, 
and his name is Tranlo. 

Ped. Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; 
and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, 
signior Vincentio. 

Vin. Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! 
lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's name- 
O, my son, my son!— tell me, thou villain, where is 
my son, Lucentio. 

Tra. Call forth an officer: [Enter one with an 
Officer. I Carry this mad knave to the gaol:— Father 
Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. 

Vin. Carry me to the gaol! 

Gre. Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison. 

Bap. Talk not, signior Gremlo. I say he shall go to 
prison. 

Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be coney- 
catched in this business. I dare swear this is the 
right Vincentio. 

Ped. Swear, if thou darest. 

Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. 

Tra. Then thou wert best say that I am not Lu- 
centio. 

Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. 

Bap. Away with the dotard; to the gaol with him. 

Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abus'd. 
O monstrous villain.' 

Re-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and Bianca. 

Bion. O, we are spoiled, and— Yonder he is; deny 
him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 

Lwc. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling. 

Vin. Lives my sweet son? 

[Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant run out. 

Bion. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling. 

Bap. How hast thou offended? 

Where is Lucentio? 

Liic. Here 's Lucentio, 

Right son unto the right Vincentio; 
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine. 
While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. 

Gre. Here 's packing with a witness, to deceive us 
all! 

Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, 
That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so' 

Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? 

Sian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. 

Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love 
Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
While he did bear my countenance in the town; 
And happily I have arrived at last 
Unto the wished haven of my bliss: 
What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to; 
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 

Vin. I '11 slit the villain's nose, that would have 
sent me to the gaol. 

Bap. But do you hear, sir? [To Lucentio.J Have 
you married my daughter without asking my good- 
will? 

Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you: go 
to: 
But I will in, to be revenged for this villainy. [Exit. 

Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. 

[Ex-it. 

Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not 
frown. [Exeunt Luc. and Bian. 

Gre. My cake is dough: But I '11 in among the 
rest; 
Out of hope of all,— but my share of the feast. [Ex. 
Petrucio and Katharina advance. 

Kath. Husband, let 's follow-, to see the end of this 
ado. 

Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 

Kath. What, in the midst of the street? 

Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me? 

Kath. No, sir; God forbid:— but ashamed to kiss. 

Pet. Why, then, let 's home again:— Come, sirrah, 
let 's away. 

Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, 
love, stay. 

Pet. Is not this well?— Come, my sweet Kate; 
Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — A Room in Lucentio's House. 

A banquet set out. Enter Saptista, Vincentio, Gremio, 

the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petrucio, Katharina. 

Hortensio, and Widow. Tranio, Biondello, Grumlo, 

and otherSt attending. 

Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree; 
And time it is, when raging war is done. 
To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. 
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome. 
While I with self -same kindness welcome thine; 
Brother Petrucio,— sister Katharina,— 
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,— 
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house. 
My banquet is to close our stomachs up. 
After our great good cheer: Pray you, sit down; 
For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. 

[They sit at table. 

Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat. 

Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petrucio. 

Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 

Hor. For both our sakes, I would that word were 
true. 

Pe'. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. 

Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. 

Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you miss my 
sense; 
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. ■ 

Wid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns 
round. 

Pet. Eo-andly replied. 

Kath. Mistress, how mean you that? 

Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 

Pet. Conceives by me!— How likes Hortensio that? 

Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. 

Pet. Very well mended: Kiss him for that, good 
widow. 

Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world turns 
round:— 
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 

Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew. 
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe: 
And now you know my meaning. 

Kath. A very mean meaning. 

Wid. Right, I mean you. 

Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. 



86 



ALL '-S Tf^XX THAT ENDS WKLL. 



[Act I. 



Pet. To her, Katel 

Bor. To her, widow! 

Pet. A hundred marks, my Kato does put her down. 

Hor. That 's my office. 

Pet. Spoke like an officer:— Ha' to thee, lad. 

{Brinks to Hortenslo. 

Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? 

Ore. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 

Bian. Head, and butt? an hasty witted body 
Would say your head and butt were head and horn. 

Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you? 

Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I '11 
sleep again. 

Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun, 
Have at .vou for a bitter jest or two. 

Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush. 
And then pursue me as you draw your bow:— 
You are welcome all. fEx. Bian.. Kath., and WId. 

Pet. She hath prevented me.— Here, slgnlor Tranlo, 
This bird you alm'd at, though you hit her not; 
Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. 

Tra. O, sir, Lucentio sllpp'd me like his grey- 
hound, 
Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 

Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish. 

Tra. 'T Is well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; 
'T Is thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. 

Bap. O no, Petruclo. Tranlo hits you now. 

Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. 

Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here? 

Pet. 'A has a little eali'd me, I confess; 
And, as the jest did glance ^way from me, 
'Tls ten to one it malm'd you two outright. 

Bap. Now, in cood sadness, son Petruclo, 
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all 

Pet. Well, I say— no- and therefore, for assurance, 
Let 's each one send unto his wife; 
And he, whose wife is most obedient 
To come at first when he doth send for her, 
Shall win the wager which we will propose. 

Hor. Content: what Is the wager? 

Liic. Twenty crowns. 

Pet. Twenty crowns ! 

I '11 venture so much on my hawk, or hound. 
But twenty times so much upon my wife. 

Luc. A hundred then. 

Hor. Content. 

Pei. A mat. i; 't Is done. 

Hor. Who shall begin ? 

Luc. That win I. 
Go, Blondello, bid .vour mistress come to me. 

Bian. I go. \_Exit. 

Bap. Son, I will be your half, Blanca comes. 

Luc. I '11 have no halves; I '11 bear It all myself. 

Re-enter Blondello. 
How now ! what news? 

Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word 

That she Is busy, and she cannot come. 

Pet. How ! she Is busy, and she cannot come ! 
Is that an answer ? 

Ore. Ay, and a kind one too: 

Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 



Pet. I hope, better. 

Hor. Sirrah Blondello, go, and entreat my wife 
To come to me forthwith. [ixit Blondello. 

Pet. O, ho I entreat her ! 

Nay, then she must needs come. 

Hor. I am afraid, sir. 

Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 

Reenter Blondello. 
Now where 's my wife? 

Bion. She says, you have some goodly Jest in hand; 
She w ill not come; she bids you come to her. 

Pet. Worse and worse; she will not come ! O vile. 
Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! 
Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress; 
Say I command her come to me. [Exit Gruralo. 

Hor. I know her answer. 

Pet. What? 

Hor. She will not. 

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 
Enter Katharina. 

Bap. Now, by my holldame, here comes Katharina ! 

Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me? 

Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? 

Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. 

Pet. Go, fetch them hither; If they deny to come. 
Swinge me them soundly forth unto tlieir husbands: 
Away I say, and bring them hither straight. 

[A'arrt Katharina. 

Lve. Here Is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. 

Hor. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes. 

Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life. 
An awful rule, and right supremacy; 
And, to be short, what not, that 's sweet and happy. 

Bap. Now fair befall thee, good Petruclo; 
The wager thou hast won; and I will add 
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns ! 
Another dowry to another daughter. 
For she Is chang'd, as she had never been. 

Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet; 
And show more sign of her obedience, 
Her new-built virtue and obedience. 

Re-enter Katharina, with Blanca and Widow. 
See, where she comes; and brings your froward 

wives 
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. 
Katherlne, that cap of yours becomes you not; 
Off with that bauble, trirow it under foot. 

[Katharina pnlls off her cap, and throws it down. 
WId. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, 
Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 
Bian. Fye ! what a foolish duty call you this ? 
Liic. I would your duty were as foolish too: 
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. 
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. 
Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head- 
strong women 
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 
Wid. Come, come, you 're mocking;* we will have 

no telling. 
Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. 



Wid. She shall not. 

Pet. I say, she shall;- and first begin with her. 

Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning unkind 
brow; 
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor: 
It blots thy beauty, as frosts do bite the meads; 
Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds; 
And in no sense Is meet or amiable. 
A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, 
Muddy, Ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; 
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty 
Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of It. 
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, 
And for thy maintenance: commits his body 
To painful labour, both by sea and landi 
Ta.watch the night in storn.s, the day in cold, 
^'flwle thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; 
And craves no other tribute at thy hands, 
But love, fair looks, and true obedience, — 
Too little payment for so great a debt. 
Such duty as the subject owes the prince. 
Even sucn a woman owcth to her husband: 
And when she 's froward, peevish, sullen, sour. 
And not obedient to his honest will. 
What Is she, but a foul contending rebel. 
And graceless traitor to her loving lord? 
I am asham'd, that women are so simple 
To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; 
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway. 
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smootli. 
Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world, 
But that our soft conditions, and our hearts. 
Should well agree with our external parts? 
Come, come, you froward and unable woims ! 
My mind hath been as big as one of j ours. 
My heart as great; my reason, haply, more. 
To bandy word for word, and frown for frown; 
But now, I see our lances are but straws; 
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare- 
That seeming to be most, which we Indeed least are. 
Then vail your stomachs, for It Is no boot; 
And place your hands below your husband's foot: 
In token of which duty, If he please. 
My hand Is ready, may it do him ease. [me, Kate. 

Pet. Why, there 's a wench !— Come on, and kiss 

Luc. Well, go-thy ways, old lad; for thou shait ha 't. 

Tin. 'T is a good hearing, when children are to- 
ward. 

Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are fro- 
ward. 

Pet. Come, Kate, we '11 to bed: 
We three are married, but you two are sped. 
'T was t won the wager, though you hit the white; 

[To Lucentio. 
And being a winner, God give you good night I 

[Exeunt Petruclo and Kath. 

Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst 
strew. 

Luc. 'T is a wonder, by your leave, she will be 
tam'd so. [Exeunt. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Kino of France. 

DUKB OF FLORKNCE. 

Bertram, Count of Rousillon. 
Lafeu. an old lord. 
Parolles, a follower o/ Bertram. 
Several young French Lords that serve 
with Bertram in the Florentine war. I 



Steward, Clown, servants tc the Count- 
ess of Rousillon. 

A gentle Astringer. 
A Page. 

COUNTESS or Rousillon, mother to Ber- 
tram, 



Helena, a gentlewoman, protected by 

the Countess. 
An old Widow o/ Florence. 
Diana, daughter to the Widow. 
VioLENT.A, S neighbours and friends to 
Maklana, ( the Widow. 



Lords attending on the King; Queers-. 
Soldiers, t&e., French and Florentine. 

SCENE.— ParHj/ in France and partly 
in Tuscany. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— RousiUon. A Room in the Countess's 
POilace. 

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Housillon, Helena, 
and Lafeu, in mourning. 

Count. In delivering my son from me, I hwcy a sec- 
ond husband. 

Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's 
death anew: but I must attend his majesty's com- 
mand, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in sub- 
jection. 

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam; 
—you, sir, a father: He that so generally is at all 
times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; 
whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, 
rather than lack It where there Is such abundance. 

Count. What hope Is there of his majesty's amend- 
ment? 

Laf. He hath abandoned his physician, madam; 
under whose practices he hath persecuted time with 
hope, and finds no other advantage in the process 
but only the losing of hope by time. 

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, fO, 
that had! how sad a passage 't is !) whose skill was 
almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so 
tar, would have made nature Immortal, and death 
should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the 
king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the 
death of the king's disease. 

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, ma- 
dam? 

Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and 
It was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. 

Laf. He was excellent. Indeed, madam; the king 
very lately spoke of him adinlrlngiv and mourning- 
ly: he was skilful enough to have lived still If knowl- 
edge could be set up against mortality. 

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes 
ot? 

Laf. A fistula, my lord. 



Ber. I heard not of it before. 

Laf. I would it were not notorious.- Was this gen- 
tlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? 

Count. His sole cliild, my lord; and bequeathed to 
my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good 
that her education promises: her dispositions she 
inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an 
unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, their com- 
mendations go with pity,— they are virtues and 
traitors too : in her they are the better for their 
simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves 
her goodness. 

Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her 
tears. 

Count. "I Is the best brine a maiden can season her 
praise In. The remembrance of her father never ap- 
proaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows 
takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, 
Helena— go to, no more; lest it be rather thought 
you affect a sorrow, than to have. 

Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. 

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the 
deaff; excessive grief the enemy to the living. 

Hfl. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess 
makes it soon mortal. 

Ber. Madam. I desire your holy wishes. 

ia/. How tmderstand we that? 

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed thy 
father 
In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue. 
Contend for empire in thee: and thy goodness 
Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few, 
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy 
Rather in power than use; and Icei'p thy friend 
Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence. 
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will. 
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down. 
Fall on thy head! Farewell.— My lord, 
"T Is an unseason'd courtier; good my lord. 
Advise him. 

Laf. He cannot want the best 
That shall attend nis love. 



Count. Heaven bless him!— Farewell, Bertram. 

[Exit. 

Ber. The best wishes that can be forged in your 
thoughts [^o Helena] be servants to you! Be com- 
fortaole to my mother, your mistress, and make 
much of her. 

Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the 
credit of your father. 

[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. 

Hel. O. were that all!— I think not on my father; 
And these great tears grace his remembrance more 
Than those I shed for him. What was he like? 
I have forgot him: my ima^nation 
Carries no favour in 't but Bertram's. 
I am undone; there is no living, none. 
If Bertram be away. It were all one 
That I should love a bright particular star, 
And think to wed it, he Is so above me: 
In his bright radiance and collateral light 
Must I be comforted, not in ills sphere. 
The ambition in my love thus plagues Itself: 
The hind that would be mated by the lion 
Must die for love. 'T was pretty, though a plague. 
To see him every hour; to sit and draw 
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls. 
In our heart's tabic; heart too capable 
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour: 
But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? 

Enter Parolles. 

One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; 

And yet I know him a notorious liar, 

Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; 

Yet these flx'd evils sits so lit In him. 

That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 

Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see 

Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 

Par. Save you, fair queen. 

Hel. And you, monarch. 

Par. No. 

Hel. And no. 



Scene i.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



87 



Far. Are you meditating on virginity? 

Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let 
me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity; 
how may we barricado it against him? 

Par. Keep him out. 

Eel. But he assails; and our virginity, though val- 
iant in the defence, yet Is weak; uiifola to us some 
warlike resistance. 

Par. There is none: man, sitting down before you, 
will undermine you, and blow you up. 

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers 
and blowers up !— Is there no military policy how 
virgins might blow up men? 

Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will quick- 
lier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, 
with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. 
It Is not politic In the commonwealth of nature to 
preserve virginity. Loss of virginity Is rational In- 
crease: and there was never virgin got till virginity 
was first lost. That you were made of is metal to 
make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be 
ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 
't is too cold a companion; away witn it. 

Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I 
die a virgin. 

Par. There 's little can be said In 't; 't is against 
the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity 
is to accuse your mothers; which is most Infallible 
disobedience. He that hangs himself Is a virgin: 
virginity murders Itself; and should be burled In 
highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate 
offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, 
much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very par- 
ing, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Be- 
sides, virginity is" peevish, proud, idle, made of self- 
love, which is the most Inhibited sin in the canon. 
Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by 't: Out 
with 't: within ten year it will make Itself two, 
which Is a goodly Increase; and the principal itself 
not much the worse: Away with 't. 

Eel. How might one do, sir, to lose It to her own 
liking? 

Par. Let me see: Marry, 111, to like him that ne'er 
It likes. 'T is a commodity will lose the gloss with 
lying; the longer kept the less worth: off with 't, 
while 'tis vendible: answer the time of request. Vir- 
ginity, like an old coiu'tier, wears her cap out of 
fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: just Uke the 
brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now: 
Your date is better In your pie and your porridge 
than in your cheek: And your virginity, your old 
virginity, is like one of our French withered pears; 
it looks ill, it eats drily, marry, 't is a withered pear; 
it was formerly better; marry, yet, 't Is a withered 
pear: Will you anything with it? 

Hel. Not my virginity yet. 
There, shall your master have a thousand loves, 
A mother, a mistress, and a friend, 
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, 
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; 
His humble ambition, proud humility. 
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet. 
His faith, nis sweet disaster: with a world 
Of pretty, fond, adoptlous Christendoms, 
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he — 
I know not what he shall:— Godsend him well!— 
Tiie court 's a learning-place;— and he is one — 

Par. What one, i' faith? 

Eel. That 1 wish well.— 'T is pity- 
Par. What 's pity? 

Hel. That mshing well had not a body in 't. 
Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born. 
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes. 
Might with effects of them follow our friends. 
And show what we alone must thinly; which never 
Ketums us thanks. 

Enter a Page. 

Page. Monsieur ParoUes, my lord calls for you. 

iExit. 

Par. Little Helen, farewell: If I can remember 
thee, I will think of thee at court. 

Eel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a 
charitable star. 

Par. Under Mars, I. 

Hel. I especially think, under Mars. 

Par. Why under Mars. 

Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you 
must needs be born under Mars. 

Par. When he was predom inant. 

Eel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. 

Par. Why think you so? 

Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. 

Par. That 's for advantage. 

Eel. So is running away, when fear proposes the 
safety: But the composition that vour valour and 
fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I 
like the wear well. 

Par. I am so full of businesses I cannot answer 
thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the 
which, my instruction shall serve to naturalise thee 
so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and 
understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else 
thou dlest in thine unthaukf ulness, and thine ignor- 
ance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast 
leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, re- 
member thy friends: get thee a good husband, and 
use him as he uses thee: so farewell. iExit. 

Eel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie. 
Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky 
Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull 
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
What power is it which mounts my love so high; 
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? 
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings 
To join like likes, and kiss like native things. 
Impossible be strange attempts to those 
That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose 
What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove 
To show her merit that did miss her love? 
The king's disease— my project may deceive me, 
But my Intents are flx'd, and will not leave me. [E.c. 
ScE-NE II.— Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
Flourish o/ cornets. Enter the King of France, 
with letters; Lords and others attending. 

King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; 
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
A braving war. 

1 Lord. So 't is reported, sir. 

King. Nay, 't is most credible; we here receive it 
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
v> ith caution, that the Florentine will move us 



For speed.v aid; wherein our dearest friend 
Prejudicates the business, and would seem 
To have us make denial. 

1 Tx>rd. His love and wisdom, 
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 
For amplest credence. 

King. He hath arm'd our answer. 

And Florence is denied before he comes: 
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see 
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
To stand on either part. 

2 Lord. It well may serve 
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 

For breathing and exploit. 
King. What 's he comes here? 

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 

1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, 
Young Bertram. 

King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; 
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste. 
Hath well coinpos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts 
May'st thou Inherit too! Welcome to Paris. 

Per. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 

King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, 
As when thy father and myself, in friendship, 
First tried our soldiership! He did look far 
Into the service of the time, and was 
Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; 
But on us both did haggish age steal on. 
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
To talk of your good father: In his youth 
He had the wit, which I can well observe 
To-day in our young lords; but they may jest 
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted, 
Ere they can hide their levity in honour. 
So like a courtier; contempt nor bitterness 
Were In his pride or sharpness; if they were. 
His equal had.awak'd them; and his honour. 
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 
Exception bid hira speak, and, at this time, 
His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him 
He us'd as creatures of another place; 
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, 
Making them proud of his numillt3% 
In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man 
Might be a copy to these younger times; 
W hlch folio w'd well, would demonstrate them now 
But goers backward. 

Ber. His good remembrance, sir, 

Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; 
So in approof lives not his epitaph, 
As in your royal speech. 

King. 'Would I were with him! He would always 
say, 
(Methinks I hear hira now: his plausive words 
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them. 

To grow there, and to bear,)—' Let me not live,' 

Thus his good melancholy oft began, 

On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, 

When it was out,—' Let me not live,' quoth he, 

'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff 

Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 

All but new things disdain; whose judgments are 

Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies 

Expire before their fashions: ' This he wish'd: 

I, after him, do after him wish too. 
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, 
I quickly were dissolved from my hive. 
To give some labourers room. 

2 Lord. You 're lov'd, sir: 
They that least lend it you shall lack you first. 

King. I fill a place, I know 't.— How long is 't, 
count. 
Since the physician at your father's died? 
He was much fam'd. 

Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 

King. If he were living I would try him yet;— 
Lend me an ann;~the rest have worn me out 
With several applications:- nature and sickness 
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; 
My son 's no dearer. 

Ber. Thank your majesty. 

[Exeunt. Flourish. 

ScEKE III.— Rousillon. A Boom in the 

Countess's Palace. 
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. 

Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gen- 
tlewoman? 

Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your 
content, I wish might be found in the calandar of my 
past endeavours: for then we wound our modesty, 
and make foul the clearness of our deservlngs, when 
of ourselves we publish them. 

Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, 
sirrah: The complaint I have heard of you I do not 
all believe; 't is my slowness that I do not: for I know 
you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability 
enough to maks such knaveries yours. 

Clo. "I is not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor 
fellow. 

Count. Well, sir. 

Clo. No, madam, 't is not so well that I am poor; 
though many of the rich are damned: But, if Imay 
have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, 
Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. 

Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? 

Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. 

Count. In what case? 

Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no 
heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing 
of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, 
barnes are blessings. 

Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. 

Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am 
driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that 
the devil drives. 

Count. Is this all y&ur worship's reason? 

Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, 
such as they are. 

Count. May the world know them? 

Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as 
you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do 
marry that I may repent. 

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. 

Chi. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to 
have friends for my wife's sake. 

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 

Clo. You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for 
the kuaves come to do that for me, which I am a- 
weary of. He that ears my land spares my team, 
and gives me leave to in the crop: If I be his cuck- 



old, he 's my drudge: He that comforts my wife Is 
the cherisher of my|flesh and blood; he that cherishes 
my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he 
that loves my flesh and blood Is my friend; ergo, he 
that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be 
contented to be what they are, there were no fear In 
marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old 
Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts are 
severed in religion, their heads are both one,— they 
may jowl horns together, like any deer In the herd. 

Count. Wilt thou ever be a fool-mouth'd and cal- 
umnious knave? 

Clo. A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth 
the next way: 

For I the ballad will repeat. 
Which men full true shall find; 

Your marriage comes by destiny, 
Your cuckoo sings by kind. 

Cmint. Get you gone, sir; I '11 talk with you more 
anon. 

Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid 
Helen come to you; of her I am to speak. 

Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak 
with her; Helen I mean. 

Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 

{Singing. 

Why the Grecians sacked Troy. 
Fond done, done fond. 

Was this king Priam's joy? 
With that she sighed as she stood. 
With that she sighed as she stood. 

And gave this sentence then: 
Among nine bad if one be good. 
Among nine bad if one be good. 

There 's yet one good in ten. 

Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the 
song, sirrah. 

Clo. One good woman In ten, madam, which is a 
purifying o' the song: 'Would God would serve the 
world so all the year! we 'd find no fault with the 
tithe woman, if I were the parson: One In ten, 
quoth a'! an we might have a good woman born but 
for every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 't would 
mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart 
out, ere he pluck one. 

Count. You '11 be gone, sir knave, and do as I com- 
mand you! 

Clo. That man should be at woman's command and 
yet no hurt done!— Though honesty be no puritan, 
yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice or 
humility over the black gown of a big heart.— I am 
going, forsooth; the business is for Helen to come 
hither. lExit. 

Count. Well, now. 

Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman 
entirely. 

Count. Faith, 1 do: her father bequeathed her to 
me; and she herself, without other advantage, may 
lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: 
there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall 
be paid her than she '11 demand. 

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her than 
I think, she wished me: alone she was, and did 
communicate to herself her own words to her own 
ears; she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched 
not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved 
your son: Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that 
had put such difference betwixt thelritwo estates; 
Love, no god, that would not extend his might only 
where qualities were level; Diana, no queen of vir- 
gins, that would suffer her poor knight to be sur- 
prised, without rescue in the first assault, or ransom 
afterward: This she delivered in the most bitter 
touch of sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: 
which I held my duty, speedily to acquaint you 
withal; sithence, in the loss that may happen. It con- 
cerns you something to know it. 

Count. You have discharged this honestly; keep 
it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this 
before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that 
I could neither believe, nor misdoubt: Pray you, 
leave me: stall this in your bosom, and I thank you 
for youi- honest care; I wUl speak with you further 
anon. [Exit Steward. 

Enter Helena. 

Count. Even so it was with me when I was young: 
If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn 
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong: 

Our blood to us, this to our blood is bom; 
It is the show and seal of nature's truth. 
Where love's strong passion is Impress'd in youth: 
By our remembrances of days forgone. 
Such were our faults;— or then we thought them none. 
Her eye is sick on 't; I observe her now. 

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam? 

Count. You know, Helen, 

I am a mother to you. 

Eel. Mine honourable mistress. 

Count. Nay, a mother; 

Why not a mother? When I said, a mother, 
Methought you saw a serpent: What 's In mother 
That you start at it? I say, I am your mother; 
And put you in the catalogue of those 
That were enwombed mine: 'T Is often seen. 
Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds 
.A native slip to us from foreign seeds: 
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan. 
Yet I express to you a mother's care:— 
God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood 
To say. I am thy mother? What 's the matter. 
That this distemper'd messenger of wet. 
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye? 
Why?— that you are my daughter? 

Eel. That I am not. 

Count. I say, 1 am your mother. 
Eel. Pardon, madam; 

The count Rousillon cannot be my brother: 
I am from humble, he from honour'd name; 
No note upon my parents, his all noble: 
My master, my dear lord he is: and I 
His servant live, and will his vassal die: 
He must not be my brother. 

Count. Nor I your mother? 

Eel. You are my mother, madam. (Would you were. 
So that my lord, your son, were not my brother.) 
Indeed,my mother!— (Or were you both our mothers, 
I care no more for than I do for heaven. 
So I were not his sister.) Can 't be other 
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? 

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in- 
law: 



ALL -S WELL THAT EXPS WKLL. 



[Act II. 



God shield, you mean it not ! daughter and mother. 

So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again? 

My fear hath catch'd vour fondness: Now I see 

The mystery of your loneliness, and And 

Your salt tears' liead. Now to all sense 't is gross. 

You love my son: invention is asham'd, 

Against the proclamation of thy passion. 

To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true: 

But tell me then, 't Is so:— for, look, thy cheelcs 

Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes 

See it so grossly shown in thj' behaviours. 

That in their kind they speak it: only sin 

And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue. 

That truth should be suspected: Speak, is 't so? 

If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue; 

If it be not, forswear 't: howe'er, I charge thee. 

As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 

To tell me truly. 

Hel, Good madam, pardon me. 

Count. Do you love my son? 

Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! 

Count. Love you my son? 

Hel. Do not you love him, madam? 

Count. Go not about; my love liath in 't a bond. 
Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose 
The state of your affection; for your passions 
Have to the full appeach'd. 

Hel. Then, I confess. 

Here on my knee, before high heaven and .you, 
That before you, and next unto high lieaven, 
I love your son:— 

My friends were poor but honest; so *s my love: 
Be not offended; for it liurts not him 
That he is lov'd of me: I follow him not 
By any token of presumptuous suit; 
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him; 
Yet never know how that desert should be. 
I know I love in vain, strive against hope; 
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, 
I still jx)ur in the waters of my love, 
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, 
EeUgious in mine error, I adore 
The sun, that loolcs upon his worshipper, 
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, 
Let not your hate encounter with my love. 
For loving where you do: but, it yourself. 
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth. 
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking. 
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian 
Was both herself and love; O, then, give pitv 
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose 
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose; 
That seeks not to find that her search implies. 
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly -where she dies. 

Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, 
To go to Paris? 

Hel. Madam, I had. 

Count. Wherefore? tell true. 

Hel. I will tell truth: by grace itself, I swear. 
You know my father left me some prescriptions 
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as fiis reading, 
And manifest experience, had collected 
For general sovereignt.v; and that he wlH'd me 
In heedluUest reservation to bestow them, 
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were. 
More than they were in note: amongst the rest. 
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down. 
To cure the desperate languishings whereof 
The king is render'd lost. 

Count. ■ This was your motive 

For Paris, was It? speak. 

Hel. My lord your son made me think of this; 
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king. 
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, 
Haply, been absent then. 

Count. But think you, Helen, 

If you should tender your supposed aid. 
He would receive It? He and his physicians 
Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him. 
They, that the.v cannot help: How shall they credit 
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off 
The danger to itself? 

Hel. There 's something hints. 

More than my father's skill, which was the greatest 
Of his profession, that his good receipt 
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified 
By the luckiest stars in heaven: and, would your 

honour 
But give me leave to try success, I 'd venture 
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure. 
By such a day and hour. 

Count. Dost thou believe 't? 

Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. 

Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt nave my leave and 
love. 
Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings, 
To those of mine in court; I '11 stay at home. 
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt. 
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this, 
What I can help thee to thou shall not miss. 

\_Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 

Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords, taking 
leave for the. Florentine war; Bertram, ParoUes, 
and Attendants. 

King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike princi- 
ples 
Do not throw from you:— and you, my lord, fare- 
well:— 
Share the advice betwixt, you; if both gain all. 
The gift doth stretch itself as 't is receiv'd, 
Andls enough for both. 

1 Lord. It is our hope, sir. 
After well enter'd soldiers, to return 
And find your grace in liealth. 

King. No, no, It cannot be; and yet my heart 
Will not confess he owes the malady 
That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; 
Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy 
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall 
Of the last monarchy) see, that you come 
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when 
The bravest questant shrinks find what you seek, 
That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. 

2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your ma- 

jesty! 
King, 'ijfiose girls of Italy, take herd ot them; 
They say our French lack language to deny. 



If they demand; beware of being captives. 
Before you serve. 

Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 

King. Farewell.— Come hither to me. 

I The King retires to a couch. 

1 Lord. O my sweet lord that you will stay behind 

us! 
Par. 'T Is not his fault; the spark— 

2 Lord. O, 't is brave wars! 
Par. Most admirable; I have seen those wars. 
Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coll with, 

'Too young," and 'the next year,' and "t is too 
early.' 
Par. An thy mind stand to H, boy, steal away 

bravely. 
Ber. I shall stay here the f orehorse to a smock, 
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry. 
Till honour be brought ui), and no sword worn 
But one to dance with! B.v heaven, I '11 steal away. 

1 Lord. There 's honour in the theft. 

Par. Commit it, count. 

2 Lord. I am your accessary; and so farewell. 
Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured 

bod.v. 

1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 

2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parrolles! 

Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 
Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals:— 
You shall find in tlie regiment of the Spinli one cap- 
tain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, 
here on his sinister cheek; it was this ver.v sword 
entrenched it: .saj' to him, I live; and observe his 
reports for me. 

2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. 

Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! 
[Exeunt Lords.] What will you do? 

Ber. Stay; the king — [Seeing him rise. 

Par. TTsea more spacious ceremony to the noble 
lords: you have restrained yourself within the list of 
too cold an adieu; be more expressive to them: for 
they wear themselves in the cap of the time: there, 
do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the 
influence of the most received star; and though the 
devil lead the measure such are to be followed, after 
them, and take a more dilated farewell. 

Ber. And I will do so. 

Par. Worthy fellows, and like to prove most sinewy 
sword-men. [Exeunt Bertram c^nd ParoUes. 

Enter Lafeu. 

Laf. Pardon, my lord, [Jcneeling] for me and for 
my tidings. 

King. I '11 see thee to .stand up. 

Laf. Then here 's a man stands that has brought 
his pardon. 
I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy. 
And that, at m.y bidding, you could so stand up. 

King. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate. 
And ask'd thee mercy for 't. 

Laf. Good faith, across: But, my good lord, 't is 
thus; 
Will you be cured of yoiur infirmity? 

King. No. 

Laf. O, will you eat no grapes, m.y royal fox? 
Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if 
My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medi- 
cine. 
That 's able to breathe life into a stone; 
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary 
With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch 
Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay. 
To give Great Charlemain a pen tn 's hand 
And write to her a love-line. 

King. What her is this? 

Laf. Why, doctor she; My lord, there 's one 
arriv'd. 
If you will see her: — Now, by my faith and honour. 
If seriously I may convey my thoughts 
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke 
kVith one, that, in her sex, her years, profession. 
Wisdom and constanc.v, hath amaz'd me more 
Than I dare blame m.v weakness: Will you see her 
(For that is her demand) and know her business? - 
That done, laugh well at ine. 

King. Now, good Lafeu, 

Bring In the admiration; that we with thee 
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine. 
By wondering how thou took'sc it. 

Laf. Nay, I '11 fit you. 

And not be all day neither. [Exit. 

King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. 

Re-enter Lafeu, with Helena. 

Laf. Nay, come your way. 

King. This haste hath wings indeed. 

Luf. Nay, come your ways; 
This is his majest.v, say your mind to him: 
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors 
His majesty seldon fears: I am Cressid's uncle. 
That dare leave two together, fare you well. [Ex. 

King. Now, fair one, does your business follow us? 

Hel. Ay, iny good lord. 
Gerard de Narbon was my father. 
In what he did profess well found. 

King. I knew him. 

Hel. The rather ■will I spare my praises towards 
him; 
Knowing him is enough. On his bed of death 
Many receipts lie gave me; ctiiefly one. 
Which, as tne dearest issue of his practice. 
And of his old experience the only darling. 
He bad me store up, as a triple eye. 
Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so; 
And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
With that malignant cause wherein the honour 
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
I come to tender it, and my appliance. 
With all bound humbleness. 

King. We thank you, maiden; 

But may not be so credulous of cure. 
When our most learned doctors leave us; and 
The congregated college have concluded 
That labouring art can never ransom nature 
From her inaidable estate,— I sa.v we must not 
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope. 
To prostitute our past-cure malady 
To empiricks; or to dissever .so 
Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. 

Hel. My duty then shall pay me for mv pains: 
I will no more enforce mine ofllce on you; 
Humbl.v entreating from your royal thoughts 
A modest one, to bear me back again. 

King. I cannot give thee less to be call'd grateful; 



Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give. 
As one near death to those that wish him live: 
But, 'That at full I know thou know'st no part; 
I knowing all my per'i, thou no art. 

Hel. What I can do can do no hurt to try. 
Since you set up your rest 'gainst i :;medy : 
He that of greatest works is finisher 
Oft does them by the weakest minister: 
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, , 

When judges have been babes. Great floods have 

flown 
From simple sources; and great seas have dried. 
When miracles have by the greater' 'leen denied. 
Oft expectation fails, and most oft ...ore 
Where most it promises; and oft it h'ts. 
Where hope is coldest, and despair moct fits. 

King.^nust not hear thee; 'fnre thee well, kind 
TBaid; 
Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid: 
Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward. 

Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is b-rr'd: 
It is not so with him that all things knows, 
As 't is with us that square our guess by shows: 
But most it is presumption in us, when 
The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent: 
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
I am not an impostor, that proclaim 
Myself against the level of mine aim; 
But know I think, and think I know most sure. 
My art is not past power, nor youpast cure. 

King. Art thou so confident? Within what space 
Hop'st thou my cure? 

Hel. The greatest grace lending grace. 

Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
Their fler.y torcher his diurnal ring; 
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
Moist Hesperus hath quenched his sleepy lamp. 
Or four and twent.v times the pilot's glass 
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass; 
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fl.v. 
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. 

King. Upon thy certainty and confidence. 
What dar'st thou venture? 

Hel. Tax of impudence, 

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame,— 
Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name 
Sear'd otherwise: no worse of worst extended, 
With vilest torture let my life be ended. 

King. Methinks. in thee some blessed spirit doth 
speak; 
His powerful sound within an organ weak: 
And what impossibility would slay 
In common sense, sense saves another way. 
Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate 
Worth name of life in thee hath estimate; 
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all 
That happiness and prime can nappy call: 
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate 
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. 
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try. 
That ministers thine own death, if I die. 

Hel. It I break time, or flinch in property 
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die; 
And well deserv'd: Not helping, death's my fee; 
But, if I help, what do you promise me? 

King. Make th.v demand. 

Hel. But will you make it even ' 

King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven. 

Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand. 
What husband in tliy power I will command: 
Exempted be from me the arrogance 
To choose from fortii the royal blood of France; 
i My low and humble name to propagate 
With any branch or image of thy state: 
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know 
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 

King. Here is my hand; the premises otserv'd, ; 
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd; 
So make the choice of thy own time, for I, 
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 
More should I question thee, and more I must. 
Though more to know could not be more to trust; 
From whence thou cam'st, how tended on,— But rest • 
Uuquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest.— 
Give me some help here, hoa!— If thou proceed 
As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed, 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 
I Palace. 

1 Enter Countess and Clown. 

I Co^lnf. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the 

I height of your breeding. 

Clu. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly 
taught: I know my business is but to the court. 

I Count. To the court? why, what place make you 

I special, when you put off that with such contempt- 
But to the court? 

I Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man anv 
manners, he ma.y easily put it off at court: he that 
cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his band, and 

I say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cas': 

; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were noi 
for the court: but for me, I have an answer will serve 
all men. 

CouM. Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fit- 
all questions. 

' Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all buttock.*: 
the pin-buttock, the quatch- buttock, the brawn-but- 

i tock, or any buttock. 

I Count. Will vour answer serve fit to all questions? 

I Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an ar- 

I tomey, as vour French crown for yourtaffata punk. 

i as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for 

j Shrove Tuesday, a morris for May -day, as the nail !■> 

I his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean 

t to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's 

[ mouth; nay, as the pudding to his skin. 

Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness 
for all questions? 
Clo. From below your duke to beneath your con- 

, stable, it will fit any question. 

I Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
size that must fit all demands. 

I Clo. But a tiirte neither, in good faith, if the learn- 
ed should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that 

[ belongs to 't: ask me If I am a courtier; it shall do 
you no harm to learn. 

Count. To be young again, if we could, I will be a 
fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your an- 

I swer— I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? 



Scene ii.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



Clo. O, Loru, sir, There 's a simple putting off ; 

—more, move, a hundred of them. 

Cuunt. Sir, 1 am a poor friend of j'ours, that lores 
you. 

Clii. O Lord, sir,— Thick, thick, spare not me. 

Count. I tliink, sir, you can eat none of this home- 
ly meat. 

Clo. O Lord, sir,— Nay, put me to 't, I warrant you. 

Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. 

Clo. O Lord, sir,— spare not me. 

Count. Do you cry, "O Lord, sir,' at your whip- 
ping, and 'spare not mey Indeed, your 'O Lord, 
sir," is very sequent to your whipping; you would 
ansiver very well to a whipping, it you were but 
bound to 't. 

CTo. I ne'er had worse luck in my lite in my—' O 
Lord, sir:' I see things may serve long, but not serve 
ever. 

Cotmt. I play the noble housewife with the time, 
To entertam it so merrily with a fool. , 

Clo. O Lord, sir,— Why, there 't serves well again. 



Par. Why, there 't Is; so say I too. 

Laf. Not to be helped,— 

Par. Bight: as 't were a man assured of a— 

Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. > 

Par. Just, you say well; so would I have said. 

Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. 

Par. It is indeed: if you will have it in showing, 
you shall read it in,— What do you call therey 

Laf. A showing of a heavenly eif ect in an earthly 
actor. 

Par. That 's it: I would have said the very same. 

Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'tore me I 
speak in respect— 

Par. Nay, 't is strange, 't is very strange, that is 
the brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most 
facinorous spirit that will not acknowledge it to be 
the— 

Laf. Very hand of heaven. 

Par. Ay, so I say. 

Laf. In a most weak- 
Far. And debile minister, great power, great tran- 
scendence: which should, indeed, give us a further 



Hcl. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress 
Fall, when love please— marry to each— but one. 

Laf. I '11 give bay Curtai and his furniture. 
My mouth no more were broken than these boys', 
And writ as little beard. 

King. Peruse them well: 

Not one of those but had a noble father. 

Hel. Gentlemen, 
Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to 
health. 

All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. 

Hel. I am a simple maid; and therein wealthiest, 
That, I protest, I simply am a maid: — 
Please Ic your majesty, I have done already; 
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me— 
' We blush, that thou should'st choose; but, be re 

fus'd, 
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever; 
We '11 ne'er come there again.' 

King. Make choice; and see. 

Who shuns thy love shuns all love in me. 

Sel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly ; 




I 



ACT n. — SCENE ni. 

Count. An end, sir: To your business: Give Helen 
this. 
And urge her to a present answer back: 
Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son; 
This is not much. 

Clo. Not much commendation to them. 

Count. Not mucli employment for you: You under- 
stand me? 

Clo. Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs. 

Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. 

Scene III.- Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and ParoUes. 

Laf. They say, miracles are past; and we have 
our philosophical persons, to make modern and 
familiar things supernatural and causeless. Hence 
is ic that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing our- 
selves Into seeming knowledge, when we shouldsub- 
mit ourselves to an unknown fear. 

Par. Why, 't is the rarest argument of wonder that 
hath shot out in our latter times. 

Ber. And so 't is. 

Laf. To be rellnqulsh'd of the artists,— 

Par. So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 

Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows,— 

Par. Right, so I say. 

Laf. That gave him out incurable,— 



Ser. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't. 

use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, 
as to be— 
Laf. Generally thankful. 

Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. 

Par. I would have said It; you say well. Here 
comes the king. 

Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says: I '11 like a 
maid the better whilst I have a tooth in my head: 
Why, he 's able to lead her acoranto. 

Par. Mori dii Vinaiqre! Is not this Helen? 

iMf. 'Fore God, I think so. 

King. Go, call before me all the lords in court.— 

[Exit an Attendant. 
Sit, my preserver, bv thy patient's side; 
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense 
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
The confirmation of my promis'd gift, 
Which but attends thy naming. 

Enter several Lords. 

Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel 
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing. 
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice 
I have to use: thy frank election make; 
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to for- 
sake. 



And to imperial Love, that god most high, 

Do my sighs stream.— Sir, will you hear my suit? 

1 Lord. And grant it. 

Hel. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. 

Laf. 1 had rather be In this choice than throw 
ames-ace for my life. 

Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes. 
Before I speak, too threateningly replies: 
Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
Her that so wishes, and her humble love! 

2 Lord. No better, if you please. 

Hel. My wish receive. 

Which great love grant; and so I take my leave. 

Laf. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of 
mine, I'd have them whipped; or I would send them 
to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. 

Hel. Be not afraid \to a Lord] that I your hand 
should take; 
I '11 never do you wr<mg for your own sake: 
Blessing upon your vowsl and in your bed 
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! 

Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they '11 none have 
her: sure 'they are bastards to the English; the 
French ne'er got them. 

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good. 
To make yourself a son out of my blood. 

i Lord. Fair one, I think not so. ; i 



M 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WALL. 



[Act II. 



7<a/. There 's one grape yet,— I am sure thy father 
drank wine.— But if tliou be'st not an uss, I am a 
youth of fourteen; I have known thee ah-eady. 

Hel. I dare not say 1 take you; [to Bertram] but I 
give 
Me and my service, ever wliilst I live. 
Into yourgulding power. — Tills is the man. 

King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she 's 
thy wife. 

Ber. My wife, my liege? 1 shall beseech your high- 
ness, 
In such business give me leave to use 
The help of mine own eyes. 

King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 

What she has done for me? 

Ber. Yes, my good lord; 

But never hope to know why I should marry her. 

King. Thou know'st she has rais'd me frpm my 
sickly bed. 

Ber. Bi'.t follows it, my lord, to bring nie down 
Must answer for your raising? I know her well; 
She had her breeding at my father's charge: 
A poor physician's daughter my wife!- Disdain 
Rather corrupt me everl 

King. 'T is only title thou dlsdaln'st in her, the 
which 
I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods, 
or colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
In differences so mighty: If she be 
Ail that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, 
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st 
Of virtue for the name: but do not so: 
From lowest place when virtuous things proceed. 
The place is dignified b.v the doer's deed: 
Where great additions swell, and virtue none. 
It is a dropsied honour: good alone 
Is good without a name; vlleness is so: 
The property by what it is should go. 
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; 
In these to nature she 's immediate heir. 
And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn 
Which challenges itself as honour's born, 
And is not like the sire: Honours thrive. 
When rather from our acts we them derive 
Than our fore-goers: the mere word 's a slave, 
Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave 
A lying trophy: and as cfCt Is dumb. 
Where dust, and damn'd oblivion, is the tomb 
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said? 
If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
I can create the rest: virtue, and she, 
Is her own dower; honour, and wealth, from me. 

Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't. 

King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if ihou shouldst strive 
to choose. 

Hel. That you are well restor'd,my lord, I 'm glad; 
Let the rest go. 

King. My honour 's at the stake; which to defeat, 
I must produce m.v power: Here, take her hand, 
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift. 
That dost in vile misprision shackle up 
My love, and hor desert: that canst not dream, 
We, poizing us in her defective ocale. 
Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know 
It Is in us to plant thine honour, where 
We please to have it grow: Ciieek thy contempt: 
Obey our will, which travails in thy good: 
Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right 
Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; 
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever. 
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse 
Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate 
Loosing upon thee. In the name of Justice, 
Without all terms of pity: Speak ! thine answer ! 

Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit 
'Sly fancy to your eyes: When I consider 
What great creation, and what dole of honour. 
Flies where sou bid it, I find, that she, which late 
Was in my nobler thouglits most base, is now 
The praised of the king; who, so ennobled. 
Is, as 't were, born so. 

King. Take her b.v the hand, 

And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise 
A counterpoise: if not to thy estate, 
A balance more replete. 

Ber. I take her hand. 

King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king. 
Smile upon this contract; who.se ceremony 
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief. 
And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast 
Shall more attend upon the coming space. 
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her. 
Thy love 's to me religious; else, does err. 

[Exeunt King, Bert., Hel., Lords, and Attendants. 

Laf. Do you hear, monsieur? a word with you. 

Par. Your pleasure, sir? 

Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his 
recantation. 

Par. Recantation'?- My lord? my master? 

Laf. Ay: Is it not a language I speak? 

Par. A most harsh one; and not to be understood 
%vithout bloody succeeding. My master? 

Laf. Are you companion to the count RousiUon? 

Par. To any count; to all counts; to what is man. 

Laf. To what is count's man; count's master is of 
another style. 

Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are 
too old. 

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which 
title age cannot bring thee. 

Par. 'What I dare too well do I dare not do. 

Lnf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a 
prett.v wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent 
of thy travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the 
bannerets at>out thee did manifoldly dissuade me 
from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I 
have now found ..jee; when I lose thee again I care 
not: yet art thou good for nothing but talking up; and 
that thou art scarce worth. 

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity 
upon thee,— 

Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest 
thou hasten thy trial;— which if— Lord have mercy 
on thee for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, 
fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I 
look through thee. Give me thy hand. 

Par. My lord, you give me most egregious indig- 
nity. 

Laf. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy 
of it. 

Far. I have not, my lord, deserved it. 



Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it: and I will 
not bait thee a scruple. 
Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 
iMf. Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to 

Eull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st 
ound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what 
it is to be proud of thy bondage. I iiave a desire 
to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my 
knowledge, that I may say, in tlie default, he is a 
man I know. 

Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable vexa- 
tion. 

Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and 
my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past, as I 
will uy thee, in what motion age will give me leave. 

[Ej;it. 

Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace 
off me; scurvy, old, flitiiy, scurvy lord!— Well, I 
must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. 
I '11 beat nim, b.v my life, if I can meet him with any 
convenience, an he were double and double a lord. 
I '11 have no more pity of his age, than I would have 
of— I '11 beat hlra, an ff I could but meet him again. 
Reenter Lafeu. 

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master 's married; 
there 's news for you; you have a new mistress. 

Par. I must unfeignedl.v beseech your lordship to 
make some reservation of your wrongs: He is my 
good lord: whom I serve above is my master. 

Laf. Who? God? 

Par. Ay, sir. 

Laf. The devil it Is that 's thy master. WTiy dost 
thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make 
hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou 
were best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. 
By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, 
I'd beat thee: metliinks, thou are a general offence, 
and every man should beat thee. I think thou 
wast created for men to breathe themselves upon 
thee. 

Par. This Is hard and undeserved measure, my 
lord. 

Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for pick- 
ing a kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vaga- 
bond, and no true traveller: you are more saucy 
with lords and honourable personages, than the 
commission of your birth and virtue gives you 
heraldry. You are not worth another >vord, else I'd 
call you Knave. I leave you. [Exit. 

Enter Bertram. 

Par. Good, ver,y good; it is so then.— Good, very 
good; let it be concealed a while. 

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! 

Par. What is the matter, sweet heart? 

Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have 
sworn, 
I will not bed her. 

Par. What? what sweet heart? 

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me:— 
I 'U to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 

Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
The tread of a man's foot: to the wars! 

Ber. There 's letters from my mother; what the 
import is, 
I know not yet. 

Par. Ay, that would be known: To the wars, my 
boy, to the wars! 
He wears his honour in a box unseen 
That hugs his kickie wickie here at home; 
Spending his manly marrow in her arms. 
Which sliould sustain the bound and high curvet 
Of Mars's flery steed: To other regions! 
France is a stable; we, that dwell in 't, jades; 
Therefore, to the war! 

Ber. It shall be so; I '11 send her to my house; 
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her. 
And wherefore I am fled; write to the king 
That which I durst not speak: His present gift 
Shall f ttrnish me to those Italian fields 
Where noble fellows strike: War is no strife 
To the dark house, and the detested wife. 

Par. Will this capricio liold In thee, art sure? 

Bet: Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. 
I '11 send her straight away : To-morrow 
I '11 to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 

Par. Why, these balls bound; there 's noise in it. 
'Tis hard: 
-4. young man married is a man that 's marr'd: 
Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go: 
The king has done you wrong: but, hush! 't Is so. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— The same. Another Room in the same. 
Enter Helena and Clown. 

ne7. My mother greets me kindly: Is she well? 

Clo. She is not well; but yet she has her health; 
she 's very merry: but yet she is not well; but 
thanks be given, she 's very well, and wants no- 
thing i' the w^orld: but yet she is not well. 

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail that 
she 's not very well? 

Clo. Truly, she 's very well, indeed, but for two 
things. 

Hel. What two things? 

Clo. One, that she 's not in heaven, whither God 
send her quickly! the other, that she 's in earth, 
from whence God send her quickly! 
£7iter Parolles. 

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady! 

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have 
mine own good fortunes. 

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on: and to 
keep them on, have them still.— O, my knave! How 
does my old lady? 

Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money 
I would she did as you say. 

Par. Wliy, I say nothing. 

Clo. Marr.v, you are the wiser man; for many a 
man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing: To 
say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to 
have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; 
which is within a very little of nothing. 

Par. Away, thou 'rt a knave. 

Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave thou 
art a knave; that is, before me thou art a knave: 
this Iiad been truth, sir. 

Par. Go to, thou art a witty foot; I have found thee. 

Clo. Did you find nie in j'ourself, sir? or were .vou 
taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable; 
and much fool may you find in you, even to the 
world's pleasure, and the increase of langliter. 



Par. A good knave, 1' faith, and well fed.— 
Madam, my lord will go away to-night: 
A very serious business calls on him. 
The great prerogative and rite of love. 
Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- 
ledge; 
But puts it off to a compell'd restraint; 
Whose want and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets. 
Which they distil now in the curbed time 
To make tlie coming hour o'erflow with joy. 
And pleasure drown the brim. 

Hel. What 's his will else? 

Par. That you will take your instant leave o' the 
king. 
And ^al<e this haste as your own good proceeding, 
Strengfhen'd with what apology you think 
May make it probable need. 

Hel. What more commands he? 

Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently 
Attend his further pleasure. 

Hel. In everything I wait upon his will. 

Pai: I shall report it so. 

Hel. I pray you.-Come, sirrah. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V.— Another Boom in the same. 
Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 

Laf. But, I hope your lordship thinks not him a 
soldier. 

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of veiT valiant approof. 

Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. 

Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 

Laf. Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark 
for a bunting. 

Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great In 
knowledge, and accordingly valiant. 

Laf. I have then siimed against his experience, 
and transgressed against his valour; and my state 
that way Is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my 
heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make 
us friends; I will pursue the amity. 

Enter Parolles. 

Par. These things shall be done, sir. [To Bert. 

Laf. Pray you, sir, who 's his tailor? 

Par. Sir? 

Laf. O, I know him well: Ay, sir; he, sir, is a good 
workman, a very good tailor. 

Ber. Is she gone to the king? [Aside to Parolles. 

Par. She is. 

Ber. Will she away to-night? 

Par. As you '11 have her. 

Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure. 
Given order for our horses; and to-night. 
When I should take possession of the bride, 
End ere I do begin. 

Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter 
end of a dinner; but one that lies three-thirds, and 
nses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, 
should be once heard, and thrice beaten.— God save 
you, captain. 

Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and 
you, monsieur? 

Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into 
my lord's displeasure. 

Laf. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and 
spurs and all, lilce him that leaped into the custard; 
and out of it you '11 run again, rather than suffer 
question for your residence. 

Ber. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. 

Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at 
his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe 
this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; 
the soul of this man is his clothes: trust him not in 
matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them 
tame, and know their natures.— Farewell, monsieur: 
I have spoken better of you than you have or will 
to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against 
evil. [Exit. 

Par. An idle lord, I swear. 

Ber. I think so. 

Par. Why, do .vou not know him? 

Ber. Yes, I do know hlra well; and common speech 
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. 

Lnter Helena. 

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, 
Spoke with the king, and have procur'd his leave 
For present parting; onl.v, he desires 
Some private speech with you. 

Ber. I shall obey his will. 

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course. 
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
The ministration and required office 
On my particular: prepar'd I was not , 

For sucn a business; therefore am I found 
So'mucii unsettled: This drives me to entreat you, 
"That presently you take your wa.v for home; 
And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you: 
For my respects are better than they seem: 
And my appointments have in them a need 
Greater than shows itself, at the first view. 
To you that know them not. This to my mother: 

[Giving a letter. 
'T will be two days ere I shall see you; so 
I leave you to your wisdom. 

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say. 

But that I am your most obedient servant. 

Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 

Hel. And ever shall 

With true observance seek to eke out that. 
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fall'd 
To equal my great fortune. 

Ber. Let that go: 

My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home. 

Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 

Ber. Well, what would you say? 

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe; 
Nor dare I say 't is mine; and yet it is; 
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
What law does vouch mine own. 

Ber. What would you have? 

Het. Something; and scarce so much:— nothing, 
indeed.— 
I would not tell you what I would: my lord— 'faith, 

.ves;— 
Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. 

Ber. I prav vou, stav not, but in haste to horse. 

Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. 

Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur?— Fare- 
well. [Exit Helena. 
Go thou toward home; where I will never come. 



ALirS WKLf. THAT J<:\I)S \\KI.L. 



91 



Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum:— 
Away, and for our flight. 
Par. Bravely, coraglo I {Kxeiint. 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— Florence. A Room in the Duke'.s 

Fulace. 

Flourish. Enter the Ikike of Florejice, attended; 

two French Lords, and others. 
Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you 
heard 
The fundamental reasons of this war; 
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth. 
And more thirsts after. 

1 I.ord. Holy seems the quarrel 
Upon your grace's part; black and fearful 

On the opposer. 
Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin 
France 
Would, In so just a business, shut his bosom 
Against our borrowing prayers. 

2 Lord. Good my lord. 
The reasons of our state I cannot yield 

But like a common and an outward man. 
That the great figure of a council frames 
By self-unable motion: therefore dare not 
Say what I think of it; since I have found 
Myself In my uncertain grounds to fall 
As often as I guess'd. 

Diike. Be it his pleasure. 

2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature. 
That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day. 
Come here for physic. 

Duke. ■ Welcome shall they be; 

And all the honours that can fly from us 
Shall on them settle. You know your places well; 
When better fall, for your avails they fell: 
To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene IL— RouslUon. A Room in the Countess's 
Talace. 

Enter Countess and Clown. 

Count. It hath happened all as I would have had 
It, save that he comes not along with her. 

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a 
very melancholy man. 

Count. By what observance, I pray you? 

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; 
mend the ruff, and sing; ask questions, and sing; 
pick his teeth, and sing: l know a man that had this 
trick of melancholy hold a goodly manor for a 
song. 

Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he 
means to come. [Opening a letter. 

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court; 
our old ling and our Isbels o' the counti-j- are nothing 
like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court: tlie 
brains of my Cupid 's knocked out; and I begin to 
love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. 

Count. What have we here? 

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 

Count. [reads.'[ 

' I have sent you a daughter-in-law; she hath re- 
covered the king, and undone me. I have wedded 
her, not bedded her; and swore to make the not 
eternal. You shall hear I am run away; know it be- 
fore the report come. If there be breadth enough in 
the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty to 
you. 'Your unfortunate son, 

'Bertram.' 
This Is not well, rash and unbridled boy. 
To fly the favours of so good a king; 
To pluck his indignation on thy head. 
By the misprizing ot a maid too virtuous 
For the contempt of empire. 

Rti-enter Clown. 

Clo. O madarti, yonder is heavy news within, be- 
tween two soldiers and my young lady. 

Count. What Is the matter? 

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some 
comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I 
thought he would. 

Count. Why should he be killed'.' 

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he 
does; the danger is in standing to 't; that 's the loss 
of men, though it be the getting of children. Here 
they come will tell you more: for my part, I only 
hear your son was run away. [Exit. 

Enter Helena and ttvo Centlemen. 

1 Cfen. Save you, good madain. 

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
'i Gen. Do not say so. 

Counti Think upon patience.— 'Pray you, gentle- 
men,— 
1 have felt so many quirks of joy and grief. 
That the first face of neither, on the start. 
Can woman me unto 't, — Where is my son, I pray 
you? 

2 Sen. Madam, he 's gone to serve the duke of 

Florence: 
We met him thitherward; for thence we came, 
And, after some despatch In hand at court. 
Thither we bend again. 

Hel. Look on his letter, madam; here is my pass- 
port. [Reads. 

' When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, 
which never shall come off, and show me a child be- 
gotten of thy body that I ara father to, then call me 
husband: but in such a tlien I write a never.' 
This is a dreadful sentence. 

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? 

1 Gen. Av, madam; 
And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. 

Count. I prithee, ladv, have a better cheer; 
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, 
Thou robb'st me of a moiety: He was my son; 
But I do wash his name out of my blood. 
And thou art all my child.— Towards Florence is he? 

2 Oen, Ay, madam. 

Count. And to be a soldier? 

2 Gen. Such is his noble purpose: and, believe 't. 
The duke will lay upon him all the honour 
That good convenience claims. 

Count. Return vou thither? 

J Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of .speed. 

HeJ. 'Tin I have no wife, I have nothing in France. 
T Is bitter. 
• Count. Find you that there ? 

BeL Ay, madam. 



1 Gen. 'T is but the boldness of Ills hand, haply, 
which his heart was not consenting to. 

Cuiint. Nothing in France, until he ha v<' no wile! 
There 's notliiiig here, that is too good for him, 
But only she; and she deserves a lord 
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon. 
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with hliii? 

1 Oen. A servant only, and a gentleman 
Which I have sometime known. 

Count. ParoUes, was 't not? 

1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he. 

Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- 
ness. 
My son corrupts a well-derived nature 
With his inducement. 

1 Gen. Indeed, good lady. 
The fellow has a deal of that, too much, 
Whicli holds him inucii to have. 

Count. You are welcome, gentlemen. 
I will entreat you, when you see my son. 
To tell him that his sword can never win 
The honour that he loses; more 1 '11 entreat you 
Written to bear along. 

2 Gen. We serve you, madam. 
In that and all your worthiest affairs. 

Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. 
Will you dra\v near? [E.v. Count, and G-entiemen. 

Bel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.' 
Nothing in France, until he has no wife f 
Thpu Shalt have none, Rousilion.none in Prance, 
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is 't I 
That chase thee from thy country, and expose 
Those tender limbs of tliine to the event 
Of the none-sparing war? and is it I 
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou 
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
Ot smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers. 
That ride upon the violent speed of fire. 
Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, 
Ihat sings with piercing; do not touch my lord ! 
Whoever shoots at him, I set him tliere; 
Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
I am the caitiff thr.t do hold him to it; 
And, though I kill him not, I am thecause 
His deatli was so effected: better 't were, 
I met the ravin lion wlien he roar'd 
With sharp constraint of hunger; better 't were, 
That all the miseries which nature owes 
Were mine at ence: No, come thou home, Rousillon, 
Whence honour but ol^ danger wins a scar. 
As oft it loses all; I will be gone: 
My being here it is that holds thee hence: 
Shall I stay here to do 't? no, no, although 
Tile air of paradise did fan tlie house. 
And angels offic'd all! I will be gone; 
That pitiful rumour may report my flight. 
To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, dayl 
For, with the dark, poor thief, I '11 steal away. [Ex. 

Scene III.— Florence. Before the Duke's Palace. 

Flourish. Enter (/teDuke of Florence, Bertram, 
Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. 

Duke. The general of our horse thou art; and we. 
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence 
Upon thy promising fortune. 

Der. Sir, it is 

A cliarge too heavy for my strength: but yet 
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake. 
To the extreme edge of hazard. 

Duke. Then go thou forth; 

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, 
As thy auspicious mistressi 

Ber. This vei-y day. 

Great Mars, I put myself into thy file: 
Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove 
A lov*r of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. 

Scene rv,— Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 

Palace. 

Enter Countess and Steward. 

Count. Alasl and would you take the letter of her? 

Might you not know she would do as she has done. 

By sending rae a letter? Read it again. 

Stew. 
I am St. Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone: 

Ambitious love hath so in me offended. 
That bare-foot plod I the cold ground upon. 

With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
Write, write, that, from the bloody course of war. 

My dearest master, your dear son may hie; 
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far 

His name with zealous fervour sanctify: 
His taken labours bid him me forgive; 

I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth 
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live. 

Where death and danger dog the heels of worth: 
He is too good and fair for death and me; 
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. 
Count. Ah, what sharp stmgs are in her mildest 
words ! 
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much 
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her 
I could have well diverted her intents. 
Which thus she hath prevented. 

Steiv. Pardon me, madam: 

If I had given you this at over-night. 
She might have been o'er-ta'en; and yet she writes, 
Pursuit would be but vain. 

Count. What angel shall 

Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive. 
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear. 
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
Ot greatest justice.— 'write, write, Rinaldo, 
To this unworthy husband of his wife: 
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth. 
That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief. 
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. 
Despatch the most convenient messenger:— 
When, hapiy, he shall hear that she is gone. 
He will return; and hope I may that she, 
Hearing so much, will spepd her foot again. 
Led hither by pure love. Which of them both 
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
To make distinction: — Provide this messenger: — 
My heart is heavy, and mine age is v^'eak; 
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V.— Without the Walls of Florence. 

Atvcket afnr off. Enter an old V7S(\nvi o/ Florence, 

Diana, VIolenta. Mariana, and other Citizens. 

Wid. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, 

we shall lose all the sight. 



DIa. They say the French count has done most 
honourable service. 

Wid. It is reported that he has taken thelrgreatest 
commander; and that with his own hand he slew the 
duke's brother. We have lost our labour: they are 
gone a contrary way: hark! you may know by their 
trumpets. 

Mar. Come let 's return again, and suffice our- 
selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed 
of this French earl; the honour ot a maid Is her 
name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. 

W,d. I liave told my neighbour how you have been 
solicited by a gentleman his companion. 

Mor. I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a 
filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the young 
earl.- Bewareot them, Diana; their promises, enHce- 
ments, oaths, tokens, and all these engines ot lust, 
are not the things they go under: many a maid hath 
been seduced liy them; and the misery Is, example 
that so terrible shows in the wrack ot maidenhood, 
cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that thoy 
are lined with the twigs that threaten them. I hope 
I need not to advise you further; but I hope yo;u- 
own grace will keepyou where you are, though there 
were no further danger knowTi, but the mode.'jty 
which is so lost. 

Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 

Enter Helena, in tlie dress of a pilgrim. 

Wid. I hope so.— Look, here comes a pilgrim: I 
know she will lie at my house: thither they send one 
another: I '11 question her.— God save you, pilgriml 
Wliither are you bound? 

Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand. 
Where do the palmers, lodge, I do beseech you? 

Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. 

Jtel. Is this the way? 

Wid. Ay, marry is it.— Hark you! 

[a march afar off. 
They come this way:— If you will tarry, holy pilgrim. 
But till tlie troops come by, 
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd; 
The rather, for I think I know your hostess 
As ample as myself. 

Hel. Is it yourself? 

Wid. It you shall please so, pilgrim. 

Hel. I than'i^ you, and will stay upon your leisure. 

Wid. You came, I think, from France? 

Hel. Ir'idso. 

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours. 
That has done worthy service. 

Hel. His name, I pray you. 

Via. The count Rousillon: Know you such a one? 

Hel. But by the ear that hears most nobly of him: 
His face I know not. 

Dia. Whatsoe'er he is. 

He 's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
As 't is reported, for the king had married Iiim 
Against his liking: Think you it is so? 

Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady. 

Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the count 
Reports but coarsely of her. 

Hel. What 's his name? 

Dia. Monsieur Parolles. 

Hel. O, I believe with him. 

In aigument of praise, or to the wortli 
Of the great count himself she is too mean 
To have her name repeated; all her deserving 
Is a reserved honesty, and that 
I have not heard examin'd. 

Dia. Alas, poor lady! 

'T is a hard bondage, to become the wife 
Ot a detesting lord. 

Wid. Ay, right; good creature, wheresoe'er she is. 
Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid might do 

her 
A shrewd turn it she pleas'd. 

Hel. How do you mean? 

May be, the amorous count solicits her 
In the unlawful purpose. 

Wid. He does indeed; 

And brokes with all that can in such a suit 
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid: 
But slie is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard 
Inhonestest defence. 

Enter^ with drum and colours, a party of tlie 
Florentine army, Bertram, and Parolles. 

Mar. The gods forbid else! 

Wid. So, now they come:— 

That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son; 
That. Escalus. 

Hel. Which is the Frenchman? 

Dia. He; 

That with the plume: 't is a most gallant fellow; 
I would he lov'd his wife: if he were honester 
He were much goodlier;— Is 't not a handsome gen- 
tleman? 

Hel. I like him well. 

Dia. "I is pity he is not honest: Y^ond 's that same 
knave. 
That leads him to these places; were I his ladv. 
I would poison that vile rascal. 

Hel. Which is he? 

Dia. That jackanapes with scarfs: Why is lie mel- 
ancholy? 

Hel. Perchance he 's hurt 1' the battle. 

Par. Lose our drum! well. 

Mar. He 's shrewdly vexed at something: Look, he 
has spied us. 
. Wid. Marry, hang you! 

Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! 
[Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers, and Soldiers. 

Wid. The troop is past: Come, pilgrim, I wUl bring 
you 
Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents 
There 's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, 
Ah-oady at my house. 

Hel. I humbly thank you: 

Ple."se it this matron, and this gentle maid. 
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking 
Shall be for me; and to requite you further, 
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin. 
Worthy the note. 

Both. We '11 take your offer kindly. iExeunt. 

Scene VI.— Camp before Florence. 
Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords. 

1 Ix>rd. Nay, good my lord, put him to 't: let hira 
have his way. 

2 TA>rd. It your lordship find him not a hlldlng, 
hold me no more in your respect. 

1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 



ALL'S WELL THAT E^^DS WELL. 



[Act IV. 



Ber. Doyou think I am so far deceived In him? 

1 Lord. Believe It, my lord, in mine own direct 
knowledge, without any malice, but to speak of him 
as my kinsman, he 's a most notable coward, an in- 
finite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, 
the owner of no one good quality worthy your lord- 
ship's entertainment. 

2 Lord. It were fit you knew liim; lest, repodng 
too far in his virtue, which he haih not, he might, 
at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, 
fall you. 

Bcr. I would I knew In what particular action to 
try him. 

2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his 
drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake 
to do. 

1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sudden- 
ly surprise him: such I will have whom I am sure he 
knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hood- 
wink him, so that lie shall suppose no other but that 
he is carried Into the leaguer of the adversaries, 
when we bnng him to ouro-vn tents: Be but your 
lordship present at his examination: if he donot, for 
the promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion 
of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver all the 
Intelligence in his power against you, and that with 
the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust 
my judgment in anything. 

2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch 
his drum; he says, he has a stratagem for 't: when 
your lordship sees the bottom of his success in 't, 
and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will 
be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter- 
tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here 
he comes. 

Enter ParoUes. 

1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the 
humour of his design: let him fetch off his drum iu 
any hand. 

Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely 
in your disposition. 

2 Lord. A pox on 't, let it go; 't is but a drum. 
Par. But a drum! Is 't but a drum? A drum so 

lost!— There was excellent command! to charge in 
with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our 
own soldiers! 

2 Lord. That was not to be blamed In the com- 
mand of the service; it was a disaster of war that 
Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had 
been there to command. 

Bcr. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
cess: some dishonour we had in the loss of that 
drum; but it is not to be recovered. 

Par. It might have been recovered. 

Bcr. It might, but it is not now. 

Par. It Is to be recovered: but that the merit of 
service is seldom attributed to the true and e.'cact 
performer, I would have that drum or another, or 
hicjacet. 

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to 't, monsieur, if 
you think .your mystery in stratagem can bring this 
instrument of honour again Into his native quarter, 
be magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I will 
grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed 
well In it, the duke shall both speak of it, and ex- 
tend to you what further becomes his greatness, even 
to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. 

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. 

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 

Par. I '11 about it this evening: and I will pre- 
sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in 
my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepara- 
tion, and, by midnight, look to hear further from me. 

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are 
gone about it? 

Par. I know not what the success will be, my lord; 
but the attempt I vow. 

Ber. I know thou art valiant; and to the possi- 
bility of thy soldiership will subscribe for thee. 
Farewell. 

Par. I love not many words. \Exit. 

1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water.— Is not 
this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently 
seems to undertake this business, which he knows is 
not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares bet- 
ter be damned than to do 't? 

2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we do: 
certain it is. that he will steal himself into a man's 
favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of dis- 
coveries; but when you find hinr out, you have him 
ever after. 

Ber. Why, do you think he will make no deed at 
all of this, that so seriously he does address nimself 
unto? 

1 Lord. None In the world; but return with an in- 
vention, and clap upon you two or three probable 
lies; but we have almost embossed him; you shall 
see his fall to-night: for, Indeed, he Is not for your 
lordship's respect. 

2 Lord. We '11 make you some sport with the fox, 
ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old lord 
I^feu: when his disguise and he is parted, tell me 
what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see 
this very night. 

1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be 
caught, 
Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 

1 Liord. As 't pleases your lordship: I '11 leave you. 

[Exit. 
Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show 
you 
The lass 1 spoke of. 

2 Lord. But, you say she 's honest. 

Ber. That 's all the fault: I spoke with her but 
once. 
And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her. 
By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wina, 
Tokens and letters which she did re-send; 
And this Is all I have done: She 's a fair creature; 
Will von go see her? 

2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord [Exe. 

Scene VII.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's 

House. 

Enter Helena and Widow. 

Bel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
I know not how I shall assure you further. 
But I shall 'ose the grounds I work upon. 

Wid. Though my estate he fallen, I was well born, 
Nothing acquainted with these businesses; 
And would not put my reputation now 
In any staining act. 

HeL Nor would I wish you. 



First, give me trust, the count he Is my husband; 
And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken. 
Is so, from word to word; and then you cannot. 
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 
Err in bestowing it. 

Wid. I should believe you; 

For you have show'd me that wliich well approves 
You are great in fortune. 

Hel. Take this purse of gold, 

And let mo buy your friendly help thus far. 
Which I will over-pay, and pay again. 
When I have found it. Tlio count he woos your 

daughter. 
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 
Resolves to carry her; let her, in fine, consent. 
As we 'it direct her how 't Is best to bear it, 
Now his important blood will nought deny 
That she '11 demand: A ring the county wears. 
That downward hath succeeded in his house, 
From son to son, some four or five descents 
Since the first father wore it: this ring lie holds 
In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire. 
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, 
Howe'er repented after. 

Wid. Now I see 

The bottom of your purpose. 

Hel. You see it lawful then: It is no more. 
But that .your daughter, ere she seems as won, 
Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; 
In fine, delivers me to fill the time. 
Herself most chastely absent; after this. 
To marry her, I '11 add three thousand crowds 
To what is past already. 

Wid. I have yielded: 

Instruct my daughter how she shall persever. 
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful, 
May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
With musics of ail sorts, and songs compos'd 
To her unvvorthiness: It nothing steads us 
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists, 
As if his life lay on 't. 

Hel. Why then, to-night 

Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed. 
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed. 
And lawful meaning in a lawful act; 
Where botli not sin, and yet a sinful fact: 
But let 's about it. [Exeunt. 

ACT lY. 
Scene 1.— Without the Florentine Camp. 

Enter first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in 
amimsh. 

1 Tx)rd. He can come no other way but by this 
hedge-corner: When you sally upon him, speak what 
terrible language you will; though you understand 
it not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to 
understand him; unless some one among us, whom 
we must produce for an interpreter. 

1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 

1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him? knows he 
not thy voice? 

1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 

1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak 
to us again? 

1 Sold. E'en such as you speak to me. 

1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers 
i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a 
smack of all neighbouring languages; therefore we 
must every one oe a man of his own fancy, not to 
know what we speak one to another; so we seem to 
know Is to know straight our purpose: chough's 
language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for 
you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But 
couch, hoa! here he comes; to beguile two hours in a 
sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he 
forges. 

Enter ParoUes. 

Par. Ten o'clock: within these three hours 't will 
be time enougli togo home. What shall I say I have 
done? It must be a very plaustve invention that 
carries it: They begin to smoke me: and disgraces 
have of late knocked too often at my door. I find 
my tongue is too fool-hardy: but mj' heart hath the 
fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring 
the reports of my tongue. 

1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own 
tongue was guilty of. [Aside. 

Par. What the devil should move me to undertake 
the recovery of this drum; being not Ignorant of 
the impossibility, and knowing I had no such 
purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I 
got them in exploit: Yet slight ones will not carry 
it: They will say. Came .vou off with so little? anil 
great ones I dare not give. Wherefore? what 's 
the Instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter- 
woman's mouth, and buy myself another of Bajazet's 
mute, if .you prattle me into these perils. 

1 Lord. Is it possible he should know what he is, 
and be that he is? [Aside. 

Par. I would the cutting of my garments would 
serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sword. 

1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. [Aside. 

Par. Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was 
In stratagem. 

1 lord. 'Twould not do. [Aside. 

Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was 
strlppeil. 

1 Lhrd. Hardly serve. r^sWe. 

Par. Though I swore Heaped from the window of 
the citadel— 

1 Lord. How deep? [Aside. 

Pur. Thirty fathom. 

1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that 
be believed. [Aside. 

Par. I would I had any drum of the enemy's; I 
would swear I recovered it. 

1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. [Aside. 

Par. A drum now of the enemy's! 

[Alarum ivithin. 

1 Lord. Throca movousus. cargo, car(jo, cargo. 

AIL Cargo, cargo, cargo villianda par corha. cargo. 

Par, O! ransom, ransom: donot hide mine eyes. 

[They seize him and blindfold him. 

1 Sold, Boskos thromuldo tioskos. 

Par, I know you are the Muskos' regiment. 
And I shall lose my life for want of language: 
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
Italian, or French, let him speak to me, 
I will discover that which shall undo 
The Florentine. 

1 Sold. Boskos vauvado:— 



I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue:— 

Kerelyhonto:—S\v, 

Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 

Art at thy bosom. 

Par. Oh: 

1 Sold. o, pray, pray, pray.— 

Manka revania diilche. 

1 Lord. Oscorbi dulchos volivorco. 

1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee j'et; 
And, hood-wlnk'd as thou art, will lead thee on 
To gather from thee: haply thou may'st inform 
Something to save thy life. 

Par. O, let me live. 

And iM the secrets of our camp I '11 show, 
Thelrfcrce, their purposes: nay, I '11 speak that 
Which you will wonder at. 

1 Sold, But wilt thou faithfully? 

Par. If I do not, damn me. 

1 Sold. Acordo linta.— 

Come on, thou art granted space. 

[Exit, with ParoUes guarded, 

1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my bro- 

ther, 
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him 

muffled, 
Till we do hear from them. 

2 Sold. Captain, I will. 

1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves; — 
Inform on that. 

2 Sold. So I will, sir. 

1 Lord, Till then, I '11 keep him dark, and safely 
lock'd. [Exeunt. 

SCENK n.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's 

House. 

Enter Bertram and Diana. 

Ber. They told me that your name was Fontlbell. 

Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. 

Ber. Titled goddess; 

And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul. 
In your fine frame hath love no quality? 
If the quick fire of youth light not your mind. 
You are no maiden, but a monument: 
When you are dead, you should be such a one 
As you are now, for you are cold and stern; 
And now you should be as your mother was, 
When your sweet self was got. 

Dia. She then was honest. 

Ber. So should you be. 

Dia. No; 

My mother did but duty; such, my lord. 
As you owe to your wife. 

Ber. No more of that ! 

T prithee do not strive against my vows: 
I was compeli'd to her; but I love thee 
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
Do thee all rights of service. 

Dia. Ay, so you serve us, 

Till we serve you: but when you have our roses, 
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, 
And mock us with our bareness. 

Ber. How have I sworn! 

Dia. 'T is not the many oaths that make the truth; 
But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. 
What is not holy, that we swear not by. 
But take the highest to witness: Then, pray you, tell 

me. 
If I should swear by Jove's great attributes 
I lov'dyou dearly, would you believe my oaths. 
When I did love you ill? this has no holding. 
To swear by him whom I protest to love. 
That I will work against him: Therefore, your oath< 
Are words, and poor conditions; but unseal'd; 
At least, in my opinion. 

Ber. Change It, change it; 

Be not so holy-cruel: love Is holy; 
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts 
That you do charge men with: Stand no more off. 
But give thyself unto my sick desires. 
Who then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever 
My love, as it begins, shall so persever. 

Dia. I see that men make ropes, in such a scarre, 
That we '11 forsake, ourselves. Give me that ring. 

Ber. I '11 lend it thee, my dear, but have no power 
To give It from me. 

Dia. Will you not, my lord? 

Bcr. It is an honour 'longing to our house. 
Bequeathed down from many ancestors; 
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
In me to lose. 

Dia. Mine honour 's such a ring: 

My chastit.y 's the jewel of our house. 
Bequeathed down from many ancestors; 
Which were the greatest obloquy 1' the world 
In me to lose: Thus your own proper wisdom 
Brings in the champion honour on my part, , 
Against your vain assault. 

Ber. Here, take my ring: 

My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine. 
And I '11 be bid by thee. 

Dia. When ml dnight comes, knock at my chamber 
window; 
I 'II order take my mother shall not hear. 
Now will I charge you in the band of truth. 
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed. 
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: 
My reasons are most strong; and you shall know 

them, 
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd: 
And on your finger, in the night, I '11 put 
Another ring; that, what in time proceeds 
May token to the future our past deeds. 
Adieu, till then; then, fail not: You have won 
A wife of me, though there my iiope be done. 

Ber. A heaven oii eartli 1 have won, by wooing 

thee [Exit, 

Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven and 
nie! 
You may so in the end.— 
My mother told me Just how he would woo. 
As if she sat in his heart; she say.s, all men 
Have the like oaths; he has sworn to marry me. 
When his wife 's dead; therefore I'll lie with him 
When 1 am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid. 
Marry that will, I '11 live and die a maid: 
Only, in this disguise, I think 't no sin 
•To cozen him that would unjustly win. [Exit. 

Scene III.— The Florentine Camp. 

Enter the two French Lords, and tivo or three 
Soldiers. 
1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's let- 
ter? 



II 



ScBNi: m.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



93 



2 Lord. I have rtellver'd It an hour since: there is 
something in 't that stings his nature; for, on the 
reading it, he chang'd almost into another man. 

1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, 
for shalclng off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 

2 Lord.. Especially he hath incuired the everlast- 
ing displeasure o( the king, who had even tuned his 
bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a 
thing, but you shall let It dwell darkly with you. 

1 Lord. When you have spoken it 't Is dead, and I 
am the grave of it. 

2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman 
here In Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this 
night he fleshes his will in the spoil oi her honour: 
he hath given her his monunieutal ring, and thinks 
himself made in the unchaste composition. 

\Lord. Now God delay our rebellion; as we are 
ourselves what things are we ! 

2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as In the 
common course of all treasons we still see them re- 
veal themselves, till thev attain to their abhorred 
ends; so he, that in this action contrives against his 
own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. 

1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable in us to be 
trumpeters of our unlawful Intents? We shall not 
then nave his company tonight? 

2 Lord. Not till after midnight; for he Is dieted to 
his hour. 

1 Lord. That approaches apace: I would gladly 
have him see his company anatomized; that he 
might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein 
so curiously he had set this counterfeit. 

2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he come; 
for his presence must be the whip of tlie other. 

1 Lord. In th^ mean time, what hear you of these 
wars? 

2 Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 

1 Lord. Nay, I assure you a peace concluded. 

2 Lord. What will count RousiUon do then? will he 
travel higher, or return again into France? 

1 Lord, I perceive, by this demand, you are not 
altogether of his council. 

2 Ijord. Let it be forbid, sir ! so should I be a great 
deal of his act. 

1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled 
from his house: her pretence Is a pilgrimage to 
Saint Jaques le grand; which holy undertaking, with 
most austere sanctimony, she accomplished: and, 
there residing, the tenderness of her nature became 
as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a groan of her 
last breath, and now she sings in heaven. 

'ILord. How is this justified? 

1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters; 
which makes her story true, even to the point of her 
death: her death itself, which could not be her ofHce 
to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by the rector 
of the place. 

2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence? 

1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point 
from point, to the full arming of the verity. 

2 Lord. I am heartily sorry that he '11 be glad of this. 
1 Lord. How mightily, sometimes, we make us com- 
forts of our losses ! 

iLcyrd. And how mightily, some other times, we 
drown our gain in tears ! The great dignit.v that 
his valour hath here acquired for hlni, shall at home 
be encountered with a shame as ample. 

1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 
good and 111 together: our virtues would be proud 
If our faults whipped them not; and our crimes 
would despair If they were not cherished by our 
virtues. 

Enter a Servant. 
How now? where 's your master? 

Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 
he hath taken a solemn leave; his lordship will next 
morning for France. The duke hath offered him let- 
ters of commendations to the king. 

2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful there. 
If they were more than they can commend. 

Enter Bertram. 

1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's 
tartness. Here 's his lordship now. How now, my 
lord. Is 't not after midnight? 

Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen businesses, 
a month's length a-plece, by an abstract of success: 
I have conge'd with the duke; done ray adieu with 
his nearest; buried a wife; mourned for her; writ 
to my lady mother I am returning; entertained my 
convoy; and, between these main parcels of de- 
spatch, effected many nicer jieeds; the last was the 
greatest, but that I have not ended yet. 

2 IjOrd. If the business be of any difficulty, and this 
morning your departure hence, it requires haste of 
your lordship. 

Ber. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing 
to hear of it hereafter: But shall we have this dia- 
logue between the fool and the soldier?— Come, 
bring forth this counterfeit module; he has deceived 
me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 

2 Lord. Bring him forth: (E.veunt Soldiers.] he hath 
sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 

Ber. No matter; his heels have deserved it, in 
usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry him- 
self? 

1 Lard. I have told your lordship already; the 
stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would 
be understood,— he weeps like a wench that had 
shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Morgan, 
whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his 
remembrance to this very instant disaster of his set- 
ting i' the stock: And what think you he hath con- 
fessed? 

Ber. Nothing of me, has he? 

2 Lord. His confession is taken, and It shall be 
read to his face: if your lordship be In 't, as I be- 
lieve you are, you must have the patience to hear it. 

Re-enter Soldiers, vnth Parolles. 

Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say 
nothing of me; hush ! hush ! 

1 Lord, Hoodman comes ! Porto tartarossa. 

1 Sold, He calls for the tortures: What will you say 
without 'em? 

Far. I will confess what I know without constraint; 
If ye pinch me like a pasty I can say no more. 

1 Sold. Bosho chimitrcho. 

2 Lird. BobUbindo chiciirmurco. 

1 Sold, Vou are a merciful general:— Our general 
Dlds you answer to what I shall ask you out of a 
cote. 

iter. And truly, as I hope to live. 



1 Sold. ' First demand of him how many horse the 
duke is strong.' VFhat say you to that? 

Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and un- 
serviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the 
commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation 
and credit, and as I hope to live. 

1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? 

Par. Do; I '11 take the sacrament on 't, how and 
which way you will. 

Ber. All 's one to him. What a past-saving slave Is 
this! 

1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord; this Is mon- 
sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his 
own phrase,) that had the whole theorick of war In 
the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape 
of his dagger. 

2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keep- 
ing his sword clean; nor believe he can have every- 
thing In him, by wearing his apparel neatly. 

1 Sold. Well, that 's set down. 

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said,— I will say 
true,— or thereabouts, set down,— for I 'U speak 
truth. 

1 Lord. He 's very near the truth In this. 

Ber. But I con him no thanks for 't, In the nature 
he delivers it. 

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 

1 Sold. Well, that 's set down. 

Par. I humbly thank you, sir; a truth 's a truth, 
the rogues are marvellous poor. 

1 Sold, 'Demand of him, of what strength they are 
afoot.' What say you to that? 

Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present 
hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurlo a hun- 
dred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus so 
many, Jaques so many; Gulltlan, Cosmo, Lodowic, 
and Gratii, two hundred fifty each: mine own com- 
pany, Chltopher, Vaumond, Bentli, two hundred 
fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, 
upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand 
poll; half of the which dare not shake the snow 
from off their cassocks, lest they shake themselves 
to pieces. 

Ber. What shall be done to him? 

1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- 
mand of him my condition, and what credit I have 
with the duke. 

ISoW. Well, that 's set down. 'You .shall de- 
mand of him, whether one captain Dumaln be I' 
the camp, a Frenchman- what his reputation is with 
the duke, what his valour, honesty, and expertness 
in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, 
with well v?elghlng sums of gold, to corrupt him 
to a revolt.' What say you to this? what do you 
know of it? 

Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the particu- 
lar of the intergatorles: Demand them singly. 

1 Sold. Do .vou know this captain Dumain? 

Par. I know him: he was a botcher's 'prentice in 
Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the 
shrieve's fool with child; a dumb innocent that 
could not say him nay. 

(^First Lord lifts 'up his hand in anger. 

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though 
I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that 
falls. 

1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Flor- 
ence's camp? 

Par. Upon my knowledge he is, and lousy. 

1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear 
of your lordship anon. 

1 Sold. What Is his reputation with the duke? 

Par, The duke knows him for no other but a poor 
officer of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn 
him out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my 
pocket. 

1 Sold. Marry, we '11 search. 

Far. In good sadness, I do not know; either It Is 
there, or It Is upon a file, with the duke's other let- 
ters. In my tent. 

1 Sold. Here 't Is: here 's a paper. Shall I read It 
to you? 

Par. I do not know if It be It, or no. 

Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 

1 Lord. Excellently. 

1 Sold. 

' Dlan. The count 's a fool, and full of gold,'— 

Far. That Is not the duke's letter, sir; that Is an 
advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one 
Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one count 
Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very 
ruttlsh; I pray you, sir. put it up again. 

1 Sold. Nay, I '11 read it first, by your favour. 

Par. My meaning in 't, I protest, was very honest 
in the behalf of the maid: for I knew the young 
count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy; who is a 
whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. 

Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue! 

1 Sold. 

'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take 
it; 
After he scores, he never pays the score: 
Half won Is match well made; match, and well make 
it; 
He ne'er pays after debts, take It before; 
And say a soldier, Dlan, told thee this. 
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: 
For count of this the count 's a fool, I know It, 
Who pays before, but not when he does owe It. 
' Thine, as he vow'd to thee In thine ear, 

'Parolles.' 

Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with 
this rhyme in his forehead. 

2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the mani- 
fold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. 

Ber. 1 could endure anything before but a cat, and 
now he 's a cat to me. 

1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we 
shall be fain to hang you. 

Par. My life, sir. in any case: not that I am afraid 
to die; but that, my offences being many I would re- 
pent out the remaindai' of nature: let me live, sir, in 
a dungeon, l" the stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. 

1 Sold. We '11 see what may be done, so you confess 
freely; therefore, cnce more to this captain Dumain: 
You have answered to his reputation with the duke, 
and to his valour: What is his honesty? 

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for 
rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He pro- 
fesses not keeping of oaths; in breaking them he is 
stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such 
volubility, that you would think truth were a fool: 



drunkenness is his best virtue; for he will be awlne- 
drunk, and In his sleep he does little harm, save to 
his bed-clothes about him; but they know his condi- 
tions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more to 
say, sir, of his honesty: he has everything that iin 
honest man should not have; what an honest man 
should have, he has nothing. 

1 Lord. X begin to love him for this. 

Ber. For this description of thine honest.y? A pox 
upon him for me, he Is more and more a cat. 

1 Sold. What say you to his expertness In war? 

Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the 
English tragedians,— to belie him I will not, -and 
more of his soldiership I know not; e.xcept. In that 
country, he had the honour to be the officer at a 
place there called Mile-end, to instruct for the 
doubling of files: I would do the man what honour 
1 can, but of this I am not certain. 

1 Lord. He hath out-vlllalned villainy so far, that 
the rarity redeems him. 

Ber. A pox on him! he 's a cat still. 

I Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I need 
not to ask you If gold will corrupt him to revolt. 

Far. Sir, for a quart d'een. he will sell the fee-sim- 
ple of his salvation, the Inheritance of it; and cut 
the entail from all remainders and a perpetual suc- 
cession for It perpetually. 

1 Sold. What 's his brother, the other captain Du- 
main? 

2 Lord, Why does he ask him of me? 
1 Sold. What 's he? 

Par. E'en a crow of the same nest; not altogether 
so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great 
deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, 
yet his brother is reputed one of the best that Is: 
In a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry. In coming 
on he has the cramp. 

1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake to 
betray the Florentine? 

Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rou- 
sillon. 

1 Sold. I '11 whisper with the general, and know his 
pleasure. 

Par. I '11 no more drumming; a plague of all drums ! 
Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile the sup- 

Fosition of that lascivious young boy the count, have 
run Into this danger: Yet who would have sus- 
pected an ambush where I was taken? [Aside. 
1 Sold. There Is no remedy, sir, but you must die: 
the general says, you, that have so traitorously dis- 
covered the secrets of your army, and made such 
pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can 
serve the world for no honest use; therefore you 
must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. 
Par. O Lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my 
death! 

1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of all 
your friends. [tPnmuffling him. 
So. look about you: Know you any here? 

Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 

2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles. 

1 Lord, God save you, noble captain. 

2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my lord 
Lafeu? I am for France. 

I Lord. Good captain, wl!l you give me a copy of 
the sonnet you writ to Diana In behalf of the count 
RousiUon? an I were not a very coward I 'd compel 
it of you; but fare you well. 

[Exevnt Bertram, Lords, &c. 

ISold. You are undone, captain: all but your scarf, 
that has a knot on 't yet. 

Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 

1 Sold. If you could find out a country where but 
women were that had received so much shame, you 
might begin an Impudent aiatlon. Fare you well, sir; 
I am for France, too: we shall speak of you there. 

[Kvit. 

Par. Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great 
'T would burst at this: Captain I '11 be no more; 
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
As captain shall; simply the thing I am 
Shall make me live, who knowsnlmself a braggart 
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass. 
That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
Rust, sword! cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live 
Safest in shame? being fool 'd, by foolery thrive! 
There 's place and means for every man alive. 
I '11 after them. [Exit. 

Scene IV.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's 
Souse. 

Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, 

Hel. That you may well perceive I have not 
wrong'd you. 
One of the greatest in the Christian world 
Shall be m.v surety; 'fore whose throne 't Is needfol. 
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: 
Time was, I did him a desired office. 
Dear almost as his life; which gratitude 
Through fllnt.v Tartar's bosom would peep forth. 
And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd 
His grace is at Marseilles; to which place 
We have convenient convoy. You must know 
I am supposed dead: the army breaking. 
My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding. 
And by the leave of my good lord the king 
We '11 be before our welcome. 

Wid. G«ntle madam, 

You never had a servant to whose trust 
Your business was more welcome. 

Hel. Nor you, mistress. 

Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour 
To recompense your love; doubt not, but heaven 
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower 
As It hath fated her to be my motive 
And helper to a husband. But O strange men 
That can such sweet use make of what they hate. 
When saucy trusting of the cozen 'd thoughts 
Defiles the pitchy night! so lust doth play 
With what It loaths, for that which is away: 
But more of this hereafter:— You, Diana, 
Under m.v poor Instructions yet must suffer 
Something In my behalf. 

Dia. Let death and honesty 

Go with your impositions, I am yours 
Upon your will to suffer. 

Hsl. Yet, I pray you,— 

But with the word, the time will bring on summer. 
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; 
Our waggon Is prepar'd, and time revives us; 
All 's well that ends well: still the fine 'sthe crown; 
Whate'er the course, the end Is the renown, [Exe. 



.94 



ALL'S WELL THAT KXDS WELL. 



LACT V. 



Scene v.— RouslUon. A Rootn in the Countess's 

Palace. 

Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 

Jxif. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snlpt- 
taflata fellow there, whose villainous saffron would 
iave made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a 
nation In his colour; your daughter-in-law had been 
•alive at this hour, and your son here at home more 
Advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed hum- 
ble-bee I speak of. 

Count. I would I had not known him! it was the 
■death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that ever 
nature had praise for creating: if she had partaken 
of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a 
mother, I could not have owed her a more rooted 
love. 

taf. 'T was a good lady, 't was a good lady: we 
may pick a thousand sallets, ere we light on such 
-another herb. 

Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of 
the sallet, or, rather the herb of grace. 

Laf. They are not sallet-herbs, you knave, they are 
■nose-herbs. 

Clo. I am no great Kebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not 
inucb skill in grass. 

Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself— a knave 
■or a fool? 

Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave 
at a man's. 

Laf. Your distinction? 

Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his 
service. 

Laf. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. 

Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to 
■do her service. 

Laf. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave 
and f ooL 

Clo. At your service. 

Laf. No, no, no. 

Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve Z.Z 
great a prince as vou are. 

Laf. Who 's that? a Frenchman? 

Clo. Faith, sir, 'a lias an English name; but his 
phlsnomy is more notter in France than there. 

Laf. What prince is that? 

Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of 
darkness; alias, the devil. 

Laf. Hold thee, there 's my purse: I give thee not 
this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of: 
serve him still. 

Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved 
a great flr^ and the master I speak of ever keeps a 

f;ood Are. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; 
et his nobility remain In his court. I am for the 
house with the narrow gate, which I take to be too 
little for pomp to enter: some that humble them- 
selves may; but the many will be too chill and ten- 
der, and they 'II be for the flowery way, that leads 
to the broad gate and the gi-eat flre. 

Laf. Gro thy ways, I begin to be a- weary of thee; and 
I tell thee so before, because I wonld not fall out 
with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well look- 
ed to, without any tricks. 

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be 
jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law 
of nature, lExit. 

Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. 

Count. So he is. My lord, that 's gone, made him- 
self much sport out of him: by his autliority he re- 
mains here, which he thinks is a patent for his 
sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs 
where he will. 

Laf. I like him well; 't is not amiss: And I was 
about to tell you, since I ^eard of the good lady's 
death, and that my lord your son was upon his re- 
turn home, I moved the king my master to speak in 
the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority 
of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious re- 
membrance, did first propose; his highness hath 
Eromised me to do it:and, to stopupthe displeasure 
ohath conceived against your son, there is no fitter 
matter. How does your ladyship like it? 

Count. With very much content, my lord, and I 
vrish it happily effected. 

Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of 
as able body as when he numbered thirty; he will be 
here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that in 
such intelligence hath seldom failed. 

Count. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him 
ere Idle. I have letters, that my son will be here to- 
night: I shall beseech your lordship to remain with 
me till they meet together. 

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I 
might safely be admitted. 

Count. You need but plead your honourable priv^i- 
lege. 

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; 
but, I thank my God, it holds yet. 
Re-enter Clown. 
Clo. O madam, yonder 's my lord your son ■with a 
patch of velvet on 'sface; whether there be a scar 
underlt, or no, the velvet knows; but *t is a goodly 
patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile 
and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. 

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
livery of honour; so, belike, is that. 
Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. 

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you; I long to 
talk with the young noble soldier. 

Clo. 'Faith, there 's a dozen of 'em, with delicate 
fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow 
the head, and nod at every man. \_Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Scene I.— Marseilles. A Street. 
Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two 
Attendants. 
Uel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, 
Must wear your spirits low: we cannot help it; 
But since you have made the days and nights as one, 
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, 
Be bold you do so grow In my requital. 
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;— 

Enter a gentle Astrlnger. 
This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
K he would spend his power.— God save you, sir. 
Aat. And you. 

Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 
Ast. I have been sometimes there. 
Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
From the report that goes upon your goodness; 



And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions. 
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
The use of your own virtues, for the which 
I shall continue thankful. 

Ast. What 's your will? 

Hel. That it ■«'I11 please you 
To give this poor petition to the king; 
And aid me with that store of power you have. 
To come into his preseuce. 

Ast. The king 's not here. 

Hel. Not here, sir? 

Ast. Not, Indeed: 

He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
Than Is his use. 

Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains! 

Hel. All 's well that ends well, yet; 
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit.— 
I do beseech you, whither is he gone? 

Ast. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; 
Whither I am going. 

Hel. I do beseech you, sir. 

Since you are like to see the king before me, 
Comrriend the paper to his gracious Iiand; 
Which I presume shall render you no blame. 
But rather make you thank your pains for it: 
I will come after you, \vlth what good speed 
Our means will make us means. 

Ast. This I '11 do for you. 

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, 
Whate'er falls more.— We must to horse again;- 
Go, go, provide. \_Exeunt, 

Scene II.— Rousillon. The inner Court of the 

Countess' Palace. 

Enter Clovra and ParoUes. 

Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu 
this letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known 
to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher 
clothes; but I am now, sir, muddled in fortune's 
mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong dis- 
pleasure. 

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if 
it smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will 
henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pri- 
thee allow the wind. 

Par. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I 
spake but by a metaphor. 

Clo. Indeed, sir. If your metaphor stlnk,\l will stof) 
my nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee 
get thee further. 

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 

Clo. Foh, pnthee stand away; A paper from for- 
tune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Look, here 
he comes himself. 

Enter Lafeu. 
Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, 
(but not a musk-cat,) tliat has fallen into the unclean 
fish-pond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is mud- 
dled withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as v ou may; 
for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, 
rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes 
of comfort, and leave lilni to your lordship. lE.vit. 

Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath 
cruelly scratched. 

Laf. And what would you have me to do? 't is too 
lat6 to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played 
the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, 
who of herself is a good lady, and would not nave 
knaves thrive long under her? There 's a quart d'ecu. 
for you: Let the justices make you and fortune 
friends; I am for other business. 

Par. I beseech your honour to hear me one single 
word. 

Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall 
ha 't; save your word. 

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. 

Laf. You beg more than word then.— Cox' my pas- 
sion! give me your hand: How does your drum? 

Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found 
me. 

Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost 
thee. 

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some 
grace, for you did bring me out. 

Laf. Out upon thee, linave! dost thou put upon me 
at once both the ofBce of God and the devil? one 
brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. 
[Trumpets sound.] The king's coming, I know by 
his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further after me; I 
had talk of you last niglit: though you are a fool and 
a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. 

Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— IVie same. A Room in the Countess's 
Palace. 

Flouri.ih. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, 
Gentlemen, Guards, &c. 

King. We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem 
Was made much poorer by It: but your son. 
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
Her estimation home. 

Count. 'T is past, my liege: 

And I beseech your majesty to make it 
Natural rebellion, done 1' the blaze of youth; 
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
O'erbears it, and burns on. 

King. My honour'd lady, 

I have forgiven and forgotten all; 
Though my revenges were high bent upon him, 
And watch'd the time to shoot. 

Laf. This I must say,— 

But first I beg my pardon,— The younq lord 
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady. 
Offence of mighty note; but to himself 
The greatest wrong of all: he lost a wife 
Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; 
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve 
Humbly call'd mistress. 

King. Praising what is lost. 

Makes the remembrance dear. — Well, call him 

hither;— 
We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill 
All repetition:— Let him not ask our pardon; 
The nature of his great offence is (^ead. 
And deeper than oblivion we do bury 
The incensing relics of It: let him approach, 
A stranger, no offender; and inform him 
So 't is our will he should. 

Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit. 

King. What says he to your daughter? have you 
spoke? 



Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. 

King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters 
sent me 
That set him high in fame. 

Enter, Bertram. 

Laf. He looks well on 't. 

Kiiig. I am not a day of season. 
For thou niay'st see a sun-shine and a hall 
In me at once: But to the brightest beams 
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth. 
The time is faimagain. 

Ber. •■ My high-repented blames 

Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 

King. All is whole; 

Not one word more of the consumed time. 
Let 's take the instant by the forward top; 
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 
The Inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
Steals ere we can effect them: You remember 
The daughter of this lord? 

Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first 
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: 
Where the impression of mine eye Infixing, 
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me. 
Which warp'd the line of every other favour; 
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n; 
Extended or contracted all proportions. 
To most lildeous object: Tlienee it came. 
That she, whom all men prals'd, and whom myself 
.Since I have lost have lov'd, was in mine eye 
The dust that did offend it. 

King. Well excus'd: 

That thou didst love her strikes some scores away 
From the great compt: But love that comes too latf. 
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
To the great sender turns a sour offence, 
Crjing, That 's good that 'sgone: our rash faults 
Make trivial price of serious things we have. 
Not knowing them, until we know their grave 
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust. 
Destroy oui' friends, and after weep their dust 
Our own love waking cries to see what 's done, 
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. 
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: 
The main consents are had; and here we '11 stay 
To see our widower's second marriage-day. 

Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven 
bless ! 
Or, ere they meet In me, O nature cesse. 

Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name 
Must be digested, give a favour from you. 
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter. 
That she may quickly come.— By my old beard. 
And every hair that 's on 't, Helen, that 's dead. 
Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, 
1 he last that ere I took her leave at court, 
I saw upon her finger. 

Ber. Hers it was not. 

King. Now, pray you, let me see it: for mine eye 
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to it.— 
This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen, 
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
Necessitated to help, that by this token 
I would relieve her: Had you that craft, to reave 

her 
Of what should stead her most? 

Ber. My gracious sovereign, 

Howe'er it pleases you to take it so. 
The ring was never hers. 

Count. Son, on my life, 

I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it 
At her life's rate. 

Txif. I am sure I saw her wear It. 

Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw It: 
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
Wrapp'd In a paper, which contain'd the name 
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought 
I stood Ingag'd: but when I had subscrlb'd 
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, 
I could not answer in that course of honour 
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, 
In heavy satisfaction, and would never 
Receive the ring again. 

King. Plutus himself. 

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, 
Hath not in nature's mystery more science, 
Than I have in this ring: 't was mine, 't was Helen's, 
Whoever gave it you: Then, if you know 
That you are well acquainted with yourself. 
Confess 't was hers, and by what rough enforcement 
You got It from her: she call'd the saints to surety 
That she would never put it from her finger. 
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 
(Where you have never come,) or sent it us , 

Upon her great disaster. 

Ber7 She never saw it. 

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine 
honour. 
And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me. 
Which I would rain shut out: If it should prove 
That thou ai't so inhuman,— 't will not prove so;— 
And yet I know not;— thou didst hate her deadly. 
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close 
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe. 
More than to see this ring.— Take him away.— 

TGuards seize Bertram. 
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, 
Shall tax my fears of little vanity. 
Having vainly fear'd too little.— A'way with him;— 
We '11 sift this matter further. 

Ber. If you shall prove 

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
Where yet she never was. [E.v. Ber., guarded. 

Enter the Astrlnger. 

King. I am •wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 

Ast. Gracious sovereign. 

Whether I have beeri to blame, or no, I know notj 
Here 's a petition from a Florentine, 
Who hath, for four or five removes, come short 
To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech 
Of the poor suppliant, who, by this, I know 
Is here attendmg: her business looks in her 
With an importing visage: and she told me, 
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
Your highness with herself. 

King. [Beads.] 

'Upon his many protestations to marry me, when 
his wife was dead, I blush to say It, he won me. 



Scene hi.] 



TWKLFrn yiGHT; OK, WHAT VOl' WILL. 



Now Is the count Roualllon a widower; his vows are 
forfeited to me, and my honour 's paid to him. He 
stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I fol ow 
him to his country for lustlce: Grant T me. O Icing: 
In you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, 
and a poor maid is undone. Diana Capulet." 

Laf. I win buy me a son-in-law In a fair, and toll 
for this: I 'U none of him. ^ ^^ „ ^. 

King. The heavens have thought well on thee, 
Lafeu, , , 

To bring forth this discovery.— Seek these suitors: 
Go speedily, and bring again the count. 

{E.eeunt the Astrlnger and some Attendants. 
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady. 
Was foully snatch'd. , , ^. , 

Count. Now, justice on the doers ! 

Knter Bertram, guarded. 

King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to 

And that you fly them as you swear, them lordship, 
Yet you desire to marry. -What woman 's that? 

Re-enter the Astrlnger, icith Widow, and Diana. 

Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
Derived from the ardent Capulet; 
My suit, as t do understand, you know. 
And therefore know how far T may be pitied. 

Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour 
Both suffer under this complaint we bring, 
.Vnd both shall cease, without your remedy. 

King. Come hither, count: Do you know these 
women? 

Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny 
But that I know them: Do they charge me further? 

Dia. Whv do you look so strange upon your wife? 

Ber. She"'s none of mine, my lord. 

Dia. If you shall marry. 

You give away this hand, and that is mine; 
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; 
You give away myself, which is known mine; 
For I by vow am so embodied yours. 
That she which marries you must marry me. 
Either both or none. 

Laf. Your reputation [to Bertram] comes too short 
for my daughter: you are no husband tor her. 

Ber. My lord, this Is a fond and desperate creature. 
Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your high- 
ness 
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, . 
Than for to think that I would sink It here. 

King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them lU to 
friend. 
Tin your deeds gain them: Fairer prove your nonour 
Than in my thought it lies ! 

Dia. Good my lord. 

Ask him upon his oath. If he does think 
He had not my virginity. 

King. What say'st thou to her? 

Ber. She 's impudent, my lord; 

And was a common gamester to tlie camp. 

IHa. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so 
He might have bought me at a common price; 
Do not believe him: O, behold this ring, 
Whose high respect, and rich validity, 
Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that. 
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp. 
If I be one. 

Coimt. He blushes, and 't is his: 
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem 
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent Issue, 
Hath It been ow'd and worn. This Is his wife; 
That ring 's a thousand proofs. 

King. Methought, you said, 

You saw one here In court could witness it. 

Dia. I did, my lord, but loatii am to produce 
So bad an Instrument; his name 's ParoUes. 

Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 

King. Find him, and bring him hither. 

Ber. What of him? 

He 's quoted for a most perfidious slave. 
With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; 
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth: 



Am I or that, or this, for what be 'U utter. 
That will speak anything? 

King. She hath that ring of yours. 

Ber. I think she has: certain It is I llk'd her. 
And boarded her 1' the wanton way of youth: 
She knew her distance, and did angle for me, 
Madding mv eagerness with her restraint. 
As all Impediments In fancy's course 
Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, 
Her Insult coming with her modern grace. 
Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring; 
And I had that which any interior might 
At market-price have bought. 

Dia. I must be patient; 

You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife. 
May justly diet me. I pray you yet, 
(Since you lack virtue I will lose a husband,) 
Send for your ring, I will return it home. 
And give me mine again. 

Ber. I have it not. 

King. What ring was yours, 1 pray you? 

Dia. Sir, much like the same upon your finger. 

King. Know j'ou this ring? this ring was his of 
late. 

Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. 

King. The story then goes false, you threw it him 
Out of a casement. 

Dia. I have spoke the truth. 

Enter ParoUes. 

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. 

King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts 
you.— 
Is this the man you speak of? 

Dia. Ay, my lord. 

King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge 
you, 
Not fearing the displeasure of your master, 
(Which, on your just proceeding I '11 keep off.) 
By him, and by this woman here, what know you? 

Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been 
an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had In him 
which gentlemen have. 

King. Come, come, to the purpose: Did he love 
this woman? 

Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her. But how? 

King. How, I pray you? 

Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a 
woman. 

King. How Is that? 

Par. He loved her, sir. and loved her not. 

King. As thou art a knave, and no knave:— What 
an equivocal companion is this ! 

Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's com- 
mand. 

Laf. He 's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
orator. 

Dia. Do you know he promised me marriage? 

Par. 'Faith, I know more than I '11 speak. 

King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? 

Par. Yes, so please your majesty: I did go be- 
tween them, as I said; but more than that, he loved 
her,— for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked 
of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I know 
not what: yet I was in that credit with them at 
that time, that t knew of their going to bed; and 
of other motions, as promising her marriage, and 
things which would derive me ill will to speak of, 
therefore I will not speak what I know. 

King. 'Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou 
canst say they are married: But thou art too fine in 
thy evidence; therefore stand aside.— This ring, you 
sav, was yours? 

Dia. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? 

Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 

King. Who lent it you? 

Dia. It was not lent me neither. 

King. Where did you find It then? 

Dia. I found it not. 

King. If it were yours by none of all these ways. 
How could you give it him? 

Dia. I never gave it him. 



Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord; she' 
goes off and on at pleasure. 

King. This ring was mine, I gave It his first wife. 

Dm. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know. 

King. Take her away, I do not like her now; 
To prison with her: and away with him.— 
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring. 
Thou diest within this hour. 

Dia. I '11 never tell you. 

King. Take her away. 

Dia. I 'U put in ball, my liege. 

King. I think thee now some common customer. 

Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 't was you. 

King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this- 
while? 

Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he Is not guilty: 
He knows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to 't: 
I 'II swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life; 
I am eithermaid, or else this old man's wife. 

[Pointing to Lafeu. 

King. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her. 

Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. — Stay, royal sir: 

[Kxit Widow. 
The jeweller that owes the ring Is sent f or^ 
And he shall surety me. But for this lord. 
Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself. 
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him: 
He knows himself my bed he hath defll'd; 
And at that time he got his wife with child: 
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; 
So there 's my riddle. One, that 's dead, is quick: 
And now behold the meaning. 

Reenter Widow, rvith Helena. 

King. Is there no exorcist 

Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? 
Is 't real that I see? 

net. No, my good lord; 

'T is but the shadow of a wife you see. 
The nilme, and not the thing. 

Ber. Both, both; O, pardont 

Het. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, 
I found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring, 
And, look you, here 's your letter; This it says, 
' When from ray finger you can get this ring. 
And are by me with child,' &c.— This Is done: 
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? 

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this 
clearly, 
I 'U love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 

Hel. If It appear not plain, and prove untrue. 
Deadly divorce step between me and you! — 
O, my dear mother, do I see you living? 

Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon: — 
Good Tom Drum, [to ParoUes] lend me a handker- 
chief: So, I thank thee; wait on me home, I 'II make 
sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are 
scurvy ones. 

King. Let us from point to point this story know. 
To make the even truth in pleasure flow:— 
If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, 

[To Diana. 
Choose thou thy husband, and I 'U pay thy dower; 
For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid. 
Thou kep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.— 
Of that and all the progress, more and less. 
Resolvedly more leisure shall express: 
All yet seems well; and, if it end so meet. 
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. 

Floiiri."h, 
(Advancing.) 

The king 's a beggar, now the play is done: 
All is well ended, it this suit be won, 
That you express content; which we will paj'. 
With strife to please you, day exceeding day: 
Ours be your patience then, and yours bur parts 
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. 

[JSxetmt 



TWELFTH NIGHT; 

OR, 

^A^HAT YOU WILL. 



PERSO^^S REPRESENTED. 



Orsino, Duke o/IIljTla. 

Sebastian, a young gentleman, brother 
to Viola. 

Antonio, a sea-eaptain, friend to Se- 
bastian. 



A sea-captain, friend to "Viola. 
Valentine, \gentlemen attending on 
Curio, ( the Duke. 

Sir 'Toby Belch, uncle o/ Olivia. 
Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 



Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 

Olivia, a rich Countess. 
Viola, in love with the Duke. 



Maria, Olivia's woman. 

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, ZInsi- 

ciuns, and other Attendants. 
SCENE.— ^ City in ILLYRIA; and thg 

Seq-coast near it. 



ACT!. 

Scene I.— An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending. 

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on. 
Give me excess of It; that surfeiting. 
The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
That strain again;— it had a dying fall: 
O, It came o'er my ear like the sweet sound 
That breathes upon a bank of violets. 
Stealing, and giving odour.--Enough; no more; 
'T Is not so sweet now as it was befoi-e. 
O, spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 
That, notwithstanding thy capacity 
Recelveth as the sea, nought enters there, 
Ot what validity and pitch soe'er. 
But falls Into abatement and low price. 
Even in a minute \ so full of shapes is fancy. 
That it alone is high-fantastical. 

Cur. WIU you go hunt, my lord ? 

Duke. What, Curio ? 

Cur. The hart. 



Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: 
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
Methought she piirg'd the air of pestilence ! 
That instant was I turn'd into a hart; 
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds. 
E'er since pursue me. — How now ? what news from 
her? 

Enter Valentine. 

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, 
But from her handmaid do return this answer: 
The element itself, till seven years' heat. 
Shall not behold her face at ample view; 
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk. 
And water once a day her chamber round 
With eye-ofCendIng brine: all this, to season 
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh 
And lasting, In her sad remembrance. 

Duke. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame, 
To pay this debt of love but to a brother. 
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 
Hath klll'd the fiock of all affections else 
That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart. 



Those sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and flU'd 
(Her sweet perfections,) with one self king !— 
Away before me to sweet beds of fiowers; 
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene 11.— The sea-coast. 

Enter Viola. Captain, and Sailors. 
Via. What country, friends, is this? 
Cap. This is lUyria, lady. 

Vio. And what should I do In Illyria? 
My brother he is in Elysium. 

Perchance he is not drown'd:- What think you, 
sailors? 
Cap. It is perchance that you yourself were sav'd. 
Vio. O, my poor brother ! and so, perchance, may 

he be. 
Cap. True, madam; and, to comfort you with 
chance. 
Assure yourself, after our ship did split. 
When you, and those poor number sav'd with you. 
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, 
Most provident in peril, bind himself 



96 



TWELFTH NIGHT ; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act I. 



(CouraRp anf" Iiopp l)oth tinoliiiiK htm the practice) 
To a strong niasr, that liv'rt upon the sea; 
Where, like Arioii oti the lUilphln's bnck, 
Isawlilm hold acquaintance with the waves, 
So long as I could see. 

Vio. For saying so, there's gold: 

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope. 
Where to thy speech serves for authority, 
The like of him. KnowVst thou this country? 

Cap. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and bom, 
Not three hours' travel from this very place. 

no. Who governs here? 

Cap. A noble duke, In nature as in name. 

Vio. What Is his name? 

Cap. Orslno. 

Vio. Orsino! I have heard my father name lilm: 
He was a bachelor then. 

Cap. And so Is now, or was so very late: 
For but a month ago I went from hcuce; 
And then 't was fresh in murmur, (as, you know, 
What great ones do, the less will prattle of,) 
That be did seek the love of fair Olivia. 

Vio. What 's she? 

Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since; then leaving her 
In the protection of his son, her brother. 
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love. 
They sa.v, she hath abjur'd the company 
And sight of men. 

Vio. O, that I serv'd that lady: 

And might not be deliver'd to the world. 
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow 
What my estate Is. 

Cap. That were hard to compass; 

Because she will admit no kind of suit. 
No, not the duke's. 

Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain; 
And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 
With this thy fair and outward character. 
I prithee, and I '11 pay thee bounteously. 
Conceal me what I am; and he my aid 
For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
The form of my intent. I '11 serve this duke; 
Thou Shalt present me as an eunuch to him, 
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing. 
And speak to him in many sorts of music. 
That will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap, to time I will commit; 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I 'U be; 
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see ! 

Vio. I thank thee: Lead me on. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— ^ Room in Olivia's Bouse. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. 

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take 
the death of her brother thus? I am sure care 's an 
enemy to life. 

Mar. By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in 
earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady, takes great 
exceptions to your ill hours. 

Sir To. vvhy, let her except before excepted. 
Mar. Ay, but y uu must confine yourself within the 
modest limits of order. 

Sir To. Confine? I '11 confine myself no liner than 
I am: these clothes are good enough to drink in, 
and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them 
hang themselves in their own straps. 

Mar. "That quaffing and drinking will undo you: 
I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a fool- 
ish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be 
her wooer. 

Sir To. Who? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek? 

Jlfar. Ay, he. 

Sir To. He 's as tall a man as any 's In Illyria. 

Mar. What 's that to the purpose? 

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year. 

Mar- Ay, but he '11 have but a year in all these 
ducats; he 's a very fool, and a prodigal. 

Sir To. Fie, that you 'll say so ! he plays o' the 
viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages 
word for word without book, and hath all the good 
gifts of nature. 

Mar. He hath. Indeed, almost natural: for besides 
that he 's a fool, he 's a great quarreller, and but 
that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust 
he hath In quarrelling, 't Is thought among the pru- 
dent he would quickly have the gift of a grave. 

Sir. To. By tnis hand, they are scoundrels and 
subtractors that say so of him. Who are they? 

Jlfar. They that add, moreover, he 's drunk nightly 
In your company. 

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece: I '11 
drink to her as long as there is a passage in my 
throat, and drink in Illyria. He 's a coward, and a 
coystril, that will not drink to my niece till his brains 
turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench? 
Castiliano-vulgo; for here comes sir Andrew Ague- 
face. 

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch: how now, sir Toby 
Belch? 

Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew! 

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 

Jlfar. And you too, sir. 

Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. 

Sir And. What 's that? 

Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. 

Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better 
acquaintance. 

jifar. My name is Mary, sir. 

Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost,— 

Sir To. You mistake, knight; accost is, front her, 
board her, woo her, assail her. 

Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her 
In this company. Is that the meaning of accost? 

Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

Sir To. And thou let part so, sir Andrew, 'would 
thou might'st never draw sword again. 

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would I might 
never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think 
you liave fools in hand? 

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 

Sir And, Marry, but you shall have; and here 's 
my hand. 

Mar. Now, sir, thought la free: I pray you, bring 
your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. 

Sir And. Wherefore, sweetheart? what 's your 
■ynetaphor? 

Mar. It '8 dry, sir. 



Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but 
I can keep my hand dry. But what 's your jest?| 

Mar. A dry jest, sir. 

Sir And. Are you full of them? 

iVfar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: 
marry, now I let go your hand I am barren. 

{Exit Maria. 

Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary: 
When did I see thee so put down? 

Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you see 
canary putme down: Methinks sometimes I have no 
more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: 
but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that 
does harm to my wit. 

Sir To. No question. 

Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear It. I '11 
ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. 

Sir To. Ponrquoy, my dear knight? 

Sir And. What Is pourquoy? do or not do? I 
would I had bestowed that time in the tongues that I 
have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting: O, had I 
but followed the arts! 

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of 
hair. 

Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair? 

Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl 
by nature. 

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does 't 
not? 

Sir To. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; 
and I hope to see a housewife take thee between her 
legs, and spin it off. 

Sir And. 'Faith, I '11 home to-morrow, sir Toby; 
your niece will not be seen; or, If she be, it 's four to 
one she '11 none of me: the count himself, here hard 
by, woos her. 

Sir To. She '11 none o' the count; she '11 not match 
above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; 
I have heard her swear it. Tut, there 's life in 't, 
man. 

Sir And. I '11 stay a month longer. I am a fellow 
o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in 
masques and revels sometimes altogether. 

Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws, knight? 

Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, 
under the degree of my betters; and yet I will not 
compare with an old man. 

Sir To. AVhat is thy excellence In a galliard, knight? 

Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. 

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to 't. 

Sir And. And, I think, I have the back-trick, simply 
as strong as any man in Illyria, 

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore 
have these gifts a curtain before them? are they like 
to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture? why dost 
thou not go to church in a galliard, and come 
home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I 
would not so much as malce water but in a slnfc-a- 
pace. What dost thou mean? is it a world to hide 
virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitu- 
tion of thy leg, it was formed under the star of a 
galliard. 

Sir And. Ay, 't is strong, and it does Indifferent well 
in a damask-coloured stock. Shall we set about 
some revels? 

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not bom 
under Taurus? 

Sir And. Taurus? that 's sides and heart. 

Sir To. No, sir; It Is legs and thighs. Let me see 
thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha!— excellent! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene TV .—A Room in the Duke's Palace. 

Enter Valentine, and Viola in man's attire. 

Vol. If the duke continue these favours towards 
you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; he 
hath known you but three days, and already you are 
no stranger. 

Vio. '^ou either fear his humour, or my negligence, 
that you call in question the continuance ofnis love: 
Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? 

Vol. No, believe me. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 

Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? 

Vio. On your attendance, my lord; here. 

Duke. Stand you awhile aloof.— Cesario, 
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd 
To thee the book even of my secret soul: 
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; 
Be not denied access, stand at her doors, 
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my noble lord. 

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow 
As It is spoke, she never will admit me. 

Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds. 
Rather than make unproflted return. 

Vio. Say, I do speak with her, ray lord: What 
then? 

Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love; 
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith: 
It shall become thee well to act my woes; 
She will attend It better in thy youth, 
•Than in a nuncio of more grave aspect. 

Vio. I think not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it; 

For they shall yet belie thy happy years 
That say, thou art a man: Diana's lip 
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound. 
And all Is semblative a woman's part. 
I know thv constellation is right apt 
For this afCair:— Some four, or live, attend him; 
All, If you will; for I myself am best 
When least in company:— Prosper well in this. 
And thou shall live as freely as thy lord. 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I '11 do my best 

To woo your lady: yet, [.4s(rf<!.] a barful strife! 
Whoe'er I woo, my self would be his wife. {E.ce iint. 

Scene V.— ^t Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, 
or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may 
enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee 
for thy absence. 

Clo. Let her hang me: he that Is weU hanged in 
this world needs to fear no colours. 

Mar. Make that good. 

Clo. He shall see none to fear. 



Jlfar. A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where 
that saying was born, of, I fear no colours. 

Clo. Where, good mistress Mary? 
Mar. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say 
in your foolery. 

Clo. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and 
tho.se that are fools let them use their talents. 

J!/ar. Yel^ou will be hanged, for being so long ab- 
sent; or, tcne turned away: is not that as good as a 
hanging toTou? 

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents 8 bad mar- 
riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it 
out. 

Jlfar. You are resolute, then? 

Clo. Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two 
points. 

Jlfar. That if one break the other will hold; or, if 
both break your gasklns fall. 

Clo. Apt, in good faith; very apt! Well, go thy 
way; If sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as 
witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. 

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more C that: here 

comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, you 

were best. [Exit. 

Enter Olivia and Malvollo. 

Clo. Wit, and 't be thy will, put me into good fool 
ing! Those wits that think they have thee do very 
oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may 
pass for a wise man: For what says Quiuapalus? 
Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.— God bless 
thee, lady! 

OH. Take the fool away. 

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the 
lady. 

Oli. Go to, you 're a dry fool; I '11 no more of you: 
besides, you grow dishonest. 

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good 
counsel will amend: forgive the dry fool drink,— 
then is the fool not dry; bid the dishonest man mend 
himself,— If he mend, he Is no longer dishonest; If he 
cannot, let the botcher mend him: Anything that '8 
mended Is but patched: virtue that transgresses is 
but patched with sin; and sin that amends is tut 
patched with virtue; If that this simple syllogism 
will serve, so; if it will not. What remedy? As tnere 
is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty 's a 
flower.— the lady bade take away the fool; therefore 
I say again, take her away. 

Oli. Sir, I bade them take away you. 

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree! — Lady, Cu- 
cullus non facit monachum; that 's as much as to 
say, I wear not motley in ray brain. Good ma- 
donna, give me leave to prove you a fooL 

Oli. Can you do it? 

Clo. Dexterlously, good madonna. 

Oli. Make your proof. 

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna: Good 
my mouse of virtue, answer me. 

Oli. Well, sir, for want of other Idleness, I'll bide 
, your proof. 

Clo. Good madonna, why moum'st thou? 

OIL Good fool, for my brother's death. 

Clo. I think his soul Is in hell, madonna. 

Oli. I know his soul Is in heaven, fool. 

Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your 
brother's soul being in heaven.— Take away the fool, 
gentlemen. 

Oli. What think you of this fool, Malvollo? doth 
he not mend? 

Mai. Yes; and shall do, till the pangs of death 
sha1<:e him: Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth 
ever make the better fool. 

Cto. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the 
better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be sworn 
that I am no fox; but he will not pass his word for 
two-pence that you are no fool. 

Oh. How say you to that, Malvolio? 

Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such 
a barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day 
with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than 
a stone. Look you now, he 's out of his guard 
already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to 
him, he is gagged. I protest I take these wise men, 
that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better than 
the fools' zanies. 

Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvollo, and taste 
with a distempered appetite. To be generous, guilt- 
less, and of free disposition, is to take those things 
for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets: There 
is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do noth- 
ing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, 
though he do nothing but reprove. 

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for 
thou speakest well of fools! 

Re-enter Maria. 

Mar. Madam, there Is at the gate a young gentle- 
man much desires to speak with you. 

Oli. From the count Orsino, is it? 

Jlfar. I know not, madam; 't is a fair young man, 
and well attended. 

Oli. Who of my people hold him in delay? 

Jlfar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

OH. Fetch him off. I pray you; he speaks nothing 
but madman: Fie on him! [Exit Maria.] Go you, 
Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I am sick, or 
not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. [Exit 
Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows 
old, and people dislike it. 

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as If thy 
eldest son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram 
with brains ! for here he comes, one of thy kin, has a 
most weakpta mater. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch. 

Oli. By mine honour, half drunk.— What is he at 
the gate, cousin? 

St)' To. A gentleman. 

Oli. A gentleman? what gentleman? 

Sir To. 'T is a gentleman here— A plague o' these 
pickle-herrings!— How now, sot? 

Clo. Good sir Toby,— 

Oil. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by 
this lethargy? 

Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: There 's one at the 
gate. 

Oli. Ay, marry; what is he? 

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not: 
give me faith, say I. Well, it 's all one. [Exit. 

Oli. What 's a drunken man like, fool? 

Clo. Like a drowned man, a fool, and a madman: 
one draught above heat makes him a fool; the second 
mads him; and a third drowns him. 

Oil. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit 



SCKHB v.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHA T YOU WILL. 



o' my coz; for he 's in the third degree of drink, he 's 
drown'd: go look after him. 

Cto. He is but mud yet, niadoniiii; and the fool 
ehall look to the nindmau. lExU Clown. 

He-enter Malvolio. 

MaJ. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will 
speak with you. I tola him you were sick; he takes 
on him to understand so much, and therefore comes 
tospealc with you: I told him you were asleep; he 
seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and 
therefore conies to speak with you. What is to be 
said to him, lady? he's fortified against any denial. 

OH. Tell him he shall not speak with nie. 

MaL He has been told so; and he says, he '11 stand 
at your door like a sheriff's post, and be the support- 
er of a bench, but he 'II speak with you. 

Oli. What kind of a man is he? 

Mai. Why, of mankind. 

OH. What manner of man? 

Jlfa7. Of very 111 manner; he '11 speak with you, will 
you, or no. 

Oli. Of what personage, and years, is he? 



OH. Come to what is important in 't: I forgive you 
the praise. > 

T'lo. Alas, I took great pains to study It, and 't Is 
poetical. 

OH. It is the more like to be feigned; I pray you, 
keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates; and 
allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you than 
to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; it you have 
reason, be brief: 't is not that time of moon with me 
to make one in so skipping a dialogue. 

Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way. 

Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little 
longer.— Some moUiflcation for your giant, sweet 
lady. 

OH. Tell me your mind. 

Vio. 1 am a messenger. 

OU. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, 
when the courtesy of it Is so fearful. Speak your 
office. 

Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no over- 
ture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive 
in my hand: my words are as full of peace as mat- 
ter. 



Vio. I see you what you are: you are too proud; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
My lord and master loves you: O, such love 
Could be but recompens'd, though you werecrown'd 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

OH. How does he love me? 

Vio. With adorations, fertile tears. 
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 

OU. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love 
him: 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble. 
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; 
In voices well divnlg'd, free, learn'd and valiant, 
And in dimension, and the shape of nat\ire, 
A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him: 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
With such a suffering, such a deadly life. 
In your denial I would And no sense, 
I would not understand it. 

OH. Why, what would you? 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 
And call upon my soul within the house; 




ACT rn.— SCENE IV.] 



Mai. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow things. 



. McU. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
enough for a boy; as a squash is before 't is a peas- 
cod, or a codling when It Is almost an apple: 't is 
with him in standing water, between boy and man. 
He is very well favoured, and he speaks very shrew- 
Ishly; one would think his mother's milk was scarce 
out of him. 

OU. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewoman. 

Mai. (Jentlewomdn, my lady calls. [Exit. 

Re-enter Maria. 

OU. Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face. 
We '11 once more hear Orslno's embassy. 
Enter Viola. 

Tio. The honourable lady of the house, which is 
she? 

OU. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: Your will? 

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable 
lieauty, I pray you tell me if this be the lady of the 
house, for I never saw her: I would bo loath to cast 
away my speech; for, besides that it is excellently 
well penn'd I have taken great pains to con it. Good 
beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very compt- 
ible, even to the least sinister usage. 

OU. Whence came you, sir? 

Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, and 
that question 's out of my part. Good gentle one, 
give me modest assurance if you be the lady of the 
nouse, that I may proceed in my speech. 

OH. Are you a comedian? 

Vio. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very 
fangs of malice I swear I am not that I play. Are 
you the lady of the house? 

OU. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 

Vio. Most certain, if you are she you do usurp your- 
self; for what is yours to bestow is not yours to re- 
Eer\'e. But this is from my commission: I will on 
with my speech in your praise, and then show you 
the heart of my message. 



OU. Yet you began rudely. WTiat are you? what 
would you? 

Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared In me, have 
I learned from my entertainment. What I am, and 
what I would, are as secret as maidenhead: to your 
ears, divinity; to any other's, profanation. 

OU. Give us the place alone: we will hear this 
divinity. [Exit Maria.] Now, sir, what is your text? 

Vio. Most sweet lady,— 

OH. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
said of it. Where lies your text? 

T'io. In Orsino's bosom. 

OH. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom? 

Vio. To answer by the method. In the first of his 
heart. 

OH. O, I have read it; it is heresy. Have you no 
more to saj'? 

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 

Oli. Have you any commission from .vour lord to 
negociate with my face? you are now out of your 
text: but we will draw the curtain, and show you 
the picture. [Unveiling.] Look you, sir, such a one I 
was this present: Is 't not well done? 

Vio. Excellently done, it God did all. 

Oli. 'T is in grain, sir; 't will endure wind and 
weather. 

Vio. 'T Is beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on; 
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive. 
If you will lead these graces to the grave. 
And leave the world no copy. 

OH. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give 
out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be In- 
ventoried; and every particle, and utensil, labelled 
to my will: as, item, two lips indifferent red; item, 
two grc.y eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one 
chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise 
me? 



Write loyal cantons of contemned love. 
And sing them loud even in the dessd of night; 
Holloa your name to the reverberate hills, 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth. 
But you should pity me. 

Oli. You might do much: What is your parentage? 

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 
I am a gentleman. 

Oli. Get you to your lord; 

I cannot love him: let him send no more; 
Unless, perchance, you come to ine again. 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: 
I thank you for your pains; spend this for me. 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse; 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
Love make his heart of flint, that yon shall love; 
And let your fervour, like my master's, be 
Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. [txit. 

Oli. What is your parentage? 
' Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 
I am a gentleman.'— I 'II be sworn thou art; 
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit. 
Do give thee flve-fold blazon:— Not too fast:— soft I 

soft! 
Unless the master were the man.— How now? 
Even so quickly may one catch the plague? 
Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections. 
With an invisible and subtle stealth. 
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.— 
What, ho, Malvolio !— 

Re-enter Malvolio. 

Mai. Here, madam, at .vour service^ 

Oli. Eun after that same peevish messenger. 
The county's man: he left this ring behind him 
Would I, or not; tell him, I 'II none of it. 
Desire him not to flatter with his lord, j -^ 



TWELFTH NIGHT : OH. WHAT YOU WILL. 



LACT n. 



Nor liold him up with hopes; I am not for him: 
If that the yoiitli wHl come this way tomorrow, 
I 'U Klve him reasons for 't. Hie thee, Malvolio. 

Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Oli. I ilo I know not what: and fear to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, sliow thy force: Ourselves we do not owe; 
What is decreed must be: and be this so ! [Exit. 

ACT II. 

Scene I.— The Sea-cotist. 
Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that 
I go with you? 

Seb. By vour patience, no: my stars shine darkly 
over me; the malignancy of my fate might, per- 
haps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of 
> oil vour leave that I may bear my evils alone: It 
were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of 
them on you. 

Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you are 
bound. 

Seb. No, 'sooth, sir; my determinate voyage Is 
mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex- 
cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort 
from me what I am willing to keep in: therefore it 
charges me in manners the rather to express myself. 
You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is 
Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo; my father was 
that Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have 
heard of: he left behind him, myself and a sister, 
both born in an hour. If the heavens had been 
pleased, 'would we had so ended! but you, sir, alter- 
ed that: for some hour before you took me from the 
breach of the sea was my sister drowned. 

Ant. Alas, the day! 

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- 
sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: 
but though I could not, with such estimable wonder, 
overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly pub- 
lish her,— she bore a mind that envy ceuld not but 
call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt wa- 
ter, though I seem to drown her remembrance again 
with more. 

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 

Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 

Ant. It you will not murther me for mj' love, let 
me be your servant. 

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, that 
is, kill hiin whom .you have recovered, desire it not. 
Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness; 
and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, 
that upon the least occasion more, mine e.ves will 
tell tales of me. I am bound to the count Orsino's 
court: Farewell. [Exit. 

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with theel 
I have many enemies in Orsino's court. 
Else would I very shortly see thee there: 
But, come what may, I do adore thee so. 
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. 

Scene II.— A Street. 

Enter Viola; Malvolio following. 

Mai. Were not you even now with the countess 
Olivia? 

Vio. Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have 
since arrived but hither. 

Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might 
have saved me m.v pains, to have taken it away 
yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put 
your lord into a desperate assurance she will none 
of him: Anai one thing more; that you be never so 
hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it be to re- 
port your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. 

Vio. She took the ring of me. I 'U none of it. 

Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and 
her will Is It should be so returned: if it be worth 
stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be It his 
that finds it. [Exit. 

Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this lady ? 
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her! 
She made good view of me; indeed, so much 
That, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, 
For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion 
Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
None of my lord's ring' why, he sent her none. 
I am the man:— If it be so, (as 't is,) 
Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness, 
Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it for the proper-false 
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms! 
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we; 
For, such as we are made, if such we be. 
How will this faflge? My master loves her dearly; 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on himj 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me: 
What will become of this? As I am man. 
My state is desperate for m.v master's love! 
As I am woman, now alas the day! 
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe! 
O time, thou must untangle this, not I; 
It is too hard a knot for me t' untie. [Exit. 

Scene 111.— A Eoom in Olivia's House. 

Enter Sir Tob.y Belch and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed after 
midnight is to be up betimes; and diluculo surgere, 
thou know'.st,— 

Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I 
know, to be up late is to be up late. 

Sir To. A false conclusion; I hate It as an unfilled 
can: To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then, 
is early: so that, to go to bed after midnight is to go 
to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of the four 
elements? 

Sir And. 'Faith, so they say; but, I think, it rather 
consists of eating and drinking. 

Sir To. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and 
drink.— Marian, I say!— a stoop of wine! 
Enter Clown. 

Sir And. Here comes the fool, 1' faith. 

Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never see the 
picture of we three.' 

Sir To. Welcome ass. Now let 's have a catch. 

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
breast. I had rather than forty shillings I had such 
a leg; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. 
In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last 
night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the 



Vaplans passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 't was 
ver.v good, 1' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy le- 
man: Had'st it? 

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratilllty; for Malvollo's 
nose Is no whipstock: My lady has a white hand, and 
the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. 

Sir And. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, 
when all is done. Now, a song. 

Sir To. Come on; there is sixpence for you; let 's 
have a song. 

Sir And. There 's a testrllof me too; If one knight 
give a 

Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of good 
life? 

Sir To. A love-song, a love song. 

Sir And, Ay, ay; I care not for good life. 

SONG. 
Clo. O mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
O, stay and hear: your true love 's coming, 

That can sing both high and low: 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting; 
Journeys end in lovers' meeting. 
Every wise man's son doth know. 

Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith. 
Sir To. Good, good. 

Clo. What is love? 't is not hereafter; . 

Present mirth hath present laughter; 

What 's to come is still unsure: 
In delay there lies no plenty; 
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, 

Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 

Sir And. A melliflous voice, as I am true knight. 

Sir To. A contagious breath. 

Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, V faith. 

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in conta- 
gion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? 
Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will 
draw three souls out of one weaver? shall we do 
that? 

Sir And. An you love me, let 's do 't: I am dog at a 
catch. 

Clo. By 'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. 

Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, ' Thou 
knave.' 

Clo. ' Hold thy peace, thou knave,'iknight? I shall 
be constrain'd in 't to call thee knave, knight. 

Sir And. 'T is not the first time I have constrain'd 
one to call me knave. Begin, fool: It begins, 'Hold 
thv peace.' 

Clo. I shall never begin, it 1 hold my peace. 

Sir And. Good, 1' faith! Come, begin. 

[They sing a catch. 
Enter Maria. 

Mar. What a catterwaulingdo you keep here! If 
my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, 
and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. 

Sir To. My lady's a Catalan, we are politicians; 
Malvolio 's a Peg-a-Bamsay, and ' Three merry men 
be we.' Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her 
blood? Tilly-valley! lady! 'There dwelt a man in 
Babylon! lady, lady! [Singing. 

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight 's in admirable fool- 
ing. 

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough. If he be dis- 
posed, and so do I too; he does it with a better 
grace, but I do It more natural. 

Sir To. ' O, the twelfth day of December,'— 

[Singing. 

Mar. For the love o' God, peace. 
Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? 
Have yoii no wit, manners, nor honest.v, but to gab- 
ble like tinkers at this time of night? Do you make 
an alehouse of my lad.v's house, that ye queak out 
your coziers' catches without any mitigation or re- 
morse of voice? Is there no respect of place, per- 
sons, nor time, in you? 

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck 
up! 

Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 
lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours you 
as lier kinsman, she 's nothing allied to your disor- 
ders. If you can separate yourself and your misde- 
meanors, you are welcome to the house; if not, an 
it would please you to take leave of her, she is very 
willing to bid you farewell. 

Sir To. ' Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs 
be gone.' 

Mar. Nay, good sir Toby. 

Clo. ' His eyes do show his days are almost done.' 

Mai. Is 't even so? 

Sir To. ' But I will never die.' 

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 

Mai. This is much credit to you. 

Sir To. 'Shall I bid him go?' 

Clo. ' What an if you do?' 

Sir To. 'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?' 

Clo. ' O no, no, no, no, you dare not.' 

Sir To. Out o' time? sir, ye lie.— Art any more than 
a steward? Dost thou think because thou art vir- 
tuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? 

Clo. Yes, by saint Anne: and ginger shall be hot 1' 
the mouth too. 

Sir To. Thou 'rt 1' the right.— Go, sir, rub your 
chain with crumbs:— A stoop of wine, Maria ! 

3Ial. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour 
at anything more than contempt, you would not give 
means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, b.y 
this hand. [Exit. 

Mar. Go shake your ears. 

Sir And. 'T were as good a deed as to drink when 
a man 's a hungry, to challenge him the field; and 
then to break promise with him, and make a fool of 
him. 

Sir To. Do 't, knight; I '11 write thee a challenge; 
or I 'II deliver thy indignation to him by word ot 
mouth. 

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; 
since the youth of the count's was to-day with my 
lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur 
Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull 
him into a nayword, and make him a common re- 
creation, do not think I have wit enough to lie 
straight In my bed: I know I can do it. 

Sir To. Possess us, possess us: tell us something of 
him. 

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. 

Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a 
dog. 



Sir To. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite 
reason, dear knight? 

Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for 't, but 1 
have reason good enough. 

Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything 
constantly tait a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, 
that cons s»te without book, and utters it by great 
swarths; the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, 
as he thinks, with excellences, that it is his grounu 
of faith that all that look on him love him; and on 
that vice in him will my revenge find notable cause 
to work. 

Sir To. What wilt thou do? 

Mar. I will drop in his wa.v some obscure epistles 
of love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the 
shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres- 
sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall 
find himself most feelingly personated: I can write 
very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter 
we can hardly make distinction of our hands. 

Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device. 

Sir And. I have 't in mv nose too. 

Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt 
drop, that the.y come from my niece, and that she is 
in love with him. 

Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. 

Sir And. And your horse now would make him an 
ass. 

Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 

Sir And. O, 't will be admirable. 

Maj: Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my phys- 
ic will work with him. I will plant you two, and let 
the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; 
observe his construction of it. For this night, to bed, 
and dream on the event. Farewell. | Exit. 

Sir To. Good night, Penthesllea. 

Sir And. Before me, she 's a good wench. 

Sir To. She 's a beagle true bred, and one that 
adores me: What o' that ? 

Sir And. I was adored once too. 

Sir To. Let 's to bed, knight.— Thou hadst need send 
for more money. 

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul 
way out. 

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her 
not i' the end, call me Cut. 

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how 
you will. 

Sir To. Come, come; I '11 go burn some sack; 't is 
too late to go to bed now. Come, knight; come, 
knight. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. 

Duke. Give me some music:— Now, good morrow, 
friends:— 
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song. 
That old and antique song we heard last night; 
Methought, it did relieve my passion much; 
More than light airs and recollected terms. 
Of these most brisk and giddy -paced times: 
Come, but one verse. 

Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that 
should sing it. 

Duke. Who was it? 

Cur. Feste, the jester, mvlord; a fool, that the la- 
dy Olivia's father took much delight In: he is about 
the house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 
[Exit Carlo.— Mtisic. 
Come hither, boy: If ever thou slialt love, 
In the sweet pangs of it remember me: 
For, such as I am all true lovers are; 
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else. 
Save, in the constant image of the creature 
That is belov'd.— How dost thou like this tune? 

Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is thron'd. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: 

My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favour that It loves; 
Hath it not, boy? 

Vio. A little, by your favour. 

Duke. What kind of woman is 't? 

Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee then. What years, 
1' faith? 

Vio. About your years, my lord. 

Duke. Too old, by heaven: Let still the woman 
take 
An elder than herself; so wears she to him, 
So sways she level In her husband's heart. 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
Our fancies are more giddy and unflrm. 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, 
Thau women's are. ■ 

Vio. I think It well, my lord. 

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself. 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: 
For women are as roses; whose fair flotver. 
Being once display 'd, doth fall that very hour. 

Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so; 
To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 
He-enter Curio and Clown. 

Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last night: 
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain: 
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun. 
And the free maids that weave their thread with 

bones. 
Do use to chant it: it Is silly sooth. 
And dallies with the innocence of love, 
Like the old age. 

Clo. Are you ready, sir? 

Duke. Ay; prithee sing. [Music. 

SONG. 
Clo. ' Come away, come away, death. 
And in sad c.vpress let me be laid; 

Fly away, fly away, breath; 
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

O, prepare it; 
My part of death no one so true 
Did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
On my black coffln let there be strown; 

Not a friend, not a friend greet 
M.Y poor corpse, wliere my bones shall b6 

thrown: 
A thousand thousand sighs to save. 
Lay me, O, where 



SCKNK IV. 1 



TWELFTH NIGHT ; Ull, WHAT YOU WILL. 



Sad true lover never find my grave. 
To weep there.' 

Ditke. There 's for thy pains. 

Clo. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. 

IJtike. I 'H pay thy pleasure then. 

Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time 
or another. 

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. 

Clo. Now, the melancholy t?od protect thee: and 
the tailor malce thy doublet of changeable taffata; 
for thy mind is a very opal!— I would have men of 
such constancy put to sea, that their business might 
be everything, and their intent everywhere; for 
that 's it that always makes a good voyage of noth- 
ing.— Farewell. [Exit Clown. 

Duke. Let all the rest give place. 

[Exeunt Curio and Attendants. 
Once more, Cesario, 
Get thee to yon same sovereign cruelty: 
Tell her, mv love, more noble than the world. 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands; 
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her. 
Tell ner, I hold as giddily as fortune; 
But 't is that miracle, and queen of gems. 
That nature pranks her In, attracts my soul. 

Via. But if she cannot love you, sir? 

Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 

Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. 

Sav, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is. 
Hath for vour love as great a pang of heart 
As vou have for Olivia: you cannot love her; 
You tell her so: Must she not then be answer'd? 

Duke. There i-s no woman's sides. 
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart 
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. 
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite- 
No motion of the liver, but the palate,— 
That suflEer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea. 
And can digest as much: make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me. 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know,— 

Duke. What dost thou know? 

Vio. 'Too well what love women to men may owe; 
In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter lov'd a man. 
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
I should your lordship. 

Duke. And what 's her history? 

Vio. A blank, my lord: She never told her love. 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud. 
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought; 
And, with a green and yellow melancholy. 
She sat, like patience on a monument. 
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? 
^We men may say more, swear more: but. Indeed, 
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove 
Much In our vows, but little in ovu- love. 

Dxike. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? 

Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house. 
And all the brothers too;— and yet I know not. — 
Sir, shall I to this lady? 

Duke Ay, that 's the theme. 

To her In haste; give her this jewel; say. 
My love can give no place, bide no denay. [Exe. 

Scene V.— Olivia's Gardtn. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, 
and Fabian. 

Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. 

Fab. Nay, I '11 come; If I lose a scruple of this 
sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 

Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the 
niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some not- 
able shame? 

Fab. I would exult, man: you know, he brought 
me out o' favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting 
here. 

Sir To. To anger him, -we '11 have the bear again; 
and we will fool him black and and blue:— Shall we 
not, sir Andrew? 

Sir And. An we do not. It Is pity of our lives. 
Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Here comes the little villain:— How now, 
my metal of India! 

Mar. Get ye all three Into the box-tree: Malvolio's 
coming down this walk. He has been yonder i' the 
sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, this 
half-hour: observe him, for thfe love of mockery; 
for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative 
Idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! {The 
men hide tliemselves.] Lie thou there; [throws 
down a letter! for here comes the trout that must be 
caught with tickling. [Exit Maria. 

Enter Malvollo. 

Mai. 'T is but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once 
told me she did affect me; and I have heard herself 
come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be 
one of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a 
more exalted respect than any one else that follows 
her. What should I think on 't? 

Sir To. Here 's an overweening rogue! 

Fab. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare tur- 
key-cock of him! how he jets under his advanced 
plumes! 

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue:— 

Sir. To. Peace, I say. 

Mai. To be count Malvolio;— 

Sir To. Ah, rogue! 

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 

Sir To. Peace, peace! 

Mai. There is example for 't; the lady of the 
Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel! 

Fab. O, peace! now he 's deeeply in; look, how 
imagination blows him. 

Mai. Having been three months married to her, 
sitting in my state,— 

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! 

Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched 
velvet gown: having come from a day-bed. Where I 
have left Olivia sleeping: 

Sir To. Fire and brimstone! 

Fab. O, peace, peace! 

Mai. And then to have the humour of state; and 
after a demure travel of regard,— telling them I know 
my place, as I would they should do theirs,— to ask 
for my kinsman Toby: 

Sir To. Bolts and shackles! 



Fab. O, peace, peace, peace! now, now. 

Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, 
make out for him: I frown the while: and, per- 
chance, wind up my watch, or play with my some 
rich jewel. Toby approaches; courtesies there to 
me: 

Sir To. Shall this fellow live? 

Fah. Though our silence be dravm from us with 
ears, yet peace. 

Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my 
familiar smile with an austere regard of control : 

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the 
lips then? 

Mai, Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having 
cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of 
speech:'- 

Sir To. What, what? 

Mai. ' You must amend your drunkenness.' 

Sir To. Out, scab! 

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our 
plot. 

ilfa?. ' Besides, you waste the treasure ot yoiu' time 
with a foolisli knight;' 

Sir And. That 's rae, I warrant you. 

Mai. ' One sU- Andrew:' 

Sir And. I knew 't was I; for many do call me 
fool. 

Mai. What employment have we here? 

[Taking up the letter. 

Fab. Now is the woodcock near ihe gin. 

Sir To. O peace ! and the spirit of humours Inti- 
mate reading aloud to him ! 

Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be 
her very Cs, her Vs. and her T's; and thus makes 
she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her 
hand. 

Sir And. Her C's, her Vs. and her Ts: Why that? 

Mai. [Reads.l ' To the unknown beloved, this, and 
m.y good wishes: ' her very phrases !— By your leave, 
wax.— Soft ! -and the Im pressure her Lucrece, ^vith 
which she uses to seal: 't is my lady: To whom 
should this be? 

Fab. This wins hlra, liver and all. 

Mai. {Reads.] 

'Jove knows, Hove: 

But who? 
Lips, do not move; 
No man must know.' 

' No man must know.'— What follows?— the number 's 
altered! 'No man rtiust know.'— If this should be 
thee, Malvolio? 
Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! 

Mai. 'I may command, where I adore; 
But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; 
M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' 

Fab. A fustian riddle! 

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 

Mai. ' M, O, A, I, doth sway ray life.'— Nay, but first, 
let me see,— let me see,— let me see. 

Fab. What dish of poison hath she dress'd him? 

Sir To. And with what wing the stannyel checks 
at It! 

Mai. 'I may command where I adore.' Why, she 
may command me: I serve her, she Is my lady. 
Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There 
Is no obstruction in this;— And the end, — What 
should that alphabetical position portend? If I 
could make that resemble something In me,— 
Softly \~M, O, A, I.— 

Sir To. O, ay! make up that: he is now at a cold 
scent. 

Fab. Sowter will cry upon 't, for all this, though It 
be as rank as a fox. 

Mai. M, — Mai volio;— Jlf,— why, that begins my name. 

Fab. Did not I say that he would work it out? the 
cur is excellent at faults. 

Mai. 7)f,— But then there is no consonancy In the 
sequel; that suffers under probation: 4 should fol- 
low, but O does. 

Fab. And O shall end, I hope. 

Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry 
O. 

Mai. And then J comes behind. 

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might 
see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes be- 
fore you. 

Mai. M, O, A, J,— This simulation Is not as the for- 
mer: and yet, to crush this a little. It would bow to 
me, for every one of these letters are In my name. 
Soft; here follows prose.— 

'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I 
am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: Some 
are born great, some achieve greatness, and some 
have greatness thrust upon them. Tiiy fates open 
their liands: let thy blood and spirit embrace them. 
And, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast 
thy humble slough, and appear fresh. Be opposite 
with a kinsman, surly with servants: let thj' tongue 
tang arguments ot state; put thyself Into the trick of 
singularity: she thus advises thee that sighs for thee. 
Remember who commended thy yellow stockings; 
and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered: I say, re- 
member. Go to; thou art made, if thou deslrest to 
be so; If not, let me see thee a steward still, the fel- 
low of servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's 
fingers. Farewell. She that would alter services 
with thee. 

'The Fortunate TTnhappt.' 

Daylight and champain discovers not more: this is 
open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, I 
will bafBe Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaint- 
ance, I will be point-devise, tlie very man. I do not 
now fool myself to let Imagination jade me; for 
every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. 
She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she 
did praise my leg being cross-gartered; and in this 
she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of 
Injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. 
I thank my stars I am happy. I will be strange, 
stout, In yello^v stockings, and cross-gartered, even 
with the swiftness ot putting on. Jove, and my stars 
be praised!— Here is yet a postscript. ' Thou canst 
not choose but know who I am. It thou entertain- 
est my love, let It appear in thy smiling; thy smiles 
become thee well: therefore in my presence still 
smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.' Jove, I thank 
thee.— I will smile: I will do everything that thou 
wilt have me. 



Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a pen- 
sion of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 

Sir To. I could marry this wench tor this device: 

Sir And. So could I too. 

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but such 
another jest. 

Enter Maria. 

Sir And. Nor I neither. 

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck? 

Sir And. Or o' mine either? 

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and 
become thy bond-slave? 

Sir And. V faith, or I either? 

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him In such a dream, 
that when the image of it leaves him he must rua 
mad. 

Jlfar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him? 

Sir To. Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. 

jlfa?-. If you will then see the fruits of the sport,. 
mark his first approach before my lady: he will come 
to her In yellow stockings, and 't is a colour she 
abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; 
and he will smile upon her, which will now be so un- 
suitable to her disposition, being adicted to a melan- 
choly as she is, that It cannot but turn him Into a 
notable contempt: If you will see Ic, follow me. 

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent 
devil of wit! 

Sir And. 1 '11 make one too. [Exeunt. 

ACT IIL 

Scene I.— Olivia's Garden. 

Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor. 

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music: Dost thou 
live by thy tabor? 

Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. 

Vio. Art thou a churchman' 

Clo. No such matter, sir; I do live by the church, 
for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand 
by the church. 

Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, 
if a beggar dwell near him; or the church stands by 
thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. 

Clo. You have said, sir.- To see this age!— A sen- 
tence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit: How 
quickly the wrong side may be turned outward? 

Vio. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with 
words may quickly make them wanton. 

Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no name 
sir. 

Vit). Why, man? 

Clo. Why, sir, her name 's a word; and to dally 
with that word might make my sister wanton: But, 
indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgrac- 
ed them, 

Vio. Thy reason, man? 

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; 
and words are grown so false, I am loath to prove rea- 
son with them. 

Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest 
for nothing. 

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something: but In 
my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; If that be 
to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you 
Invisible. 

Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool? 

Clo. No, Indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no foUy 
she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and 
fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to her- 
i-Ings, the husband 's the bigger; I am, Indeed, not 
her fool, but her corrupter of words. 

Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orstno's. 

Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the 
sun; it shines everywhere. I would be sorry, sir, but 
the fool should be as oft with your master, as with 
my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there. 

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I 'U no more with 
thee. Hold, there 's expenses for thee. 

Clo. Now Jove, In his next commodity of hair, send 
thee a beard ! 

Vio. By my troth, I 'U tell thee; I am almost sick 
for one; though I would not have it grow on my 
chin. Is thy lady within? 

Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? 

Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. 

Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to 
bring a Cresslda to this Troilus. 

Vio. I understand you, sir; 't Is well begg'd. 

Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging 
but a beggar: Cresslda was a beggar. My lady is 
within, sir. I will conster to them whence you 
come; who you are, and what you would, are out of 
my welkin: I might say element; but the word Is 
over-worn. [Exit. 

Vio. This fellow Is wise enough to play the fool; 
And to do that well craves a kind of wit: 
He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
The quality of persons, and the time; 
Not like the haggard check at every feather 
That comes before his eye. This is a practice 
As full of labour as a wise man's art: 
For folly, that he wisely shows. Is fit; 
But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew 
Ague-cheek. 

Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. 

Vio. Et vous aussij votre serviteur. 

Sir And. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. 

Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece Is 
desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. 

Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir: I mean, she Is 
the list of my voyage. 

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion. 

Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I 
understand what you mean by bidding me taste my 
legs. 

Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter. 

Fio. I will answer you vrith gait and entrance: 
But we are prevented. 

Enter Olivia and Maria. 

Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain 
odours on you ! 

Sir And. That youth 's a rare courtier ! ' Rain 
odours !' well. 

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your 
own most pregnant and vouchsafed ear. 



100 



TWELFTH NIGHT : OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act III. 



Sir And. ' Odours, pregnant and vouchsafed:'— 
I '11 Ret 'em all three all ready. 

on. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to 
my hearing. 

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. 
"Give me your hand, sir. 

I'm. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 

Oli. What is your name? 

T7o. Ccsario is your servant's name, fair pi'incess. 

Oli. My servant, sir ! 'T was never merry world, 
'Since lowly feignlnp; was call'd compliment: 
You 're servant to tne count Orsino, youth. 

Vio. And he is .yours, and his must needs be yours; 
Tour servant's servant is your servant, madam. 

Oli. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, 
Would they were blanks, rather than flU'd with me I 

Vin. Madam. I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
On his behalf ;— 

Oli. O, by your leave, T pray you; 

1 bade you never speak again of him: 
But, would you undertake another suit, 
I had rather hear you to solicit that, 
' Than music from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady,— 

Oli. Give me leave, beseech you: I did send, 
After the last enchantment you did here, 
A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse 
My.self, my servant, and, I fear me, you: 
Under your hard construction must I sit. 
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning. 
Which you know none of yours: What might yo'i 

think? 
Have you not set mine honour at the stake. 
And bated it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your 

receiving 
Snough is shown; a Cyprus, not a bosom. 
Hides my heart: So let me hear you speak. 

Vio. I pity you. 

Oli. That 's a degree to love. 

Tic. No, not a grlse; for 't is a vulgar proof, 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

Oli. Why, then, methlnks, 't Is time to smile again: 

world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 
If one should be a prey, how much the better 

To fall before the lion than the wolf ! [Clock striken. 
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. — 
Be noi afraid, good youth, I will not have you: 
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 
Your wife Is like to reap a proper man: 
There lies your way, due west. 

Vio. Then westward-hoe: 

Grace, and good disposition, 'tend your ladyship ! 
You 'U nothing, madam, to my lord by me? 

Oli. Stay: 

1 prithee tell me, what thou think'st of me. 

vio. That you do think you are not what you are. 

Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 

Vio. Then think yon right; I am not what I am. 

Oli. I would you were as I would have you be ! 

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, 
I wish it might; for now I am your fool. 

Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
A murd'rous guilt shows not Itself more soon 
Than love that would seem hid: love'snight Is noon. 
Cesario, by the roses of the spring. 
By maidhood, honour, truth, and everything, 
I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride. 
Nor -wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause. 
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause: 
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter;— 
Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better. 

Vio. By innocence I swear, and by mj' youth, 
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, 
And that no woman has; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, good madam; never more 
Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 

Oli. Yet come again: for tliou, perhaps, may'st 
move 
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. [Ex. 

Scene 11.— A Room in Olivia's House. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, and 
Fabian. 

Sir And. No, faith, I '11 not stay a jot longer. 

Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. 

Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours 
to the count's serving man, than ever she bestov.ed 
upon me; I saw 't 1' the orchard. 

Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me 
that. 

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her to- 
ward you. 

Sir .\nd. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o' me? 

Fob. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths 
of .iudgment and reason. 

Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, since 
before ><oah was a sailor. 

Fab. She did show favour to the youth In your 
sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
mouse valour, to put Are in your heart, and brim- 
stone in your liver: You should then have accosted 
her; and with some excellent jests, flre-new from 
the mint, you .should have banged the youth into 
dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and 
this was baulked: the double gilt of this opportu- 
nity .vou let time wash off, and you are now sailed 
into the noi'th of my lady's opinion; where you will 
hang like an Icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless 
you do redeem It by some laudable attempt, either 
of valour or policy. 

Sir And. An 't be any way, it must be with valour; 
for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a 
politician. 

Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the 
basis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth to 
flght with him; hurt him in eleven places; my niece 
shall take note of it: and assure thyself, there is no 
love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's 
commendation with women, than report of valour. 

Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge to 
him? 

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and 
brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent 
and full of invention; taunt him with the licence of 
ink: If thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be 
amiss; and as many lies as will lie in the sheet of 



gaper, although the sheet were big enough for the 
ed of Ware in England, set 'em down; go about 
it. Let there be gall enough in thy Ink; though thou 
write with agoose-pen, no matter: About It. 

Sir And. Where shall I And you? 

Sir To. We '11 call thee at the cubicnlo: Go. 

[Exit Sir Andrew. 

Fab. This is a dear manakinto you, sir Toby. 

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two 
thousand strong, or so. 

Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him: but 
you'll not deliver it. 

Sir To. Never trust me then; and by all means stir 
on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and wain- 
i-opes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he 
were opened, and you find so much blood in his 
liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of 
the anatomy. 

Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his vis- 
age no great presage of cruelty. 
Enter Maria. 

Sir To. Look where the youngest wren of nine 
comes. 

Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh your- 
selves into stitches, follow me: yond' gull Malvoliois 
turned heathen, a very renegade; for there is no 
Christian, that means to be saved by believing right- 
ly, can ever believe such impossible passages of 
grossness. He 's in yellow stockings. 

Sir To. And cross-gartered? 

Mar. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a 
school i' the church.— I have dogged him, like his 
murderer: He does obey every point of the letter that 
I dropped to betray him. He does smile his face into 
more lines than are in the new map with the aug- 
mentation of the Indies: vou have not seen such a 
thing as 't is; I can hardly forbear hurling things at 
him. I know my lady will strike him; if she do, ne '11 
smile, and take it for a great favour. 

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III.— 4 Street. 

Enter Antonio and Sebastian. 

Seb. I would not by my will have troubled you; 
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
I will no further chide you. i 

Ant. I could not stay behind you; my desire. 
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth; 
And not all love to see you, (though so much 
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,) 
But jealousy what might befall your travel. 
Being skilless in these parts; which, to a stranger, 
XJnguided, and unfriended, often prove 
Rough and unhospitable: My willing love. 
The rather by these arguments of fear. 
Set forth in your pursuit. 

Seb. My kind Antonio, 

I can no other answer make, but, thanks. 
And thanks: and ever oft good turns 
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay; 
But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm. 
You should find better dealing. What 's to do? 
Shall we go see the rellques of this town? 

Ant. To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your lodg- 
ing. 

Seb. I am not weary, and 't Is long to night; 
I pray you let us satisfy our eyes 
With the memorials, and the things of fame. 
That do renown this city. 

Ant. 'Would you 'd pardon me; 

I do not without danger walk these streets; 
Once, in a sea-flght, gainst the count his galleys, 
I did some service; of such note, indeed. 
That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. 

Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people. 

Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature; 
Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel. 
Might well have given us bloody argument. 
It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake, 
Most of our city did: only myself stood out: 
For which, if I be lapsed in this place, 
r shall pay dear. 

Seb. Do not then walk too open. 

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here 's my 
purse; 
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet. 
Whiles you beguile the time, and f ^ed your know- 
ledge 
With viewing of the town; there shall you have me. 

Seb. Why I your purse? 

Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy 
You have desire to purchase; and your store, 
I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 

Seb. I '11 be your purse-bearer, and leave you 
For an hour. 

Ant. To the Elephant.— 

Seb. I do remember. 

[Exettnt. 
Scene IV.— Olivia's Garden. 
Enter Olivia and Maria. 

Oli. I have sent after him. He says he 'U come; 
How shall I feast him? what bestow of him? 
For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd or bor- 

row'd. 
I speak too loud.— 

Where is Maivolio?— he is sad, and civil, 
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes;— 
Where is Maivolio? 

ilfar. He 's coming, madam; but in very strange 
manner. He is sure possess'd, madam. 

Oli. Why, what 's the matter? does he rave? 

Mar. No, madam, he does nothing but smile: your 
ladyship were best have some guard about you, if he 
come; for, .sure, the man is tainted in his wits. 

OH. Go call him hither.— I am as mad as he 
If sad and merry madness equal be. 

Enter Maivolio. 
How now, Maivolio? 

Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. 

[Smites fantastically. 

Oli. Smilest thou? 
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 

Mai. Sad, lady? I could be sad: This does make 
some ob.struction in the blood, this cross-gartering. 
But what of that, if it please the eye of one, it is with 
me as the very true sonnet is: 'Please one, and 
please all.' 



Oli. Why, how dost thou, man? what Is the matter 
with thee? 

Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my 
legs: It did come tohls hands, and commands shall 
be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman 
hand. 

Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Maivolio? 

Mai. Jo bed? aye, sweetheart; and I '11 come to 
thee. ■ 

Oli. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, 
and kiss thy hand so oft? 

Mar. How do you, Maivolio? 

Mai. At your "request? Yes; Nightingales answer 
daws. 

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold- 
ness before my lady? 

Mai. 'Be not afraid of greatness:'— 'twas well writ. 

Oli. What meanest thou by that, Maivolio? 

Mai. ' Some are born great,'— 

Oli. Ha? 

Mai. • Some achieve greatness,'— 

Oli. What say'st thou? 

Mai. 'And some have greatness thrust upon them.' 

Oli. Heaven restore thee! 

Mai. ' Remember, who commended thy yellow 
stockings;'— 

Oli. My yellow stockings? 

Mai. 'And wished to see thee cross-gartered.' 

OH. Cross-gartered? 

Mai. ' Go to: thou art made, if thou desirest to be 
SO;'— 

OH. Am I made? 

Mai. If not, let me see thee a servant still.' 

Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 
Enter Servant. 

Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the count 
Orsino's is returned; I could hardly entreat him 
back: he attends your ladyship's pleasure. 

Oli. I '11 come to him. [Exit Servant.! Good 
Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where 's my 
cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special 
care of him; I would not have him miscarry for the 
half of my dowry. [Exeunt Olivia and Maria. 

Mai. Oh, ho! do you come near me now? no worse 
man than sir Toby to look to me? This concurs 
directly with the letter; she sends him on purpose, 
that I may appear stubborn to him; for she Incites 
me to that in the letter. 'Cast thy humble slough,' 
saysshe;— 'be opposite with a kinsman, surly with 
servants,— let thy tongue tang with arguments of 

state,— put thyself into the trick of singularity;' 

and, consequently, sets down the manner how; as, a 
sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue. In the 
habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have 
limed her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me 
thankful! And, when she went away, now, 'Let 
this fellow be looked to:' Fellow! not Maivolio, nor 
after my degree, but fellow. Why, everything 
adheres together; that no dram of a scruple, no 
scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or 
unsafe circumstance,— What can be said? Nothing, 
that can be, can come between me and the full 
prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer 
of this, and he is to be thanked. 
Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. 

Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? 
If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion 
himself possessed him, yet I '11 speak to him. 

Fab. Herehe is, here he is:— How is 't with you, 
sir? how is 't with you, man?- 

3Ial. Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my private; 
gooff. 

Mar. Lo, how hollow the flend speaks within him ! 
did not I tell you?— Sir Toby, my lady prays you to 
have a care of him. 

Mai. Ah, ha! does she so? 

Sir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must deal 
gently with him; let me alone. How do you, Mai- 
volio? how is 't with you? What, man! defy the 
devil: consider, he 's an enemy to mankind. 

3Tal. Do you know what you say? 

Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he 
takes it at heart! Pray God, he be not bewitched! 

Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. 

Ma r. Marry, an It shall be done to-morrow morn- 
ing, if I live. My lady would not lose him for more 
than I '11 say. 

Mai. How now, mistress? 

3Iar. Olord! 

Sir To. Prithee, hold thy peace; this i.s not the 
way: Do you not see you move him? let me alone 
with him. 

Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the 
flend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 

Sir To. Why, how now, my baivcoek? how dost 
thou, chuck? 
'Mai. Sir? 

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 
't is not for gi'avity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: 
Hang him, foul collier! 

Mar. Get him to say his prayers; good sir Toby, 
get him to pray. 

3Ial. My prayers, minx? 

3Iar. No, I warant you, he will not hear of godli- 
ness. 

Mai. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow 
things: lam not of your element; you shall know 
more hereafter. [Exit. 

Sir To. Is 't possible? 

Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I could 
condemn it as an improbable fiction. 

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection of 
the device, man. 

Mar. Nay, pursue him now; lest the device take 
air and taint. 

Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. 

Mar. The house will be the quieter. 

Sir To. Come, we 'II have him in a dark room, and 
bound. My niece is already in the belief that he 
is mad; we may carry it thiis, for our pleasure, and 
his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of breath, 
prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we 
will bring the device to the bar, and crown thee for 
a finder of madmen. But see, but see. 

Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 

Fab. More matter for a May morning. 

Sir And. Here 's the challenge, read it; I warrant 
there 's vinegar and pepper in 't. 

Fab. Is 't so saucy? 

Sir And. Ay, is It, I warrant him: do but read. 

Sir To. Give me. [Reads.'] 'Youth, whatsoever 
thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.' 



Scene iv.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



101 



Tah, Good, and valiant. 

Sir To. ''Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, 
■why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason 
for 't.' 

Fab. A good note: that keeps you from the blow of 
the law. 

Sir To. 'Thou comest to the lady Olh'ia, and m 
my sight she uses thee kindly: but thou Uest in thy 
throat, that is not the matter I challenge thee for.' 

Fab. Very brief, and to exceeding good-senseless. 

Sir To. 'I wiU waylay thee going home; where if 
It be thy chance to kill me,' 

Fab. Good. ,„ , , 

Sir To. ' Thou klllest me like a rogue and a villain.' 

Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law: 
Good. 

Sir To. ' Fare thee well: And God have mercy upon 
one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; 
but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy 
friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy, 
Andrew Ague-cheek.' 

Sir To. If this letter move him not, Ms legs can- 
not: I '11 give 't him. 

Mar. You may have very fit occasion for 't; he is 
now in some commerce with my lady, and will by 
and by depart. 

Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the 
cornerof the orchard, like a bum-bailie: so soon as. 
ever thou seest him, draw; and, as thou drawest, 
swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft, that a terri- 
ble oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged 
off, gives manhood more approbation than ever 
proof itself would have earned him. Away. 

Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [Exit. 

Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter: for the 
behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to 
be of good capacity and breeding; his employment 
between his lord and my niece confirms no less; 
therefore this letter, being so excellently Ignorant, 
will breed no terror in the youth, he will find it comes 
from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge 
by word of mouth; set upon Ague-cheek a notable 
report of valour; and drive the gentleman (as, I know 
his youth will aptly receive it) into a most hideous 
opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and Impetuosity. 
This will so fright them both, that they will kill one 
another by the look, like cockatrices. 

Enter Olivia and Viola. 

Fab. Here he comes with your niece: give them 
way, till he take leave, and presently after him. 

Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some horrid 
message for a challenge. 

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria. 

Oli. I have said too much unto a heart of stone. 
And laid mine honour too unchary on 't: 
There 's something In me that reproves my fault; 
But such a headstrong potent fault It is. 
That it but mocks reproof. 

Via. With the same 'havlour that your passion 
bears. 
Go on my master's griefs. 

Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 't is my picture ; 
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you: 
And, 1 beseech you, come again to-morrow. 
What shall you ask of me ttiat I '11 deny; 
That honour, sav'd, may upon asking give? 

Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my mas- 
ter. 

Oli. How with mine honour may I give him that 
Which 1 have given to you? 

Vio. I will acquit you. 

Oli. Well, come again to-morrow: Fare thee well; 
A flend like thee might bear my soul to hell. [Exit. 

Re-enter Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. 

Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 

Vio. And you, sir. 

Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to It: 
of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, 
I know not; but thy Intercepter, full of despight, 
bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard 
end: dismount thy tuck, be yare In thy preparation, 
for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 

Vio. You mistake, sir, I am sure; no man hath any 
quarrel to me; my remembrance is very free and 
clear from any Image of offence done to any man. 

Sir To. You '11 find it otherwise, I assure you: 
therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake 
you to your guard: for your opposite hath in him 
what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish 
man withal. 

Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he? 

Sir To. He is knight, dubb'd with unhatch'd rapier, 
and on carpet consideration; but he is a devil In 
private brawl; souls and bodies hath he divorced 
three; and his Incensement at this moment is so im- 
placable, that satisfaction can be none but by pangs 
of death and sepulchre: hob, nob, is his word; give 
't, or take 't. 

Vio. I will return again into the house, and desire 
some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have 
heard of some kind of men that put quarrels pur- 
posely on others, to taste their valour: belike, this is 
a man of that quirk. 

Sir To. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of 
a very competent Injury; therefore, get you on, and 
give him his desire. Back you shall not to the 
house, unless you undertake that with me which 
with as much safety you might answer him: there- 
fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked; for med- 
dle you must, that 's certain, or forswear to wear 
iron about you. 

Vio. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, 
do me this courteous office, as to know of the knight 
what my offence to him is; it is something of ray 
negligence, nothing of my purpose. 

Sir To. I vrtll do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by 
this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir Toby. 

Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter? 

Fab. I know the knight is incensed against you, 
even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing of the 
circumstance more. 

Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? 

Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read 
him by his form, as you are like to And him in the 
proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most 
skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could 
possibly have found in any part of lllyris : Will you 
walk towards him? I will make your peace with liim, 
if I can. 

Vio. I shall be much bound to you for 't: I am one 
that would rather go with sir priest than sir knight: 
I care not who knows so much of my mettle. [Exit. 



Reenter Sir Toby, with Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Why, man, he 's a very devil; I have not 
seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, 
scabbard, and all, and he gives me the .stuck In, with 
such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable; and on 
the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit 
the ground they step on: They say he has been 
fencer to the Sophy. 

Sir And. Pox on 't, 1 '11 not meddle with him. 

Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian 
can scarce hold him yonder. 

Sir And. Plague on 't; an I thought he had been 
valiant, and so cunning in fence, I 'a have seen him 
damned ere I 'd have challenged him. Let him let 
the matter slip, and 1 '11 give him my horse, gray 
Capilet. 

Sir To, I 'U make the motion: Stand here, make a 
good show on 't; this shall end without the per- 
dition of souls: Marry, I '11 ride your horse as well 
as I ride you. 

Reenter Fabian and Viola. 
I have his horse [to Fab.] to take up the quarrel; 
I liave persuaded him the youth 's a devil. 

Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants, 
and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels. 

Sir To. There 's no remedy, sir; he will fight with 
you for his oath sake: marry, he hath better be- 
thought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now 
scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for 
the supportance of his vow; he protests he will not 
hurt you. 

Vio. Pray God defend me! A little thing would 
make me tell them how much I lack of a man. 

[Aside. 

Fab. Give ground. If you see him furious. 

Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there 's no remedy; the 
gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one bout 
with you: he cannot by the duello avoid it; but he 
has promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, 
he will not hurt you. Come on: to 't. 

Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath. [Draws. 

Enter Antonio. 

Vio. I do assure you 't is against my will. [I>ra,vis. 

Ant. Put up your sword:— If this young gentleman 
Have done offence, I take the fault on me: 
If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. 

Sir To. You, sir? why, what are you? 

Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more 
Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 

Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, 1 am for you. 

[Draws. 
Enter two Oflicers. 

-Fab. O good sir Toby, hold; here come the officers. 

Sir To. I '11 be with you anon. [To Antonio. 

Vio. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please. 

[To Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Marry, will I, sir:— and, for that I prom- 
ised you, I '11 be as good as my word: He will 
bear you easily, and reins well. 

1 Ojgf. This is the man; do thy office. 

2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
Of count Orsino. 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 

1 Off. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well. 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. 
Take him away; he knows 1 know him well. 

Ant. I must obey. — This comes with seeking you; 
But there 's no remedy; I shall answer it. 
What will you do, now my necessity 
Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me 
Mueli more for what I cannot do for you 
Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd; 
But be of comfort. 

2 Off. Come, sir, away. 

Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money. 

Vio. What money, sir. 
For the fair kindness you have show'd me here. 
And, part, being prompted by your present trouble. 
Out of my lean and low ability 
I 'il lend you something: my having Is not much; 
I '11 make division of my present with you: 
Hold, there is half my coffer. 

Ant. Will you deny me now? 

Is 't possible, that my deserts to you 
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt ray misery, 
Lest that it raake rae so unsound a man 
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
That 1 have done for you. 

Vio. I know of none; 

Nor know I you by voice, or any feature: 
I hate ingi-atitude more in a man 
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness. 
Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption 
Inhabits our frail blood. 

A7\t. O heavens themselves! 

2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go. 

Ant. Let nie speak a little. This youth that you 
see here, 
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death; 
Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love,— 
And to his image, which methought did promise 
Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 

1 Off. What 's that to us? The time goes by; away. 

Ant. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god! — 
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. — 
In nature there 's no blemish but the mind; 
None can be call'd deforra'd but the unkind. 
Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil 
Are empty trunlcs, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 

1 Off. The man grows mad; away with him. 
Come, come, sir. 

Ant. Lead me on. 

[Exeunt Officers with Antonio. 

Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passion fly. 
That he believes himself; so do not I. 
Prove true, imagination, O, prove true. 
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you! 

Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian; 
we '11 whisper o'er a couple or two of most sage 
saw^s. 

Vio. He nam'd Sebastian: I my brother know 
Yet living in my glass; even such, and so, 
In favour was my brother; and he went 
Srili in this fashion, colour, ornament. 
For him I imitate: O, if it prove. 
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! 

[Exit. 

Sir To. A very dishonest paltrj' boy, and moi'e a 
coward than a hare: his dishonesty appears in leav- 
ing his friend here In necessity, and denying him; 
and for his cowardship ask Fabian. 



Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious in 
it. 

Sir And. 'Slid, I 'II after him again, and beat him. 

Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy 
sword. 

Sir And. An I do not,— [Exit. 

Fab. Come, let 's see the event. 

Sir To. 1 dare lay any money 't will be nothing yet. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT rv. 

Scene I.— The Street before Olivia's House. 
Enter Sebastian and Clown. 

Clo. Win you make me believe that I am not sent 
for you? 

Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; 
Let me be clear of thee. 

Clo. Well held out, 1' faith! No, I do not know 
you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you 
come speak with her; nor your name is not master 
Cesario; nor this is not my nose neither.— Nothing 
that is so, is so. 

Seb. I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else: 
Thou know'st not me. 

Clo. Vent my folly! he has heard that word of 
some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent 
my folly! I am afraid this great lubber the world, 
will prove a cockney.— I prithee now ungird thy 
strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my 
lady; shall I vent to her that thou art coming? 

Seb. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me; 
There 's money for thee; if you tarry longer 
I shall give worse payment. 

Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand:— 
These wise men that give fools money get them, 
selves a good report after fourteen years' purchase. 
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 

Sir And. Now, sir, have 1 met vou again? there 's 
for you. [Striking Sebastian. 

Seb. Why, there 's for thee, and there, and there: 
Are all the people mad? [Beating Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Hold, sir, or I '11 throw your dagger o'er 
the house. 

Clo. This will I tell my lady straight: I would not 
be in some of your coats for two-pence. [Exit. 

Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. [Holding Seb. 

Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I '11 go another way 
to work with him; I '11 have an action of battery 
against him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I 
struck hira first, yet It 's no matter for that. 

Seb. Let go thy hand. 

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my 
young soldier, put up your Iron: you are well fleshed; 
come on. 

Seb. 1 win be free from thee. What would'st thou 
now? 
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. 

[Draws. 

Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an 
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. 

[Draws. 
Enter Olivia. 

Oli. Hold, Toby: on thy life, I charge thee, hold. 

Sir To. Madam? 

Oli. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch. 
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous eaves. 
Where manners ne'er were preached! out of my 

sight! 
Be not offended, dear Cesario! 
Rudesby, be gone!— I prithee, gentle friend, 

[Exeunt Sir 'Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
In this uncivil and unjust extent 
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house; 
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby 
May'st smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go; 
Do not deny: Beshrew his soul for me. 
He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 

Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the stream? 
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream: 
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; 
If it be thus to dream still let me sleep! 

Oli. Nay, come, I prithee: 'Would thou 'dstberul'd 
by me? 

Seb. Madam, I will. 

Oli. O, say so, and so be! 

[Exeunt. 
Scene II.— ^ Room in Olivia's House. 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, I prithee put on this gown, and this 
beard; make him believe thou art sir Topas the 
curate; do it quickly: I '11 call sir Toby the whilst. 

[Exit Maria. 

Clo. Well, I '11 put It on, and I will disserable my- 
self in 't; and I would I were the first that ever dis- 
sembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to be- 
come the function well: nor lean enougli to be 
thought a good student: but to be said, an honest 
man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to 
say, a careful man, and a great scholar. The com- 
petitors enter. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria. 

Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. 

Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby: for as the old hermit of 
Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily 
said to a niece of king Goi'boduc. 'That that is, is:' 
so 1, being master parson, am master parson: For 
what is that, but that? and is, but is? 

Sir To. To him, sir Topas. 

Clo. What, hoa, I say,— Peace in this prison! 

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. 

3Ial. [In an inner chamber.] Who calls there? 

Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit 
Malvoiio the lunatic. 

3Ial. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go to my 
lady. 

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest tboa this 
man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies? 

Sir To. Well said, master parson. 

Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged: good 
sir Topas, do not think I am mad; they have laid me 
here in hideous darkness. 

Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan! I call thee by the 
most modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones 
that will use the devil himself with courtesy: Say'st 
thou, that house is dark? 

Mai. As hell, sir Topas. 

Clo. vvhy, it hath bay-windows, transparent as 
barricadoes, and the clear-stories tow^ards the south- 



102 



TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 



[Act v. 



north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainost 
thou of obstruction? 

Mai. I am not mad, sir Topas; I say to you, this 
house Is dark. 

Clo. madman, thou errest: I say, there Is no dark- 
ness but Ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled 
than the Egyptians In their fog. 

Mai. I say, this house is as dark as Ignorance, 
though ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say, 
there was never man thus abused: I am no more 
mad than you are; make the trial of it in any con- 
stant question. 

Clo. What Is the opinion of Pythagoras concern- 
ing wildfowl? 

Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply 
Inhabit a bird. 
Clo. What thlnkest thou of this opinion? 
Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve 
his opinion. 

Clo. Fare thee well: Remain thou still in darkness: 
thou Shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will 
allow of thy wits; and fear to klU a woodcock, lest 
thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee 
well. 
Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas,— 
Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas! 
Clo. Nay, I am for all waters, 
ilfaj-. Thou might'st have done this without thy 
beard and gown; he sees thee not. 

Sir To. To him in thine owii voice, and bring me 
word how thou flndest him: I would we were well 
rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently de- 
livered, I would he were; for I am now so far in 
offence with my niece that I cannot pursue with any 
safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and by to 
my chamber. 

^Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria. 
Clo. 'Hey Robin, jolly Robin, 

Tell me how thy lady does.' [Singing. 

Mai. Fool,— 

Clo. • My lady is unkind, perdy.' 
Mai, Fool,- 

Clo. 'Alas, why is she so?' 
Mai. Fool, I say;— 

Clo. ' She loves another.'— Who calls, ha? 
Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at 
my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and 
paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thank 
f ul to thee for 't. 
Clo. Master Malvolio! 
Mai. Ay, good fool. 

Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits? 
Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
abused: I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. 

Clo. But as well? then you are mad, indeed, if you 
be no better in your wits than a fool. 

Mai. They have here propertied me; keep me in 
darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all they 
can to face me out of my wits. 

Clo. Advise you what you say; the minister is here. 
—Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore! 
endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain bibble 
babble. 

Mai. Sir Topas, 

Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow.— 
Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b' wi' you, good sir 
Topas.— Marry, amen.— I will, sir, I wm. 
Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say,— 

Clo. Alas, sir, ba patient. What say you, sir? I am 
shont for speaking to you. 

Mai. Good fool, help me to some light, and some 
paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any man 
In Illyria. 
Clo. Well-a-day, that you were, sir! 
Mai. By this hand, I am: Good fool, some ink, 
paper, and light, and convey what I will set do^vn to 
my lady; it shall advantage thee more than ever the 
bearing of letter did. 

Clo. I will help you in 't. But tell me true, are you 
not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit? 
Mai. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true. 
Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see his 
brains. I will fetch you Ught, and paper, and ink. 

Mai. Fool, I '11 requite it m the nighest degree: I 
prithee, be gone. 

Clo. ' I am gone, sir. 

And anon, sir, 
I '11 be with you again. 

In a trice. 

Like to the old vice. 
Your need to sustain; 

Who with dagger of lath. 
In his rage and his wrath. 

Cries, ah, ha! to the devil: 
Like a mad lad. 
Pare thy nails, dad, 
' Adieu, goodman devil. [Exit 

Scene III.— Olivia's Garden. 
Enter Sebastian. 
Seb. This is the air; that is the glorious sun: 
'x'hls pearl she gave me, I do feel 't and see 't: 
And though 't is wonder that enwraps me thus, 
Yet 't is not madness. Where 's Antonio then? 
I could not find him at the Elephant: 
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit, 
That he did range the town to seek me out. 
His counsel now might do me golden service: 
For though my soul disputes well with my sense, 
That this may be some error, but no madness. 
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
So far exceed all instance, ail discourse. 
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes. 
And wrangle ^vlth my reason, that persuades me 
To any other trust, but that I am mad. 
Or else the lady 's mad; yet, if 't were so, 
She could not sway her house, command her follow- 
ers, 
Take and give back affairs, and their despatch. 
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing. 
As, I perceive, she does: there 's something in "t 
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. 
Enter Olivia and a Priest. 
Oli. Blame not this haste of mine: If you mean 
well. 
Now go with me, and with this holy man, 
Into the chantry by: there, before him, 
And underneath that consecrated roof, 
Plight me the full assurance of your faith; 
That my most Jealous and too doubtful soul 
Hay live at peace: He shall conceal It, 



Whiles you are willing It shall come to note. 
What time we will our celebration keep 
According to my birth.— What do you say? 

Seh. I 'il follow this good man, and go with you; 
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
Oil. Then lead the way, good father:— And 
heavens so shine. 
That they may fairly note this act of mine! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Scene I.— The Street before Olivia's Rouse. 
Enter Clown and Fabian. 
Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. 
Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another re- 
quest. 
Eab. Anything. 

Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. 
Fab. This is, to give a dog, and in recompense de- 
sire my dog again. 

Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants. 

Dulce. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? 

Clo. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings. 

Duke. I know thee well: How dost tnou, my good 
fellow? 

Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the 
worse for my friends. 

Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy friends. 

Clo. No, sir, the worse. 

Duke. How can that be? 

Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass of 
me; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that 
by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of mj'self ; 
and by my friends I am abused: so that, conclusions 
to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two 
affirmatives, why, then the worse for my friends and 
the better for my foes. 

Duke. Why, this is excellent. 

Clo. By my troth, sir, no; though it please j-ou to 
be one of my friends. 

Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me; there 's 
gold. 

Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I 
would you could make it another. 

Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. 

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this 
once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 

Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a dou- 
ble dealer; there 's another. 

Clo. Prima, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the 
old saying is, the thirds pays for ail: the triplex, sir, 
is a good tripping measure; or thebellsof St. Bennet, 
sir, may put you in mind; One, two, three. 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at 
this throw: if you will let your lad.v know I am here 
to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it 
may awake my bounty further. 

Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, till I come 
again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think 
that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness: 
but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will 
awake it anon. [Exit Clown. 

Enter Antonio and Officers. 

Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 

Duke. That face of his I do remember well; 
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd 
As biack as Vulcan, in the smoke of war: 
A bawbllng vessel was he captain of. 
For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable; 
With which such scathtul grapple did he make 
With the most noble bottom of our fleet, 
That very envy, and the tongue of loss. 
Cried fame and honour on him.— What 's the matter? 

1 Off. Orsino, this Is that Antonio 
That took the Phoenix, and her fraught, from Candy; 
And this is he that did the Tiger board. 
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg; 
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state. 
In private brabble did we apprehend him. 

Vio. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side; 
But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me, 
I know not what 't was, but olstractlon. 

Duke. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief! 
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, 
Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, 
Hast made thine enemies? 

Ant. Orsino, noble sir. 

Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me: 
.intonio never yet was thief, or pirate. 
Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, 
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: 
That most Ingratetul boy there, by your side. 
From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth 
Did I redeem; a wrack past hope he was: 
His life I gave him, and did thereto add 
My love, without retention or restraint, 
All his in dedication: for his sake. 
Did I expose myself, pure for his love. 
Into the danger of this adverse town; 
Drew to defend him when he was beset; 
Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
(Not meaning to partake with me In danger,) 
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, 
And grew a twenty-years-removed thing. 
While one would wink; denied me mine own purse. 
Which I had recommended to his use 
Not half an hour before. 

Vio. How can this be? 

Duke. When came he to this town? 

Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months before, 
fNo interim, not a minute's vacancy,) 
Both day and night did we keep company. 
Enter Olivio and Attendants. 
Duke. Here comes the countess; now heaven walks 
on earth.— 
But for thee, fellow, thy words are madness: 
Three months this youth hath tended upon, me; 
But more of that anon.— Take him aside. 

Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not have, 
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? — 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
Vio. Madam? 

Duke. Gracious Olivia,— 

Oil. What do you say, Cesario?— Good my lord,— 
Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 
Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord. 
It Is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
As howling after music. 
Duke. Still so cruel! 

Oli. Still so constant, lord. 



Duke. What! to perverseness! you uncivil lady. 
To whose Ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breath'd out, 
That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do? 

Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- 
■come him. 

£)ufce.*Why should I not, had I the heart to do it. 
Like to the Egyptian thief, at point ol death. 
Kill what I love; a savage jealousy. 
That sometime savours nobly?— But hear me this: 
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith. 
And that I partly know the Instrument 
That screws me from my true place in your favour. 
Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still; 
But this your minion, whom I know you love. 
And whom, by-heaven I swear, I tender dearly. 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye. 
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. 
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mis- 
chief: 
I '11 sacriftce the lamb that I do love. 
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going, 

Vio. And I, most Jocund, apt, and willingly. 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 

[Folloxaing. 

Oli. Where goes Cesario? 

Vio. After him I love. 

More than I love these eyes, more than my life. 
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife: 
If I do feign, yon witnesses above, 
Punish my life, for tainting of my love! 

Oli. Ah me, detested! how am I begull'd! 

Vio. Who does beguile you? wlio does do you 
wrong. 

Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long?— 
Call forth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant. 

Duke. Come, away. [To Viola. 

Oli. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. 

Duke. Husband? 

Oli. Ay, husband, can he that deny? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah? 

Vio. No, my lord, not I. 

Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear 
That makes thee strangle thy propriety: 
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up; 
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
As great as that thou f ear'st.— O, welcome, father! 

Re-enter Attendant and Priest. 
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
Here to unfold (tiiough lately we intended 
To keep in darkness what occasion now 
Reveals before 't is ripe) what thou dost know, 
Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me. 

Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 
Conflrm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, 
Attested by the holy close of lips, 
Strengthen'd by Interchangement of your rings; 
And all the ceremony of this compact 
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony: 
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my 

grave 
I have travell'd but two hours. 

Duke. O, thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be. 
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case? 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow. 
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? 
Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet 
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 

Vio. My lord, I do protest, — 

Oli. . O, do not swear; 

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 
Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, with his head broke- 
Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon; send one 
presently to Sir Toby. 

Oli. What 's the matter? 

Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has 
given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too: for the love 
of God, your help: I had rather than forty pound I 
were at home. 

Oli. Who has done this, sir Andrew? 

Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario: we 
took liim for a coward, but he 's the very devil in- 
cardinate. 

Duke. My gentleman, Casarlo? 

Sir And. Od's Ufelings, here he is:— You broke my 
head for nothing; and that that I did, X was set on 
to do 't by sir Toby. 

Vio. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you: 
You drew your sword upon me without cause; 
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 

Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have 
hurt me; I think you set nothing by a bloody cox- 
comb. 

Enter Sir Toby Belch, drunk, led by the Clown. 
Here comes sir Toby halting, you shall hear more: 
but If he had not been in drink, he would have tickled 
you othergates than he did. 

Duke. How now gentleman! how is 't with you? 

Sir To. That 's all one; he has hurt me, and there's 
the end on 't.— Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot? 

Clo. O, he 's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone; his 
eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 

Sir To. Then he 's a rogue and a passy-measures 
pavin; I hate a drunken rogue. 

Oli. Away with him: Who hath made this havoc 
with them? 

Sir And. I '11 help you, sir Toby, because we '11 be 
dressed together. 

Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a coxcomb, 
and a knave? a thin faced knave, a gull? 

Oli. Gfet him to bed, and let liis hurt be look to. 

[Exeunt Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. 
Enter Sebastian. 

Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman: 
But had it been the brother of my blood, 
I must have done no less, with wit, and safety. 
You tlirow a strange regard upon me, and by that 
I do perceive ithatli offended you; 
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
We made eacli other but so late ago. 

Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two per^ 
sons; 
A natural perspective, that Is, and is not. 

Seb. Antonio, O my dear .Antonio! 
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me. 
Since I have lost thee. 

Ant. Sebastian are you? 

Seh. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? 

Ant. How have you made division of jourself ? — 
An apple, cleft In tivo, is not more twin 
Thau these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? 



Scene i.] 



WINTER'S TALK 



103 



on. Most wonderful! 

Seb. Do I stand theip? I never had a brother: 
Nor can there be that deity In my nature, 
Of here and evei-y where. I had a sister, 
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd:— 
Of charity, what kin are you to me? [2'o Viola. 

What countryman? what name? \vhat parentage? 

Vio. Of Mes'sallne: Sebastian was my father; 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too; 
So went he suited to his watery tomb: 
If spirits can assume both form and suit 
You come to fright us. 

Seh. A spirit I am, indeed: 

But am in that dlnieiisinn grossly clad. 
Which from the womb I did participate. 
Were vou a woman, as the rest goes even, 
I should my teai-s let fall upon your cheek, 
And sav— Thrice welcome, drowned Viola! 

Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 

Seb. Arid so had mine. . , , , ^^ 

Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth 
Had niimber'd thirteen years. 

Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul! 
He finished, indeed, his mortal act. 
That day that made my sister thirteen years. 

Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both 
But this mv masculine usurp'd attire, 
Do not embrace me, till each circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, 
That I am Viola: which to confirm, 
I '11 bring you to a captain, in this town. 
Where lie my maiden weeds, by whose gentle help 
I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count: 
All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and this lord. 

Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been mistook: 

[To Olivia. 
But nature to her bias drew in that. 
You would have been contracted to a maid; 
Nor are you therein, by my life, deeeiv'd. 
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 

Ihtke. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood.— 
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
I shall have share in this most happy wrack: 
Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, {To Vio. 
Thou never should'st love woman like to me. 

Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear; 
And ail those swearings keep as true In soul. 
As doth that orbed continent the fire 
That severs day from night. 

DiiTce. Give me thy hand; 

And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 

Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore. 
Hath my maid's garments: he, upon some action. 
Is now in durance: at MalvoHo's suit, 
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 

OU. He shall enlarge him:— Fetch MalvoUo hith- 
er:— 
And vet, alas, now I;:emember me, 
They'saj', poor gentleman, he 's much distract. 
Re-enter Clown, ii-ith a letter. 

A most extracting frenzy of mine own 

From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.— 

How does he, sirrah? , ^ ^^ 

Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebnb at the 
stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do: he 
has here writ a letter to you; I should have given it 
to you to-day rooming, but as a madman's epistles 



are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are 

delivered. 

Oli. Open It and read it. 

Clo. Look then to be well edlfled, when the fool 
delivers the madman:—' By the Lord, madam,' — 

Oli. How now! art thou mad? 

Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness: an your 
ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must 
allow vox. 

Oli. Prithee, read i' thy right wits. 

Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits, 
is to read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, 
and give ear. 

Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fab. 

Fall. [Reads.] 

'Bv the Lord, madam, .vou wrong me, and the 
worid shall know it: though you have put me into 
darkness, and given your drunken cousin rule over 
me, vet have I the benefit of my senses as well as 
your" ladvship. I have your own letter that induced 
me to tile semblance I put on; with the which I 
doubt not but to do myself much right, or you much 
shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my 
duty a little unthought of, and speak out of my in- 
jury. 'The Madly-used Malvolic' 

OIL Did he write this' 

Clo. Ay, madam. 

JDiiJce. This savours not much of distraction. 

OU. See hira deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither. 

[Kxit Fabian. 
My lord, so please you, these things further thought 

ou, 
To think me as well a sister as a wife. 
One day shall crown the alliance on 't, so please you, 
Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 

Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your 
offer. 
Y^our master quits you; [to Viola] and, for your ser- 
vice done him. 
So much against the mettle of your sex. 
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 
And since you call'd me master for so long. 
Here is my hand; you shall from this time be 
Y'our master's mistress. 

OU. A sister?— you are she. 

Be enicr Fabian, with Malvolio. 

DuTce. Is this the madman? 

Oli. Ay, my lord, the same: 

How now, Malvolio? 

Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong. 

Notorious wrong. 

Oli. Have I, Malvolio? no. 

Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter. 
You must not now deny it is your nand. 
Write from It, if you can, in hand, or phrase; 
Or say, 't Is not your seal, not your invention: 
You can say none of this: Well, grant It then. 
And tell me, in the modesty of honour. 
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour; 
Bade ime come smiling and cross-garter'd to you; 
To put on veilow stockings, and to frown 
Upon sir toby and the lighter people: 
And, acting this in an obedient hope. 
Why have you suffier'd me to be imprison'd. 
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest. 
And made the most notorious geek and gull. 
That e'er invention play 'd on? tell me why. 

OU. Alas, Malvolio, this is not m.y writing. 
Though, I confess, much like the character: 



But out of question, 't Is Maria's hand. 

And now I do bethink me, it was she 

First told me thou wast mad; thoucam'stin smiling 

And in such forms which here were presuppos'd 

Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content: 

•This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee: 

But, when we know the grounds and authors of it, 

Thou Shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge 

Of thine own cause. 

Fab. Good madam, hear me speak; 

And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come. 
Taint the condition of this present hour. 
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not. 
Most freely I confess, myself, and Toby, 
Set this device against Malvolio here. 
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
We had conceiv'd against him: Maria writ 
The letter, at sir Toby's great importance; 
In recompense whereof he hath married her. 
How witli a sportful malice it was follow'd. 
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge; 
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd 
That have on both sides pass'd. 

Oli. Alas, poor fool! how have they bafBed thee! 

Clo. Why, 'some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon 
them.' I was one, sir, in this interlude; one sir 
Topas, sir; but that 's all one:— 'By the Lord, fool, I 
am not mad;— But do you remember? 'Madam, why 
laugh you at such a barren rascal? an you smile not, 
he'sgagg'd:' And thus the whirligig of time brings 
in his revenges. 

Mai. I '11 be revenged on the whole pack of vou. 

[Exit. 

Oli. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. 

jyuke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace: 
He hath not told us of the captain yet; 
When that is known, and golden time convents, 
A solemn combination shall be made 
Of our dear souls.— Meantime, sweet sister. 
We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come; 
For so you shall be while you are a man; 
But, wlien in other habits you are seen, 
Orslno's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [Exeunt. 

SONS. 
Clo. When that I was and a little tiny boy 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain 
A foolish thing was but a toy. 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came to man's estate, 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came, alas! to wive. 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

By swaggering could I never thrive, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came unto my bed. 
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 

With tosspots still had drunken head 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

A great while ago the world begun. 
With hey, ho. the wind and the rain, 

But that 's all one, our play is done. 
And we '11 strive to please you everyday. 

[Exit. 



WINTER^S TALE. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Sicilian lords. 



Leontes, King of Slcllla. 

Mamillids, his son. 
Camillo, "I 

ANTIGON'US, 
C'LEOMESES, 

Dion, I 

Another Sicilian lord. 
KOGERo, a Sicilian gentleman. 
An Attendant on the young Prince 
Mamilllus. 



Officers of a Court of Judicature. 

POLIXENES, JCtj.g 0/ Bohemia. 

Florizel. /lis son. 

Archidamus, a Bohemian lord. 

A Mariner. 

Gaoler. 

An old Shepherd, reputed father of 

Perdita. 
Ctoion, his son. 
Servant to the old shepherd. 



AUTOLTCUS, a rogue. 
Time, as Chorus. 

Hermione, Queen to Leontes. 
Perdita, daughter to Leontes and Her- 
mione. 
Paulina, wife to Antigonus. 



F.MiLiA. a lady. 
Two other ladies. 



attending the 

Queen. 



Mops A, 
Dorcas, 



[ shepherdesses. 



Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs 
for a Dance; Shepherds, Shepherd- 
esses, Guards, t&c. 



SCENE.— Sometimes in Sicilia, some- 
times in BOHEMLA. 



ACT L 

Scene I.— Sicilia. An Antechamber in 

Leontes' Palace. 

Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 

Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohe- 
mia, on the" like occasion whereon my services are 
now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great dif- 
ference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. 

Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of 
Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he 
justly owes him. 

Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us 
we will be justified in our loves: for, indeed, — 

Cam, 'Beseech you,— 

Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of ray know- 
ledge; we cannot with such magnificence — in so rare 
—I know not what to say. — We will give you sleeijy 
drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insuf- 
flcieiice, may, though they cannot praise us, as little 
accuse us. 

Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what 's 
given freely. 

Arch Believe me, I speak as my understanding In- 
structs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. 

Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to 
Bohemia. They were trained together in their child- 
hood; and there rooted betwixt them then such an 
affection which cannot choose but branch now. 
Since their more mature dignities, and royal neces- 
sities, made separation of their society, their en- 



counters, though not per.sonal, have been royally at- 
torneyed, with interchange of gifts, letters, loving 
embassies; that they have seemed to be together, 
though absent: shook hands, as over a vast; and em- 
braced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds. 
The heavens continue their loves! 

Arch. I think there is not in the world either 
malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an unspeak- 
able comfort of your young prince Mamilllus; it is 
a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came 
into my note. 

Cam. I very well agree with you In the hopes of 
him: It is a gallant child; one that, indeed, physics 
the subject, maizes old hearts fresh; they that went 
on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life, to 
see him a man. 

Arch. Would they else be content to die? 

Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they 
should desire to live. 

Arch. If the king had no son they would desire to 
live on crutches till he had one. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— The same. A Room of State in 
the Palace. 

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamilius, 
Camillo, and Attendants. 

Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been 
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne 
Without a burden: time as long again 
Would befiU'd up, my brother, with our thanks; 
And yet we should, for perpetuity, 



Go hence In debt: And therefore, like a cipher 
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply. 
With one we-thank-you, many thousands more 
That go before It. 

Leon. Stay your thanks awhUe; 

And pay them when you part. 

Pol. Sir, that 's to-morrow. 

I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance. 
Or breed upon our absence: That may blow 
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say, 
' This is put forth too truly !' Besides, I have stay'd 
To tire your royalty. 

Leon. We are tougher, brother. 

Than you can put us to 't. 

Pol. No longer stay. 

Leon. One seven-night longer. 

Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. 

Leon. We '11 part the time bet ween 's then: and in 
that 
I '11 no gainsaying. 

Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you, so; 

There Is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the 

world. 
So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now. 
Were there necessity In your request, although 
'T were needful I denied it. My affairs 
Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder 
Were, in your love, a whip to me; my stay. 
To you a charge and trouble: to save both. 
Farewell, our brother. 

Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you. 



104 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act I. 



Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, 
until 
You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. Vou, sir, 
Charge him too coldly: Tell him, you are sure 
All in Bohemia 's well: this satistactl(ra 
The livgone day proclaim'd; say this to him, 
He 's beat from his best ward. 

Leon. Well said, Hermlone. 

Her. To tell he longs to see his son, were strong: 
But let him say so then, and let him go; 
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, 
We '11 thwack him hence with distaffs.— 
Yet of your royal presence \to Polixeness] I 'U ad- 
venture 
The borrow of a weelc. When at Bohemia 
You talce my lord, I '11 give him my commission, 
To let lilm there a month, behind the gest 
Prefl-x'd for 's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes, 
I love thee not a jar o' the cToclc behind 
What lady she her lord.— You '11 stay? 

Pol. No, madam. 

Her. Nay, but you will? 

Pol. I may not, verily. 

Her. Verily: 
You put me off with limber vows: But I, 
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with 

oaths. 
Should yet say, ' Sir, no going.' Verily, 
You shall not go; a lady's verily is 
As potent as a lord's Will you go yet? 
Force me to keep you as a prisoner. 
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees, 
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say 

you? 
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread verily. 
One of them you shall be. 

Pol. Your guest then, madam: 

To lie your prisoner should import offending; 
Which is for me less easy to commit. 
Than you to punish. 

Her. Not your gaoler then. 

But your kind hostess. Come, I 'U question you 
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were 

boys; 
You were pretty lordings then. 

Pol. We were, fair queen, 

Two lads, that thought there was no more behind 
But such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
And to he boy eternal. 

Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two? 

Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' 
the sun. 
And bleat the one at the other: What we chang'd 
Was innocence for innocence: we knew not 
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream 'd 
That any did: Had we pursued that life. 
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd 

heaven 
Boldly, ' Not guilty;' the imposition clear'd. 
Hereditary ours. 

Her. By this we gather, 

You have tripp'd since. 

Pol. O my most sacred lady. 

Temptations have since then been born to us: for 
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl; 
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes 
Of my young play -fellow. 

Her. Grace to boot ! 

Of this make no conclusion; lest you say 
Your queen and I are devils: Yet, go on; 
The offences we have made you do we 'II answer; 
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us 
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
With any but with us. 

Ijcon. Is he won yet? 

Her. He 'U stay, my lord. 

i€o»i. At my request, he would not. 

Hermlone, my dearest, thou never spok'st 
To better purpose. 

Her. Never? 

Leon. Never, but once. 

Her. What? have I twice said well? when was 't 
before? 
I prithee, tell me: Cram us with praise, and make us 
As fat as tame things: One good deed dying tongue- 
less 
Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. 
Our praises are our wages: You may ride us. 
With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere 
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal;— 
Aly last good deed was to entreat his stay; 
What was my first? it has an elder sister. 
Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace ! 
But once before I spoke to the purpose: When? 
Nay, let me have 't; I long. 

Leon. Why, that was when 

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to 

death. 
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand. 
And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, 
' I am yours for ever.' 

Her. It Is Grace, indeed.- 

Why, lo you now I have spoke to the purpose twice; 
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; 
The other, for some while a friend. 

[Giving her hand to Pollxenes. 

ieon. Too hot, too hot: [Aside. 

To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. 
I have tremor cordis on me:— my heart dances; 
But not for loy,— not Joy.— This entertainment 
May a tree face put on; derive a liberty 
From heartiness, from bounty's fertile bosom, 
And well become the agent: it may, I grant: 
But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers. 
As now they are; and making practis'd smiles, 
As in a looking-glass;— and then to sigh, as 't were 
The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment 
My bosom likes not, nor my brows.— Mamillius, 
Art thou my boy? 

Mam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. V fecks? 

Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy 

nose?— 
They say It 's a copy out of mine. Come, captain, 
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: 
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf. 
Are all call'd neat.— Still virginalling 

[Observing Pollxenes and Hermlone. 
Upon his palm?— How now, you wanton calf? 
Art thou my calf? 
Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. 



Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots 
that I have. 
To be full like me:— yet, they say we are 
Almost as like as eggs; women say so, 
Tliat will say anything: But were they false 
As o'er-dyecl blacks, as winds, as waters; false 
As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes 
No bourn 'twlxt his and mine; yet were it true 
To say this boy were like me.— Come, sir pace. 
Look on me with your welkin eye; Sweet villain! 
Most dear'st! mj' coUop!— Can thy dam?— may 't be? 
Affection! thy intention stabs the centre: 
Thou dost make possible things not so held, 
Communicat'st with dreams;-— (How can this be?) 
With what 's unreal thou coactive art. 
And fellow'st nothing: Then, 't is very credent. 
Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost; 
(And that beyond commission; and I find it,) 
And that to the infection of my brains. 
And hardening of my brows. 

Pol. What means Sicilla? 

Her. He something seems unsettled. 
Pol. Ho! my lord! 

Leon What cheer? how is 't with you, best broth- 
er? 
Her. You look 
As if you held a brow of much distraction: 
Are you mov'd, my lord? 

lycon. No, in good earnest. — 

How sometimes nature will betray Its folly. 
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines 
Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil 
Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd, 
In my gi-een velvet coat; my dagger muzzled. 

Lest it should bite its master, and so prove. 
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. 
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel. 
This quash, this gentleman:— mine honest friend, 
Will you take eggs for money? 
Mam. No, my lord, I '11 fight. 
Leon. You will'' why, happy man be his dole!— 
My brother. 
Are you so fond of your young prince, as we 
Do seem to be of ours? 

Pol. If at home, sir. 

He 's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter- 
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; 
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all: 
He makes a July's day short as December; 
And, with his varying childness, cures in me 
Thoughts that would thick my blood. 

Leon. So stands this squire 

Offle'd with me; We two will walk, my lord. 
And leave you to your graver steps.— Hermlone, 
How thou lov'st us, show in our Brother's welcome: 
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap: 
Next to thyself, and my young rover, he 's 
Apparent to my heart. 

Mer. If you would seek us. 

We are yours 1' the garden: Shall 's attend you 
there? 
Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you '11 be 
found. 
Be you beneath the sky:— I am angling now. 
Though you perceive me not how I give line. 
Go to, go to! [Aside. Observing Pol. and Her. 

How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! 
And arms her with the boldness of a wife 
■To her allowing husband! Gone already; 
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd 
one. [Exeunt Pol., Her., and Attendants. 
Gk>, play, boy, play;— thy mother plays, and I 
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue 
Will hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamour 
Will be my knell.— Go, play, boy, play;— There have 

been. 
Or I am much decelv'd, cuckolds ere now; 
And many a man there is, even at this present. 
Now, while I speak tnis, holds his wife by the arm. 
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in his absence. 
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by 
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay there 's comfort In 't 
While other men have gates, and those gates 

open'd. 
As mine, against their will: Should all despair 
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
Would hang themselves. Physic for 't there 's none; 
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
Where 't Is predominant; and 't is powerful, think it. 
From east, west, north, and south: Be it concluded. 
No barricado for a belly; know it; 
It will let in and out the enemy. 
With bag and baggage: many thousand of us 
Have the disease, and feel 't not.— How now, boy? 

Mam. 1 am like you, they say. 

Leon. Why, that 's some comfort.— 

What! Camillo there? 

Cam. Ay, my good lord. 

Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou 'rt an honest man.— 
[Exit MamUUus. 
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold: 
When you cast out, it still came home. 

Leon. Didst note it? 

Cam. He would not stay at your petitions; made 
His business more material. 

Leon. Didst perceive it?— 

They 're here with me already: whispering, round- 
ing, 
' SIcilia is a— so forth;' 'T is far gone, 
When I shall gust it last.— How came 't, Camillo, 
That he did stay? 

Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 

Leon. At the queen's, be 't: good, should be perti- 
nent: 
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
By any understanding pate but thine? 
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
More than the common blocks:— Not noted, is 't, 
But of the finer natures? by some severals 
Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes 
Perchance are to this business purblind? say. 

Cam. Business, my lord? I think, most understand 
Bohemia stays here longer. 

Leon. Ha! 

Cam. Stays here longer. 

Leon. Ay, but why? 

Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties 
Of our most gracious mistress. 

Leon. Satisfy 

The entreaties of your mistress? satisfy?- 

Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 



With all the nearest things to mv heart, as well 
My chamber-councils: wherein, priest-like, thou 
Hast cleans'd my bosom; I from thee departed 
Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been 
Deceiv'd In thj^rintegrity, decelv'd 
In that whichBsems so. 
Cam. Be It forbid, my lord! 

Leon. To bide upon 't;— Thou art not honest: or. 
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward; 
Which boxes honesty behind, restraining 
From course requir'd: Or else thou must be counted 
A servant grafted in my serious trust, 
And therein negligent: or else a fool. 
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn. 
And tak'st it all for jest. 

Cam. My gracious lord, 

I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; 
In every one of these no man Is free. 
But that his negligence, his folly, fear. 
Among the infinite doings of the world. 
Sometimes puts forth: In your affairs, my lord, 
If ever I were wilful-negligent, 
It was my folly; if Industriously 
I play'd the fool. It was my negligence. 
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful 
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted. 
Whereof the execution did cry out 
Against the non-performance, 't was a fear 
Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord. 
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty 
Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace, 
Be plainer with me: let me know my trespass 
By its own visage: if I then deny it, 
'T Is none of mine. 

Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, 

(But that 's past doubt— you have; or your eye-glass 
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn;) or heard, 
(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour 
Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation 
Resides not in that man that does not think,) 
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, 
(Or else be impudently negative. 
To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say 
My wife 's a hobbyhorse; deserves a name 
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to 
Before her troth-plight: say it, and justify It. 

Cam. t would not be a stander-by, to hear 
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
My present vengeance taken: 'Shrew my heart, 
/ou never spoke what did become you less 
Than this; which to reiterate, were sin 
As deep as that, though true. 

Leon. Is whispering nothing! 

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? 
Kissing with Inside lip? stooping the career 
Of laughter with a sigh? (a note Infallible 
Of b.eaking honesty:) horsing foot on foot? 
Skulking In corners? wishing clocks more swift? 
Hours, minutes? noon, iiidnlght? and all eyes blind 
With the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only. 
That would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing? 
Why, then the world, and all that 's in 't, is nothing: 
The covering sky Is nothing: Bohemia nothing; 
My wife Is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, 
If this be nothing. 

Cam. Grood my Iprd, be cur'd 

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes; 
For 't is most dangerous. 
Leon. Say, it be; 'tis true. 

Cam. No, no, my lord. 

Leon. It is; you lie, you lie: 

I say, thoullest, Camillo, and I hate thee; 
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless .slave; 
Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil. 
Inclining to them both: Were my wife's liver 
Infected as her life, she would not live 
That running of one glass. 
Cam. Who does infect her? 

Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, 
hanging 
About his neck, Bohemia: Who— If I 
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes 
To see alike mine honour as their profits. 
Their own particular thrifts,— they would do that 
Which should undo more doing: Ay, and thou, 
His cupbearer,— whom I from meaner form 
Have bench'd and rear'd to|worshlp; who may'st see 
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven, 
How I am galled,— might'st besplce a cup, 
To give mine enemy a lasting wink; 
Which draught to me were cordial. 

Cam. Sir, my lord, 

I could do this; and that with no rash potion. 
But with a ling'rlng dram, that should not work 
Maliciously like poison: But I cannot ' 

Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
So sovereignly being honourable. 
I have lov'd thee, — 

Leon. Make that thj' question, and go rot : 

Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled. 
To appoint myself In this vexation? sully 
The purity and whiteness of my sheets. 
Which to preserve is sleep; which being spotted, 
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps? 
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son. 
Who I do think is mine, and love as mine; 
Without ripe moving to 't— Would I do this? 
Could man so blench? 

Cam. I must believe you, sir; 

I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for 't: 
Provided, that when he 's remov'd, your highness 
Will take again your queen, as yours at first; 
Even for your son's sake; and, tliereb.y, for sealing 
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms 
Known and allied to yours. 

Leon. Thou dost advise me 

Even so as I mine own course have set down: 
I 'II give no blemish to her honour, none. 

Cam. My lord, 
CJotlien; and with a countenance as clear 
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, 
And with your queen: I am his cupbearer; 
If from me he have wholsesome beverage. 
Account me not your servant. 

Leon. This Is all: 

Do 't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; 
Do 't not, thou splitt'st thine own. 
Cam. I '11 do 't, my lord. 

Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advls'd me. 

[Exit. ■ 
Cam. O miserable lady!— But forme. 
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner 



4 
i 



SCBKE II.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



105 



Of cood Polixenes: and my ground to do 't 

Is tne obedience to a master; one, 

Who, in )ebelllt)n with himself, will have 

All that are his so too.— To do this deed. 

Promotion follows: If I could Hnd example 

Of thousands that had struck anointed kings 

A.nA flourish'd after, I 'd not do 't: but since 

Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one. 

Let villainy itself forswear 't. I must 

Forsake the court: to do 't, or no. is certain 

To me a bi-eak-neck. Happy star, reign now! 

Here comes Bohemia. 

Enter Polixenes. 

Pol. This is strange! methinks, 

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? — 
Good-day, Camillo. 

Cam. Hail, most royal sir! 

Pol. What Is the news 1' the court? 

Cam. None rare, my lord. 

Fo}. The king hath on him such a countenance 
As he had lost some province, and a region 
Xiov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him 



Which way to be prevented, if to be; 
If not, how best to bear it. 

Cam. Sir, I will tell you; 

Since I am charg'd in honour, and by liim 
That I think honourable: Therefore, mark my 

counsel; 
Which must be even as swiftly foUow'd as 
I mean to utter It; or both yourself and me 
Cry 'lost,' and so goodnight. 

Pol. On, good Camillo. 

Cam. I am appointed him to murther you. 

Pol. By whom, Camillo? 

Cam. By the king. 

Pol. For what? 

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence, he 
swears. 
As he had seen 't or been an instrument 
To vice you to 't,— that you have touch'd his queen 
Forbtddenly. 

Pol. O, then my best blood turn 

To an infected jelly; and my name 
Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best! 
Turn then my freshest reputation to 



Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 

In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me: 

Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 

The gracious queen, part of uis theme, but nothing 

Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo; 

I will respect thee as a father; if 

Thou bear'st my life off hence: Let us avoid. 

Cam. It Is In mine authority to command 
The keys of all the posterns: Please your highness 
To take the urgent hour: come, sir, away. [Exe. 

ACT II. 
Scene I. -Sicilia. The Palace. 
Enter Hermione, MamlUius, and Ladies. 
Her. Take the boy to you: he so troubles me 
'T is past enduring. 

1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord. 

Shall I be your play-fellow? 
Mam. No, I '11 none of you. 

1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord? 

Mam. You '11 kiss me bard; and speak to me as If 
I were a baby stllL— I love you better. 




ACT rt. — SCENE I.] 



Leon. Away with her to prison I 



With customary compliment; when he. 
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling 
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me; and 
So leaves me, to consider what is breeding 
That changes thus his manners. 

Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 

Pol. How! dare not? do not? Do you know, and 
dare not? 
Be intelligent to me. 'T Is thereabouts; 
For. to yourself, what you do know you must; 
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
Tourchang'd complexions are to me a mirror. 
Which shows me mine chang'd too: for I must be 
A party in this alteration, finding 
Myself thus alter'd with it. 

Cam. There is a sickness 

Which puts some of us in distemper; but 
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught 
Of you that yet are well. 

Pol. How caught of me? 

Make me not sighted like the basilisk: 
1 have look'd on thousands who have sped the better 
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo— 
As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto 
Clerk-Uke, experienc'd, which no less adorns 
Our gentry, than our parents' noble names. 
In whose success we are gentle,— I beseech you. 
If you know aught which does behove my knowl- 
edge 
Thereof to be infoi'm'd, imprison it not 
In ignorant concealment. 

Cam. I may not answer. 

Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well! 
I must be answer'd.— -Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man 
Which honour does acknowledge,— whereof the least 
Is not this suit of mine,— that thou declare 
What Incldency thou dost guess of harm 
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; 



A savour that may strike the dullest nostril 
Where I arrived; and my approach be shunn'd, 
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection 
That e'er washeard, or read! 

Cam. Swear his thought over 

By each particular star in heaven, and 
By all their influences, you may as well 
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon. 
As, or by oath, remove, or counsel, shake 
The fabric of his folly; whose foundation 
Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue 
The standing of his body. 

Pol. How should this grow? 

Cam. I know not: but, I am sure, 't is safer to 
Avoid what 's grown than question how 't was born. 
If therefore you dare trust my honesty, — 
That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you 
Sh?ll bear along inipawn'd,— away to-night. 
Your followers I will whisper to the business: 
And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns, 
Clear them o' the city: For myself, I '11 put 
My fortunes to your service, which are here 
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; 
For. by the honour of my parents, I 
Have utter'd truth: which, if you seek to prove, 
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer 
Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, 

thereon 
His execution sworn. 

Pol. J do believe thee; 

I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand; 
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall 
Still neighbor mine; My ships are ready, and 
My people did expect my hence departure 
Two days ago.— This jealousy 
Is for a precious creature; as she 's rare. 
Must it be great; and, as his person 's mighty, 
Must it be violent: and as he does conceive 
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 



2 Lady. And why so, my lord? 

Mam. Not for because 

Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say. 
Become some women best; so that there be not 
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle, 
Or a half moon made with a pen. 

2 Lady. Who taught you this. 

Mam. Ilearn'd it out of women's faces.— Pray now 
What colour are your eye-brows? 

1 Lady. Blue, my lord. 
Mam. Nay, that 's a mock: I have seen a lady's 

nose 
That has been blue, but not her eye-brows. 

2 Lady. Hark ye ; 
The queen, your mother, rounds apace: we shall 
Present our services to a fine new prince. 

One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us. 
If we would have you. 

1 Lady. She is spread of late 

Into a goodly bulk: Good time encounter her '. 

Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, 
now 
I am for you again: Pray you, sit by us, 
And tell 's a tale. 

Mam Merry, or sad, shall 't be? 

Her. As merry as you will. 

Mam. A sad tale 's best for winter: 

I have one of sprites and goblins. 

Her. Let 's have that, good sir. 

Come on, sit down:— Come on, and do your best 
To fright me with your sprites: you 're powerful 
at it. 

Mam. There was a man,— 

Her. Nay, come, sit down; then on. 

Mam. Dwelt by a churchyard;— I will tell it softly ; 
Yon crickets shall not hear It. 

Her. Come, on then. 

And give 't me in mine ear. 

Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and others. f^ 



106 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act 11. 



Leon. Was he met there? his train? Canilllo with 
him? 

1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never 
Saw I men scour so on their way: I ey'd them 
Even to their ships. 

Leon. How bless'd am I 

In my just censure !— in my true opinion !— 
Alack, for lesser knowledge !— How accurs'd 
In being so bless'd !— There may be in the cup 
A spider steep'd, and one may drink; depart, 
And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge 
Is not infected: but If one present 
The abhorr'd ingredient to ills eye, make known 
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, 
With violent hefts:— I have drunk and seen the 

spider. 
CamiUo was his help in this, his pander:— 
There Is a plot against my life, my crown; 
All 's true that is mistrusted:— that false villain, 
Whom I employ'd, was preemploy'd by him: 
He has discover'd my design, and I 
Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick 
For them to play at vmX: How came the posterns 
So easily open? 

1 Lord. By his great authority; 

Which often hath no less prevail'd than so, 
On your command. 

Leon. I know 't too well.— 

Give me the boy; I am glad you did not nurse him: 
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
Have too much blood In hini. 

Her. What Is this? sport? 

Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not come about 
her; 
Away with him:— and let her sport herself 
With that she 's big with; for 't is Polixenes 
Has made thee swell thus. 

Her. But I 'd say, he had not, 

And, I '11 be sworn, you would believe my saying, 
Howe'er you lean to the nay ward. 

Leon. You, my lords. 

Look on her, mark her well; be but about 
To say 'she is a goodly lady,' and 
The justice of your hearts will thereto add, 
' "T Is pity she 's not honest, honourable:' 
Praise her but for this her without-door form, 
(Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and 

straight 
The shrug, the hum, or ha; these petty brands 
That calumny doth use:— O, I am out, 
■That mercy does; for calumny will sear 
Virtue Itself: these shrugs, these hums, and ha's. 
When you have said she's gooodly, come between. 
Ere you can say she 's honest: But be 't known. 
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be. 
She '3 an adultress. 

Her. Should a villain say so, 

The most replenlsh'd villain in the world, 
He were as much more villain: you, my lord. 
Do but mistake. 

Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 

Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing. 
Which I '11 not call a creature of thy place. 
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent. 
Should a like language use to all degrees. 
And mannerly distingulshment leave out 
Betwixt the prince and beggar !— I have said, 
She 's an adultress; I have said, with whom: 
More, she 's a traitor; and CamiUo is 
A federary with her; and one that knows 
What stie should shame to know herself. 
But with her most vile principal, that she 's 
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
That vulgai-s give bold'st titles; ay, and privy 
To this their late escape. 

Her. No, by my life. 

Privy to none of this : How will this grieve you 
When you shall come to clearer knowedge, that 
You thus have publish'd me ! Gentle my lord. 
You scarce can right me throughly then, to say 
You did mistake. 

Leon. No; if I mistake 

In those foundations which I build upon. 
The centre is not big enough to bear 
A schoolboy's top.— Away with her to prison: 
He who shall speak for her Is afar off guilty. 
But that he speaks. 

Her. There 's some 111 planet reigns: 

I must be patient, till the heavens look 
With an aspect more favourable.— Good my lords, 
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
Commonly are; the want of which vain dew. 
Perchance, shall dry your pities: but I have 
That honourable grief lodg d here, which burns 
Worse than tears drown: Beseech you ail, my lords, 
With thoughts so qualified as your charities 
Shall best instruct you, measure me;— and so 
The king's will be perform 'd! 

I.eon. Shall I be heard? [To the Guards. 

Her. Who Is 't that goes with me?— 'Beseech your 
highness. 
My women may be with me; for, you see. 
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; 
There Is no cause: when you shall know your mis- 
tress 
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears. 
As I come out: this action I now go on 
Is for my better grace.— Adieu, my lord; 
I never wlsh'd to see you sorry; now, 
I trust, I shall. -My women, come; you have leave. 

Leon. Go, do our bidding; hence. 

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 

1 Lard. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen 
again. 

Ant. Be certain what you do, sir; lest your justice 
Prove violence: in the which three great ones suffer. 
Yourself, your queen, your son. 

1 Lord. For her, my lord, 

I dare my life lay down, and will do 't, sir. 
Please you t' accept it, that the queen is spotless 
r the eyes of heaven, and to you; I mean, 
In this which you accuse her. 

Ant. If it prove 

She 's otherwise, I '11 keep my stables where 
I lodge my wife; I 'ii go in couples with her; 
Than when I feel and see her. no further trust her; 
For every inch of woman in the world, 
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false. 
If she be. 

ieon. Hold your peaces. 

1 Lord. Good my lord,— 

Ant. It Is for you we speak, not for ourselves: 
7ou are abus'd, and by some pucter-on. 



That will be damn'd for 't; 'would I knew the vil- 
lain, 
I would land-damn him: Be she honour-flaw'd— 
I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven; 
The second, and the third, nine, and some five: 
If this prove true, they '11 pay for 't: by mine honour, 
I 'II geld them all: fourteen they shall not see. 
To bring false generations: they are co-heirs; 
And I had rather glib myself than they 
Should not produce fair issue. 

Leon. Cease; no more. 

You smell this business with a sense as cold 
As is a dead man's nose; but I do see 't, and feel 't, 
As you feel doing thus; and see withal 
The Instruments that feel. 

Ant. If It be so, 

We need no grave to bury honesty; 
There 's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten 
Of the whole dungy earth. 

Leon. What! lack I credit? 

1 Lord. I had rather you did lack than I, my lord. 
Upon this ground: and more it would content me 
lo have her honour true, than your suspicion; 
Be blam'd for 't how you might. 

Leon. Why, what need we 

Commune with you of this? but rather follow 
Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative 
Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness 
Imparts this: which— if j'ou (or stupified. 
Or seeming so In skill,) cannot, or will not. 
Relish a truth like us; inform yourselves. 
We need no more of your advice: the matter. 
The loss, the gain, the ordering on 't. Is all 
Properly ours. 

Ant. And I wish, my liege. 

You had only in your silent judgment tried It, 
Without more overture. 

l^on. How could that be? 

Either thou art most ignorant by age. 
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight. 
Added to their familiarity, 

(Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture. 
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation. 
But only seeing, all other circumstances 
Made up to the deed,) doth push ou this proceeding. 
Yet, for a greater confirmation, 
(For, In an act of this importance, 't were 
Most piteous to be wild,) I have dispatch'd In post. 
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
Of stuff'd sufficiency: Now, from the oracle 
They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had 
Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well? 

1 Lord. Well done, my lord. 

T.ieon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more 
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 
Give rest to the minds of others; such as he 
Whose Ignorant credulity will not 
Come up to the truth: So have we thought it good. 
From our free person she should be confln'd; 
Lest that the treachery of the two, fled hence, 
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; 
We are to speak in public; for this business 
Will raise us ail. 

Ant. [Aside.'\ To laughter, as I take it. 
If the good truth were known. [Exeunt. 

Scene 1\.—The same. The outer Room of a Prison 
Enter Paulina and Attendants. 

Paul. The keeper of the prison,— call to him; 

[Exit an Attendant. 
Let him have knowledge who I am.— Good lady ! 
No court in Europe is too good for thee. 
What dost thou then in prison?— Now, good sir. 

Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper. 
You know me, do you not? 

Keep. For a worthy lady. 

And one whom much I honour. 

Paul. Pray you then, 

Conduct me to tlie queen. 

Keep. I may not, madam; to the contrary 
I have express commandment. 

Paul. Here 's ado. 

To lock up honesty and honour from 
The access of gentle visitors !— Is 't lawful, pray you. 
To see her women? any of them? Emilia? 

Keep. So please you, madam. 
To put apart these your attendants, I 
Shall bring Emilia forth. 

Paul. I pray now, call her. 

Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend. 

Keep. And, madam, 

I must be present at your conference. 

Paid. Well, be it so, prithee. [Exit Keeper. 

Here 's such ado to malce no stain a stain. 
As passes colouring. 

Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia. 
Dear gentlewoman. 
How fares our gracious lady? 

Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn. 
May hold together: on her frights, and griefs, 
(Which never tender lady hath borne greater,) 
She Is, something before her time, dellver'd. 

Paul. A boy? 

Emil. A daughter; and a goodly babe. 

Lusty, and like to live: the queen receives 
Much comfort in 't: says, ' My poor prisoner, 
I am innocent as you.' 

Paul. I dare be sworn:— 

These dangerous unsafe lunes o' the king ! beshrew 

them ! 
He must be told on 't, and he shall: the office 
Becomes a woman best; I '11 take 't upon me: 
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister; 
And never to my red-look'd anger be 
The trumpet any more: -Pray you, Emilia, 
Command mv best obedience to the queen; 
If she dares trust me with her little babe, 
I '11 show 't the king, and undertake to be 
Her advocate to th' loudest: We do not know 
How he may soften at the sight o' the child; 
The silence often of pure innocence 
Persuades when speaking falls. 

Emil. Most worthy madam, 

Your honour, and your goodness, is so evident. 
That your free undertaking cannot miss 
A thriving Issue; there is no lady living 
So meet for this great errand: Please your ladyship 
To visit the next room, I '11 presently 
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; 
Who, but today, hammer'd of this design; 



But durst not tempt a minister of honour. 
Lest she sliould be denied. 

Fanl. ^ Tell her, Emilia, 

I '11 use thqMonge I have: if wit flow from it. 
As boldnessirom my bosom, let It not be doubted 
I shall do good. 

Emil. Now be you blest for It: 

I '11 to the queen: Please you, come something 
nearer. 

Keep. Madam, if 't please the queen to send the 
babe, 
I know not what I shall Incur, to pass it. 
Having no warrant. 

Paul. You need not fear It, sir: 

This child was a prisoner to the womb; and Is, 
By law and process of great nature, thence 
Freed and enfranchis'd: not a partv to 
The anger of the king; nor guilty of. 
If any be, the trespass of the queen. 

Keep. I do believe it. 

Paul. Do not you fear; upon mine honour, I 
Will stand betwixt you and danger. [Exeunt. 

Scene 111.— The same. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and other Attend- 
ants. 

Leon. Nor night nor day, no rest: It is but weak- 
ness 
To bear the matter thus; mere weakness, if 
The cause were not in being;— part o' tlie cause. 
She, the adultress; for tlie harlot king 
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
And level of my brain, plot-proof: but she 
I can hook to me: Say, that she were gone. 
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
Might come me again.— Who 's there? 

1 Atten. My lord? [Advancing, 

Leon. How does the boy? 

1 Atten. He took good rest to-night; 

'T is hop'd his sickness is disoharg'd. 

Leon. To see his nobleness! 
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, 
He straiglit declin'd, droop'd, took It deeply; 
Fasten'd and flx'd the shame on 't In himself; 
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep. 
And downright languish'd.— Leave me solely:— go. 
See how he fares. [Exit Attend. J— Fie, fle! no- 

thouglit of him; 
The very thought of my revenges that way 
Recoil upon me: In himself too mighty: 
And in his parties, his alliance,— Let him be. 
Until a time may serve: for present vengeance, 
■Take it on her. CamiUo and Polixenes 
Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow: 
They should not laugh if I could reach them; nor 
Shall she, within my power. 

Enter Paulina, with a Child. 

1 Lord. You must not enter. 

Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to 
me: 
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas. 
Than the queen's life? a gracious Innocent soul; 
More free than he Is jealous. 

Ant. That 's enough. 

1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; com- 
manded 
None should come at him. 

Panl. Not so hot, good sir; 

I come to bring him sleep. 'T Is such as you, — 
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
At each his needless heavlngs,— sucli as you 
Nourish the cause of his awalcing: I 
Do come with words as med'cinal as true; 
Honest as either; to purge him of that humour 
That presses him from sleep. 

Leon. What noise there, ho? 

Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference. 
About some gossips for your highness. 

Leon. How?— 

Away with that audacious lady: Antigonus, 
I choirg'd thee that she should not come about rae; 
I knew she would. 

Ant. 1 told her so, nr.y lord. 

On your displeasure's peril, and on mine. 
She should not visit you. 

Leon. What, canst not rule her? 

Paul. From all dishonesty he can: in this, 
(Unless he takes the course that you have done. 
Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it, 
He shall not rule me. 

Ant. La you now; you hear! 

When she will take the rein, I let her run; 
But she '11 not stumble. 

Paul. Good my liege, I come, — ' 

And,'I beseech you, hear me, who professes 
Myself your loyal servant, your physician. 
Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dares 
Less appear so, In comforting your evils. 
Than such as most seem yours,— I say, I come 
From your good queen. 

Leon. Good queen! 

Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say,, 
good queen; 
And would by combat make her good, so were I 
A man, the worst about you. 

Leon. Force her hence. 

Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes 
First hand me: on mine own accord, I '11 oft; 
But, flrst, I 'U do my errand.— The good queen. 
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; 
Here 't Is; commend It to your blessing. 

[Laying down the Child. 

Leon. Out! 

A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door: 
A most inteliigeucing bawd! 

Paul. Not so: 

I am as Ignorant in that, as you 
In so entitling me: and no less honest 
Than you are mad: which is enough, I '11 warrant. 
As this world goes, to pass for honest. 

Leon. Traitors! 

Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard— 
Thou dotard, 1^0 Antigonus,] thou are woman-tired, 

unroosted 
By thv dame Paitlet here,— take up the bastard; 
Take 't up, I say; give 't to thy crone. 

Paul. For ever 

Unvenerable be thy hands. If thou 
Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness 
Which he has put upon 't! 

Leon. He dreads his wife. 



41 



Scene hi.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



vn 



Paul. So I would you did; then 't were past all 
doubt 
You'd call your children yours. 

Leon. A nest of traitors! 

Ant. I am none, by this good light. 

Paul. Nor I; nor any, 

But one, that 's here; and that 's himself: for he 
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, 
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander. 
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will 

not 
<For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 
He cannot be compell'd to 't,) once remove 
The root of his opinion, which is rotten. 
As ever oak, or stone, was sound. 

Leon. A callat. 

Of boundless tpngue; who late hath beat her hus- 
band. 
And now baits me!— This brat Is none of mine; 
It is the issue of Polixenes! 
Hence with it; and, together with the dam. 
Commit them to the fire. 

Paul. It is yours: 

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge. 
So like you, 't is the worse.— Behold, my lords. 
Although the print be little, the whole matter 
And copy of the father, eye, nose. Up, 
The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the valley. 
The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles; 
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:— 
And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it 
So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 
No yellow in 't;lest she suspect, as he does. 
Her children not her husband's! 

Leon. A gross hag! — 

And, lozel, thou art worthy to be haiig'd. 
That wilt not stay her tongue. 

Ant. Hang all the husbands 

That cannot do that feat, you '11 leave yourself 
Hardly one subject. 

Leon. Once more, take her hence. 

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord 
Can do no more. 

Leon. I '11 have thee burn'd. 

Paul. I care not: 

It is an heretic that makes the Are, 
Not she which burns in 't. I '11 not call you tyrant; 
But this most cruel usage of your queen 
(Not able to produce more accusation 
Than your own weak-hing'd fancy) something 

savours 
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make j'ou. 
Yea, scandalous to the world 

Leon. On your allegiance, 

Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, 
Where were her life? she durst not call me so. 
If she did know me one. Away with her. 

Paul. I pray you, do not push me; I '11 be gone. 
Look to your babe, my lord; 't is yours: Jove send 

her 
A better-guiding spirit !— What need these hands?— 
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies. 
Will never do him good, not one of you. 
So, so:— Farewell; we are gone. [Exit. 

Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. — 
Jly child ! away with 't !— even thou, that hast 
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence. 
And see it instantly consum'd with fire; 
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight, 
Within this hour bring me word 't is done, 
(And by good testimony,) or I '11 seize thy life. 
With what thou else call'st thine: If thou refuse, 
And wilt encounter with my wroth, say so; 
The bastard brains with these my proper hands 
Shall I dash out. Go, take It to the fire; 
For thou sett'st on thy wife. 

Ant. I did not, sir: 

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please. 
Can clear me in 't. 

1 Lard. We can, my royal liege, 

He is not guilty of her coming hither. 

Leon. You are liars all. , 

1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better 
credit; 
We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech 
So to esteem of us: And on our knees we beg, 
(As recompense of our dear services. 
Past, and to come,) that you do change this pur- 
pose; 
Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must 
Lead on to some foul issue: We all kneeL 

Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows: — 
Shall I live on, to .see this bastard kneel 
And call me father? Better burn it now, 
Tnan curse it then. But, be it; let it live: 
It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither: 

[To Antigonus. 
You, that have been so tenderly ofBcious 
With lady Margei-y, your midwife, there. 
To save this bastard's life: for 't is a bastard, 
So sure as this beard 's grey,— what v/ill you ad- 
venture 
To save this brat's life? 

Ant. Anything, my lord. 

That my ability may undergo. 
And nobleness Impose: at least, thus much,- 
I '11 pawn the little blood which I have left 
To save the innocent; anything possible. 

Leon. It shall be possible: Swear by this sword, 
Thou wilt perform my bidding. 

Ant. I will, my lord. 

L,eon. Mark, and perform It; (seest thou?) for the 
fail 
Of any point in 't shall not only be 
Death to thyself, but to thy lewdtongued wife; 
Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee 
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou cany 
This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it 
To some remote and desort place, quite out 
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave It, 
Without more mercy, to its own protection. 
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,— 
On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture,— 
That thou commend it strangely to some place 
Where chance may nurse, or end it: Take it up. 

Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
Had been more mereifuL— Come on. poor babe. 
Some powerful spirit Instruct the kites and ravens 
To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say, 
Casting their savageness aside, have done 
Like offices of pity.— Sir, be prosperous 



In more than this deed does require! and blessing. 
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side. 
Poor thing, condemu'd to loss! 

[Exit, with the Child. 

Leon. No, I '11 not rear 

Another's issue. 

1 Alien. Please your highness, post, 

From tliose you sent to the oracle, are come 
.\n hour since: Cleomenes and Dion, 
Being well arriv'd from Deiphos, are both landed, 
Hasting to the court. 

1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 

Hath been beyond account. 

Leon. Twenty-three days 

They have been absent; 't is good speed; foretels 
The great Apollo suddenly will have 
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; 
Summon a session, that we may arraign 
Our most disloyal lady: for, as she hath 
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
A just and open trial. While she lives. 
My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me; 
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt 

ACT III. 
Scene I.— Slcilla. A Street. 
Enter Cleomenes and Dion. 

Cleo. The climate's delicate: the air most sweet; 
Fertile the isle; the temple much surpassing 
The common praise it bears. 

Dion. I shall report, 

For most It caught me, the celestial habits, 
(Methlnks I so should terra them,) and the rever- 
ence 
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! 
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
It was 1' the offering! 

Cleo. But, of all, the burst 

And the ear-deafening voice o' the orcacle. 
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprls'd my sense, 
That I was nothing. 

Dion. If the event o' the journey 

Prove as succesful to the queen.— O, be 't so!— 
As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy, 
The time Is worth the use on 't. 

Cleo. (Jreat Apollo, 

Turn all to the best! These proclamations, 
So forcing faults upon Hermione, 
I little like. 

Dion. The violent carriage of it 

Will clear, or end, the business: When the oracle, 
(Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,) 
Shall the contents discover, something rare. 
Even then will rush to knowledge,— Go,— fresh 

horses;— 
And gracious be the issue! [ Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— The same. A Court of Justice. 

Leontes, Lords, and OfBcers, appear properly 
seated. 

Leon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- 
nounce) 
Even pushes 'gainst our heart: The party tried. 
The daughter of a king; our wife; ana one 
Of us too much belov'd.— Let us be clear'd 
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
Proce<^d in justice; which shall have due course. 
Even to the guilt, or the purgation. 
Produce the prisoner. 

Offl. It is his highness' pleasure that the queen 
Appear in person here In court.— Silence! 

Hermione is brought in, guarded; Paulina and 
Ladies Attending. 

Leon. Read the Indictment. 

Offi. ' Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, 
king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned 
of nigh treason. In committing adultery with Po- 
lixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with 
Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord 
the king, thy royal husband; the pretence thereof 
being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, 
Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a 
true subject, didst counsel ana aid them, for their 
better safety, to fly away by night.' 

Her. Since what I am to say must be but that 
Which contradicts ray accusation, and 
The testimony on my part no other 
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me 
To sa.v, ' Not guilty; ' mine integrity. 
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express It, 
Be so receiv'd. But thus, —If powers divine 
Behold our human actions, as they do, 
I doubt not then but innocence shall make 
False accusation blush, and tyranny 
Tremble at patience.- You, my lord, best know 
(Who least will seem to do so,) my past life 
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
As I am now unhappy; which is more 
Than history can pattern, though devls'd. 
And play'd, to take spectators: For behold me,— 
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter. 
The mother to a hopeful prince,— here standing. 
To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore 
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it. 
As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour, 
'T is a derivative from me to mine. 
And only that I stand for. I appeal 
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
Came to your court, how I was in your grace. 
How merited to be so; since he came. 
With what encounter so uncurrent I 
Have strain'd, to appear thus: if one jot beyond 
The bound of honour; or, in act or will. 
That way inclining; harden'd be the hearts 
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of klu 
Cry Fie ! upon my grave ! 

Leon. I ne'er heard yet, 

That any of these bolder vices wanted 
Less Impudence to gainsay what they did. 
Than to perform It first. 

Her. That 's true enough; 

Though 't is a saying, sir, not due to me. 

Leon. You will not own it. 

Her. More than mistress of 

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes. 
(With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess, 
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd, 
With such a kind of love as might become 
A lady like me; with a love, even such. 



So, and no other, as your.self commanded; 
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me 
Both disobedience and Ingratitude, 
To yo u, and toward your friend; whose love had 

spoke. 
Even since it could speak, from an Infant, freely 
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd 
For me to try how: all I know of it 
Is, that Camillo was an hone.st man; 
And, why he left your court, the gods themselves. 
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 

Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
What you have uiiderta'en to do In his absence. 

Her. Sir, 
You speak a language that I understand not: 
My life stands in the level of your dreams. 
Which I '11 lay down. 

Leon. Your actions are my dreams; 

You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
And I but dream'd It:— As you were past all shame, 
(Those of your fact are so,) so past all truth: 
Which to deny, concerns more than avails: for as 
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself. 
No father owning it, (which is, indeed. 
More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou 
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage. 
Look for no less than death. 

Her. Sir, spare your threats 

The bug which you would fright me with I seek. 
To me can life be no commodity: 
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, 
I do give lost; for I do feel It gone. 
But know not how it went: My second joy. 
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence 
I am barr'd, like one intectious: My third comfort, 
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast. 
The innocent milk in Its most innocent mouth, 
Haled out to murther: Myself on every post 
Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred 
The childbed privilege denied, which 'longs 
To women of all fashion :— Lastly, hurried 
Here to this place, i' the open air, before 
I have got sti'ength of limit. Now my liege. 
Tell me what blessings I have here alive, 
That I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed. 
But yet hear this; mistake me not.— No— life, 
I prize it not a straw:— but for mine honour, 
(Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd 
Upon surmises; all proofs sleeping else. 
But what your jealousies awake; I tell you 
'T is rigour, and not law.— Your honours all, 
I do refer me to the oracle; 
Apollo be my judge. 

1 Lord. This your request 

Is altogether just: therefore, bring forth. 
And In Apollo's name, his oracle. 

[Exevnt certain Officers. 

Her. The emperor of Russia was my father: 
O, that he were alive, and here beholding 
His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes 
Of pity, not revenge! 

Re-enter Officers, vnth Cleomenes and Dion. 

Offl. You here shall swear upon this sword of just- 
Ice, 
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
Been both at Deiphos ; and from thence have 

brought 
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand dellver'd 
Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then. 
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal. 
Nor read the secrets in 't. 

Cleo. Dion. Alt this we swear. 

Leon. Break up the seals, and read. 

Offi. [Reads.]' Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blame- 
less, Camillo a true subject, Leontesa jealous tyrant, 
his innocent babe truly begotten; and the king 
shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be 
not found. 

Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo I 

Her. Prais'd . 

Leon. Hast thou read truth? 

Offi. Ay, my lord: even so 

As it is here set down. 

Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle; 
The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood 
Enter a .Servant, hastily. 

Serv. My lord the king, the king ! 

Leon. What Is the business? 

Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: 
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
Of the queen's speed. Is gone. 

Leon. How ! gone? 

Serv. Is dead. 

Leon. Apollo's angry; L,nd the heavens themselves 
Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione faints.] How 
now there? 

Pattl. This news is mortal to the queen;— Look 
down. 
And see what death Is doing. 

Leon. Take her hence : 

Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.— 
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion:— 
'Beseech you. tenderly apply to her 
Some remedies for life.— Apollo pardon 

[t'.veunt Paulina and Ladies, unth Herm. 
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle !— 
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes; 
New woo my queen: recall the good Camillo, 
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy: 
For, being transported by my jealousies 
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 
Camillo for the minister, to poison 
My friend Polixenes: which had been done. 
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
My swift command, though I with death, and with 
Reward, did threaten and encourage him. 
Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane 
And flU'd with honour, to my kingly guest 
Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here. 
Which you knew great; and to the certain hazard 
Of all incertalntles himself commended. 
No richer than his honour:— How he glisters 
Through my rust I and how his piety 
Does my deeds make the blacker ! 

Re-enter Paulina. 

Paul. Woe the while 1 

O cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking It, 
Break too! 

1 L^rd. What fit Is this, good lady? 



\\l 






108 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act IV. 



Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? 1 
What wheels? racks? dres? What flaylnR? boiling? I 
In leads, or oils? what old, or newer torture 
Must I receive; whoso every word deserves 
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny 
Together working with thy jealousies,— 
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
For girls of ninel— O, think what they have done. 
And then run mad. Indeed; stark mad! for all 
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'i was nothing; 
That did but show thee, of a fool. Inconstant, 
And damnable ingratetul: nor was 't much. 
Thou would'st have polson'd good Camillo's honour, 
To have him kill a king; poor trespasses. 
More monstrous standing bv: whereof 1 reckon 
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, 
To be or none, or little; though a devil 
Would have shed water out of Are, ere done 't: 
Nor is 't directly laid to thee, the death 
Of the young prince; whose honourable thoughts 
(Thouglits high for one so tender) cleft the lieart 
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire 
Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no. 
Laid to thy answer: Bat the last,— O, lords. 
When I have said, cry, woe!— the queen, the queen. 
The sweetest, dearest creature's dead; and ven- 
geance for 't 
Not dropp'd down yet. 

1 Ijord. The higher powers forbid! 

Paul. I say, she 's dead: I '11 swear 't: If word, nor 
oath. 
Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring 
Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye. 
Heat outwardly, or breath within, I 'II serve you 
As I would do the gods.— But, O thou tyrant! 
Do not repent these things; for the}' are heavier 
Than all thy woes can stir: therefore betake thee 
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
To look that way thou wert. 

Leon. Go on, go on: 

Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd 
All tongues to talk their bitterest. 

1 Lord. Say no more; 

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
I' the boldness of your speech. 

Paul. I am sorry for 't; 

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
I do repent: Alas, I have show'd too much 
The rashness of a woman: he Is touch'd 
To the noble heart.— What 's gone, and what '8 past 

help, 
Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction 
At my petition; I beseech you, rather 
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
Of what you should forget. Now, good ray liege, 
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: 
The love I bore your queen,— lo, fool, again!— 
I '11 speak of her no more, nor of your children; 
I '11 not remember you of my own lord. 
Who Is lost too: Take your patience to you, 
And I '11 say nothing. 

Leon. Thou didst speak but well, 

When most the truth: Wliich I receive much better 
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me 
To the dead bodies of my queen, and son: 
One grave shall be for both; upon them shall 
The causes of their death appear, unto 
Our shame perpetual: Once a day I '11 visit 
The chapel where they lie; and tears, shed there, 
Shall be my recreation: So long as Nature 
Will bear up with this exercise, so long 
I dally vow to use It. Come, and lead me 
To these sorrows. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Bohemia. A desert Country near the 
sea. 

Enter Antlgonus, with the child; and a Mariner. 

Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd 
upon 
The deserts of Bohemia? 

Jifar. Ay, my lord; and fear 

We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly. 
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience. 
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, 
And frown upon us. 

Ant. Their sacred wills be done I— Go, get aboard; 
Look to thy bark; I '11 not be long before 
I call upon thee. 

JIfar. Make your best haste; and go not 
Too rar I' the land: 't is like to be loud weather; 
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
Of prey, that keep upon 't. 

Ant. Go thou away: 

I '11 follow instantly. 

Mar. I am glad at heart 

To be so rid o' the business. [Exit. 

Ant. Come, poor babe:— 

I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the dead 
May walk again: if sucli thing be, thy mother 
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream 
So like a waking. To me comes a creature. 
Sometimes her head on one side, some another; 
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 
So flU'd, and so becoming: in pure white robes, 
Like very sanctity, she did approach 
My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me; 
And, gasping to begm some speech, lier eyes 
Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon 
Did this break from her: ' Good Antlgonus, 
Since fate, against thy better disposition. 
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath. 
Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe 
Is counted lost for ever, Perdlta, 
I pi-ithee, call 't: for this ungentle business. 
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shall see 
Thy wife Paulina more:'— and so, with shrieks, 
She melted Into air. Affrighted much, 
I did in time collect myself; and thought 
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys; 
Yet, for this once, yea, superstltlously, 
I will be squar'd by this. I do lielieve 
Hermione nath sufter'd death; and that 
Apollo would, this being indeed the Issue 
Of king Polixenes, It should here be laid. 
Either for life, or dentil, upon the earth 
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well ! 

[Laying down the Child. 



There lie; and there thy character: there these; 

[Laying down a bundle. 
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, 

pretty. 
And still rest thine.— The storm begins:— Poor 

wretch. 
That, for thy mother's fault, art thus cxpos'd 
To loss, and what may follow !— Weep I cannot, 
But my heart bleeds: and most accurs'd am I, 
To be by oath enjoin'd tp this.— Farewell ! 
Tiie day frowns more and more— thou art like to 

have 
A lullaby too rough: I never saw 
The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour !— 
Well may I get aboard !— 'This Is the chase; 
I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a Bear. 

Enter an old Shepherd. 
Shep. 1 would there was no age between ten and 
three-and-twenty; or tliat youth would sleep out the 
rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting 
wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, steal- 
ing, fighting. —Hark you now !— Would any but 
these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty, 
hunt this weather? They have scared away two of 
my best sheep; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner 
find than the master; if anywhere I have them, 't is 
by the seaside, browzing of Ivy. Good luck, an 't 
be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the 
Child'.'] Mercy on 's, a barne; a very pretty barne ! 
A boy, or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very 

gretty one: Sure, some scape: though I am not 
ookish, vet I can read waiting-gentlewoman In the 
scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk- 
work, some behind-door-work: they were warmer 
that got this than the poor thing Is here. I 'U take 
It up for pity: yet I '11 tarry till my son come; he 
hollaed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa ! 
Enter Clown. 

Clo. Hilloa, loa ! 

Shep. What, art so near? If thou 'It see a thing to 
talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. 
What ailest thou, man? 

Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by 
land;— but I am not to say. It is a sea, for It is now 
the sky; betwixt the firmament and It you cannot 
thrust a bodkin's point. 

Shep. Why, boy, how is It? i 

Clo. 1 would you did but see how It chafes, how it 
rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that 's not to 
the point ! O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! 
sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em: now the 
ship boring the moon with her main-mast; and anon 
swallowed with yest and froth, as you 'd tlirust a 
cork into a hogshead. And then for the land-ser- 
vice,— To see how the bear tore out his shouider- 
bone; how he cried to me for help, and said his name 
was Antigonus, a nobleman:— But to make an end 
of the ship:— to see how the sea flap-dragoned it : — 
but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea 
mocked them;— and how the poorgentleman roared, 
and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than 
the sea or weather. 

Shep. Name of merc.v, when was this, boy? 

Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw 
these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, 
nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he 's at it 
now. 

Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the old 
man ! 

Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to have 
helped her; there your charity would have lacked 
footing. 

Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee 
here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou mett'st with 
things dying, I with things new born. Here 's a sight 
for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's 
child ! look thee here! take up, take up, boy; open 't. 
So let 's see. It was told me, I should be rich by the 
fairies; this Is some changeling: — open It: What 's 
within, boy? 

Clo. You 're a made old man; If the sins of your 
youth are forgiven you, you 're well to live. Gold! 
all gold! 

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 't will prove so ; 
up with it, keep It close; home, home, the next way. 
We are lucky, boy, and to be so still requires noth- 
ing but secrecy.— Let my sheep go:— Come, good boy, 
the next way home. 

Clo. Go you the next way witli your findings; I '11 
go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and 
how much he hath eaten: they are never curst, but 
when they are hungry: If there be any of him left, 
I '11 bury it. 

Shep. That 's a good deed: If thou may'st discern, 
by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to 
the sight of him. 

Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put hira i' 
the ground. 

Shep. 'T Is a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good 
deeds on 't. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Enter Time, as Chorus. 
Time. I, that please some, try ail,— both joy and 

terror 
Of good and bad,— that make, and unfold error,— 
Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide 
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
Of that wide gap; since it Is in my power 
To o'erthrow law, and In one self-born hour 
To plant and o'erwhelm custom: Let me pass 
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was. 
Or what Is now received: I witness to 
The times that brought them in: so shall I do 
To the freshest things now reigning; and make stale 
The glistering of this present, as my tale 
Now seems to It. Your patience this allowing, 
I turn my glass; and give my scene such growing 
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving 
The effects of his fond jealousies; so grieving, 
That he shuts up himself; imagine me, 
Gentle spectators, that I now may he 
In fair Bohemia; and remember well, 
I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel 
I now name to you; and with speed so pace. 
To speak of Perdita, now gi'own in grace 
Equal with wondering: What of her ensues 
I list not prophecy: but let Time's news , 

Be known \vhen 't is brought forth:— a shepherd's | 

daughter, i 



And what toiler adheres, which follows after. 

Is the arguirlfit of time: Of this allow. 

If ever you have spent time worse ere now. 

If never yet, that Time himself doth say. 

He wishes earnestly you never may. [Exit. 

Scene I.— Bohemia. A Room in the Palace of 

Polixenes. 

Enter Polixenes and CamiUo. 

Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- 
portunate: 't is a sickness denying thee anything; 
a death to grant this. 

Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my country. 
Though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, 
I desire to lay ray hones there. Besides, the penitent 
king, my master, hath sent for me: to whose feeling 
sorrows I might be some allay, or I o;erween to think 
so: which is another spur to my departure. 

Pol. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the 
rest of thy services, by leaving me now: the need I 
have of thee thine own goodness hath made; better 
not to have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, 
having made me businesses which none without thee 
can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute 
them thyself, or take away with thee the very serv- 
ices thou hast done: which if I have not enough 
considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be more 
thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit 
therein, the heaping friendships. Of that fatal 
country, SIcilia, prithee speak no more: whose very 
naming punishes me with the remembrance of that 
penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled king, 
my brother; whose loss of his most precious queea 
and children are even now to be afresh lamented. 
Say to me, when sawest thou the prince Florizel my 
son? Kings are no less unhappy, their Issue not be- 
ing gracious, than they are in losing them when they 
have approved their virtues. 

Cam. Sir, It is three days since I saw the prince : 
What his happier affairs may be are to me unknown 
but I have, misslngly, noted he is of late much re- 
tired from court; and Is less frequent to his princely 
■ exercises than formerly he hath appeared. 

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with 
some care; so far, that I have eyes under my serv- 
ice which look upon his removedness, from whom 
I have this Intelligence: That he is seldom from tiie 
house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, 
that from very nothing, and beyond the imagina- 
tion of his neighbors. Is grown into an unspeakable 
estate. 

Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath 
a daughter of most rare note: the report of her Is 
extended more than can be thought to begin from 
such a cottage. 

Pol. That 's likewise part of my Intelligence. But 
I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou 
Shalt accompany us to the place : where we will, 
not appearing what we are, have some question 
with tlie shepherd; from whose simplicity I think 
it not uneasy to get the cause of ray son's resort 
thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this busi- 
ness, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. 

Cam. I willingly obey your command. 

Fol. My best Camillo !— We must disguise our- 
selves. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Thesame. A Road near the Shep- 
herd's Cottage. 

Enter Autolycus, singing. 

When daffodils begin to peer. 
With heigh ! the doxy over the dale. 

Why then comes in the sweet o' the year; 
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.. 

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge. 
With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing ! 

Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; 
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 

The lark that tirra-lirra chants. 

With heigh ! with hey ! the thrush and the jay: 
Are summer songs for me and my aunts. 

While we lie tumbling In the hay. 

I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore 
three-pile; but now I am out of service: 

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? 

The pale moon shines by night: 
And when I wander here and there, 

I then do most go right. 

If tinkers raay have leave to live. 
And bear the sow-skin bowget; 
Then my account I well may give, , 

, And In the stocks avouch it. 

My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to 
lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who, 
being as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise 
a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles: With die, and 
drab, I purchased this caparison; and my revenue 
is the silly cheat: Gallows, and knock, are too power- 
ful on the highway: beating, and hanging, are ter- 
rors to me; for the lite to come, I sleep out the 
thought of it.— A prize ! a prize ! 
Enter Clown. 

Clo. Let me see:— Every 'ieven wether— tods; every 
tod yields— pound and odd shilling: fifteen hundred 
shorn,— What comes the wool to? 

Atit. If the springe hold, the cock 's mine. [Aside. 

Clo. I cannot do 't without counters.— Let me see; 
what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? 
Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants; rice 

What will this sister of mine do with rice? But 

my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and 
she lays it on. She hath made me four-and-twenty 
nosegays for the shearers: three-man song-men all, 
and very good ones; t)ut they are most of them 
means and bases: but one Puritan amongst them, 
and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have 
saffron, to colour the warden pies; mace.— dates,— 
none; that 's out of mv note: nutmegs, seven; a 
race or two of ginger; but that I may beg;— four 
pounds of prunes, and as many of raisins o' the sun. 

Aut. O, that ever I was born ! 

[Groveling on the qround. 

do. I' the name of me, 

Aut. O, help me, help me ! pluck but off these rags; 
and then, death, death ! 

Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more raga 
to lay on thee, rather than have these off. 



Scene ii.] 



WINTER'S TALE. 



109 



A^it. O, sir, the loathsomeness of tliem offends me 
more than the stiipes I Iiave received; which are 
mlRhty ones, and millions. 

Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may 
come to a great matter. 

Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and 
apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things 
put upon me. 

Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? 

Ant. A foot-man, sweet sir, afoot-man. 

Clo. Indeed, he should be a toot-man, by the gar- 
ments he hath left with thee; if tliis be a horse- 
man's coat, it liath seen very hot service. Lend me 
thy hand, I '11 help thee: come, lend me thy hand. 

IHelping him. 

Ant. O ! good sir, tenderly, oh ! 

Clo. Alas, poor soul ! 

Aut. O, good sir, .softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my 
shoulder-blade is out. 

Clo. How now? canst stand? 

Aut. Softly, dear sir; \picks his pocket] good sir, 
softly; you ha' done me a charitable offiee. 

Clo. Dost lack any money? I have a little money 
for thee. 

Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech .von, sir: 
I have it kinsman not past three quarters of a mile 
hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there liave 
money, or anything I want: Offer me no money, I 
pray you; that kills my heart. 

Cto, What manner of fellow was he that robbed 
you? 

Aiit. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about 
with trol-my-danies: I knew hiin once a servant of 
the prince; I cannot teli, good sir, for wliicli of his 
virtues It was, but he was certainly whipped out of 
the court. 

Clo. His vices, you would say; there 's no virtue 
whipped out of the court: they cherish it, to make it 
stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. 

Aut. Vices I would say, sir; I know this man well: 
he hath been since an ape-liearer; then a process- 
server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion of the 
prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a 
mile where my land and living lies; and, having 
flown over many knavish professions, he settled only 
In rogue: some call him Autolycus. 

Clo. Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig: he 
haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. 

Aut. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that 's the rogue 
that put me into this apparel. 

Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue In all Bohemia; 
if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he 'd have 
run. 

Attt. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I 
am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I war- 
rant him. 

Clo. How do you now? 

Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can 
stand, and walk: I will even take m.v leave of you, 
and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 

Clo. Shall I bring thee on tlie way? 

Ant. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. 

Clo. Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices for 
our sheep-shearing. 

Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir!— [Errt Clown.] Your 
purse is not hot enough to purcnase your spice. I '11 
be with you at your slieep-shearing too: It I make 
not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers 
prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name put 
In the book of virtue! 

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 

And merrily hent the stile-a: 
A merry heart goes all the day. 

Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Eont. 

Scene 111.— The same. A Shepherd's Cottage. 
i'nfcr Florizel and Perdita. 

Flo. ^hese your unusual weeds to each part of you 
Do give a life: no slieplierdess; but Flora, 
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing 
Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
And you the queen on 't. 

Per. Sir, my gracious lord. 

To chide at your extremes it not becomes me: 
O, pardon, that I name tliem: your high self. 
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscur'd 
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, 
Most goddess-like prank'd up: But that our feasts 
In every mess have folly, and the feeders 
Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
To see you so attir'd; sworn, I think. 
To show myself a glass. 

Flo. I bless the time, 

■ When my good falcon made her flight across 
Thy father's ground. 

Per. Now Jove afford you cause! 

To me, the difference forges dread; your greatness 
Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble 
To think, your fatlier, by some accident. 
Should pass this wa.v, as you did: O, the fates! 
How would he look, to see his work, so noble. 
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how 
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold 
The sternness of his presence? 

Flo. Apprehend 

Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves. 
Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter 
Became a bull, and bellow'd: the green Neptune 
A ram, and bleated; and the flre-rob'd god, 
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain. 
As I seem now: Their transformations 
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer; 
Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires 
Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts 
Burn hotter than my faith. 

Per. O but, sir, 

Tour resolution cannot hold, when 't is 
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o' the king; 
One of these two must be necessities, 
Wtuch then will speak; that you must change this 

purpose. 
Or I my hfe. 

Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 

With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not 
The mirth o' the feast: Or I '11 be thine, my fair, 
Or not my father's: tor I cannot be 
Mine own, nor anything to any, it 
I be not thine: to this I am most constant. 
Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle; 
Strangle such thoughts as these, with anything 
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: 



I-ift up your countenance; as it were the day 
Of celebration of that nuptial, which 
We too have sworn shall come. 

Per. O lady fortune, 

Stand you auspicious 1 

Enter Shepherd, with Pollxenes and CamJllo dis- 
guised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others. 

Flo. See, your guests approach: 

Address yourself to entertain them sprightly. 
And let 's be red with mirth. 

Shep. Fie, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon 
This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook; 
Both dame and servant: welcom'd all: serv'd all: 
Would sing her song, and dance her turn; now here, 
At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle; 
On his shoulder, and his: her face o' fire 
With labour; and the thing she took to quench it, 
She would to each one sip: You are retired 
As if you were a feasted one, and not 
The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid 
These unknown friends to us welcome: for it Is 
A way to make us better friends, more known. 
Come, quencli your blushes; and present yourself 
■That which yoii are, mistress o' the feast: Como on. 
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing. 
As your good flock shall prosper. 

Per. Sir, welcome ! [To Pol. 

It is my father's will I should take on me 
The hostess-ship o' the day:— You 're welcome, sir ! 

{To Oamillo. 
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.— Reverend sirs, 
For you there 's rosemary, and rue; these keep 
Seeming, and savour, all the winter long: 
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both. 
And welcome to our shearing ! 

Pol. Shepherdess, 

f A fair one are you,) well you flt our ages 
With flowers of winter. 

Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, - 

Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
Of trembling winter,— the fairest flowers o' the sea- 
son 
Are our carnations, and streak'd gilly'vors, 
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind 
Our rustic garden 's barren; and I care not 
To get slips of them. 

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden. 

Do you neglect them? 

Per. For I have heard It said. 

There is an art which, in their piedness, shares 
With great creating nature. 

Pol. Say, there be; 

Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
But nature makes that mean: so, over that art. 
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
A gentler scion to the wildest stock; 
And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
By bud of nobler race: This Is an art 
Which does mend nature,— change It rather: but 
The art itself is nature. 

Per. So it is. 

Pol. Then make your garden rich In gilly'vors, 
And do not call them bastards. 

Per. I '11 not put 

The dibble in earth to set one slip of them: 
No more than, were I painted, I would wish 
T his youth should say, 't were well; and only there- 
fore 
Desire to breed by me.— Here 's flowers for you; 
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; 
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun. 
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers 
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given 
To men of middle age: You are very welcome. 

Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, 
And only live by gazing. 

Per. Out, alas ! 

You 'd be so lean, that blasts of January 
Would blow you through and through. — Now, ray 

fairest friend, 
I would I had some flowers o' the spring, that might 
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours; 
That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
Your maidenheads growing:— O, Proserpina, 
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fall 
From Dis's waggon ' daffodils. 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim. 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, 
Or Cj'therea's breath; pale primroses. 
That die unmarried, ere tliey can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady 
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and 
The crown-imperial, lilies of all kinds. 
The flower-de-luce being one ! O ! these I lack. 
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend. 
To strew him o'er and o'er. 

Flo. What ! like a corse? 

Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on; 
Not like a corse: or if,--not to be buried, 
But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your 

flowers: 
Methinks, I play as I have seen them do. 
In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine 
Does change ray disposition. 

Flo. What you do 

Still betters what is done. When you speak sweet, 
I 'd have you do it ever; when you sing, 
I 'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; 
Pray so; and. for the ordering your affairs. 
To sing them too; When you do dance, I wish you 
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do 
Nothing but that; move still, still so. 
And own no other function: Each your doing, 
So singular in each particular. 
Crowns what you are doing In the present deeds. 
That all your acts are queens. 

Per. O Doricles, 

Your praises are too large: but that your youth. 
And the true blood which peeps fairly through 't, 
Do plainly give yovi out an unstain'd shepherd, 
Witn wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
You woo'd me the false way. 

Flo. I think, you have 

As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
To put you to 't.— But, come; our dance, I pray: 
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair. 
That never mean to part. 

Per. I '11 swear for *em. 

Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever 
Ran on the green sward: nothing she does or seems. 
But smacks of something greater than herself; 



Too noble for this place. 

Cam. He tells her something 

That makes her blood look out: Good sooth, she Is 
The queen of curds and cream. 

Clo. Come on, strike up. 

Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic. 
To mend her kissing with. 

Mop. Now, In good time I 

Clo. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our man- 
ners. — 
Come, strike up. [Music. 

Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. 

Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this 
Which dances with your daughter? 

Sh<p. They call him Doricles; and boasts himself 
To have a worthy feeling: but I have It 
Upon his own report, and I believe it; 
He looks like sooth: He says, he loves my daughter; 
I think so too: for never gaz'd the moon 
Upon the water, as he '11 stand, and read. 
As 't were, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,. 
I think there is not half a kiss to choose 
Who loves another best. 
Pol. She dances featly. 

Shep. So she does anything; though I report it^ 
That should be silent: It young Doricles 
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
Which he not dreams of. 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at- 
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor 
and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he' 
sings several tunes faster than you '11 tell money; he- 
utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's 
ears grew to his tunes. 

Clo. He could never come better: he shall come 
In; I love a ballad but even too well; if it be dole- 
ful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant 
thing indeed, and sung lamentably. 

Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all 
sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with 
gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; 
so without bawdry, which is strange; with such 
delicate burdens of 'dildos and fadings: ' 'jump 
her and thump her; ' and where some stretch- 
mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, 
and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the 
maid to answer, ' Whoop, do me no harm, good 
man;' puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do 
rae no liarm, good man." 
Pol. This is a brave fellow. 

Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-con- 
ceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? 

Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours I' the 
rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bo- 
hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to- 
him by the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; 
why, he sings them over, as they were gods or god- 
desses; you would think a smock were a she-angel: 
he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about 
the square on 't. 

Clo. Prithee, bring him in; and let him approach 
singing. 

Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous 
words in his tunes. 

Clo. You have of these pedlars, that have more In. 
'era than you'd think, sister. 
Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 
Enter Autolycus, singing. 
Lawn, as white as driven snow; 
C.vprus, black as e'er was crow; 
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses;; 
Masks for faces, and for noses; 
Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber^ 
Perfume for a lady's chamber: 
Golden quoits, and stomachers,. 
For my lads to give their dearss 
Pins, and poking-sticks of steel,. 
What maids lack from head to Heen- 
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy 
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy. 

Clo. If I were not In love with Mopsa, thou 
should'st take no money of me; but being enthralled 
as I am. It will also be the bondage of certain ribands, 
and gloves. 

Mop. I was promised them against the feast; but 
they come not too late now. 

JDor. He hath promised you more than that, or' 
there be liars. 

Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you: may 
be, he has paid you more; which will shame you tO' 
give him again. 

Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? will 
they wear their plackets, where they should bear' 
their faces? Is there not milklng-time, when yout 
are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these' 
secrets; but you must be tittle-tattling before all our 
guests? 'T is well they are whispering: Clamour' 
your tongues, and not a word more. 

Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a' 
tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. 

Clo. Have I not told thee howl was cozened by the- 
way, and lost all my money? 

Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;: 
therefore It behoves men to be wary. 

Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothlng- 
here. 

' Aut. I hope so, sir: for I have about me many par- 
cels of charge. 

Clo. What hast here? ballads? 

Mop. Pra.v now, buy some: I love a ballad in print 
a'-life; for then we are sure they are true. 

Aut. Here 's one to a very doleful tune. How a 
usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money- 
bags at a burden; and how she longed to eat adders' 
heads, and toads carbonadoed. 

Mop. Is it true, think you? 

Aut. Very true, and but a month old. 

Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer! 

Aut. Here 's the midwife's name to 't, one mistress 
Taleporter; and five or six honest wives, that were 
present: Why should I carry lies abroad? 

Mop. Pray you now buy it. 

Clo. Come on, lay it b.v: And let 's first see more 
ballads: we '11 buy the other things anon. 

Aut. Here 's another ballad, Of a fish, that appear- 
ed upon the coast, on Wednesda.v the fourscore of 
April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung 
this ballad against the hard hearts of maids- it was 
thought she was a woman, and was turned Into t. 
cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh with one 



no 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act rv. 



that loved her: The ballad Is very pitiful, and as 
true. 

Dor. Is It true too, think you? 

Aut. Five Justices' hands at It; and witnesses, more 
than my pack will hold. 

Clo. Lay It by too: Another. 

Aut. This Is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one. 

Mop. Let 's have some merry ones. 

Aut. Why, this Is a passing merry one: and goes to 
the tune ot ' Two maids wooing a man:' there 's 
scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 't Is in re- 
quest, I can tell you. 

Mop. We can both sing it; if thou 'It bear a part, 
thou Shalt hear: 't is in three parts. 

Bor. We had the tune on 't a month ago. 

Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 't is my 
occupation: have at It with you. 

SONG. 

A. Get you hence, for I must go 

Where it fits not you to know. 
D. Whither? 
M. O. whither? 
Z>. Whither? 
M. It becomes thy oath full well. 

Thou to me thy secrets tell: 
D. Me too, let me go thither. 

M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill; 
J). It to either, thou dost ILL 
A. Neither. 
Ji. What, neither? 
A. Neither. 

Z>. Thou hast sworn my love to be; 
m. Thou hast sworn it more to me: 
Then, whither go'st? say, whither? 

Clo. We '11 have this song out anon by ourselves: 
My father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and 
we '11 not trouble them: Come, bring away thy pack 
after me. Wenches, I 'U buy for you both:— Pedlar, 
let 's have the first choice.— Follow me, girls. 
Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em, [^Aside. 

Will you buy any tape. 
Or lace for your eape. 
My dainty duck, my dear-a? 
Any silk, any thread. 
Any toys for your head. 
Of the new'st and fln'st, fln'st wear-a? 
Come to the pedlar; 
Money 's a medler. 
That doth utter all men's ware-a. 

[Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, and Mopsa. 
Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
herds, three neatherds, three swineherds, that have 
made themselves all men of hair; they call them- 
selves saltlers: and they have a dance which the 
wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because 
they are not in 't; but they themselves are o' the 
mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that know 
little but bowling,) it will please plentifully. 

Snep. Away! we '11 none on 't; here has been too 
much homely foolery already:- 1 know, sir, we 
weary you. 

Pol. You weary those that refresh us: Pray, let 's 
see these four threes of herdsmen. 

Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, 
hath danc'd before the king; and not the worst of 
the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the 
squire. 

Shep. Leave your prating: since these good men 
are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. 

Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit. 

Reenter Servant, with Twelve Rustics, habited like 
Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. 

Pol. O, father, you 'U know more of that here- 
after.— 
Is it not too far gone? — 'T is time to part them. — 
He's simple and tells much, [^side.]- How now, fair 

shepherd? 
Your heart is full of something that does take 
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young. 
And handed love as you do, I was wont 
To load ray she with knacks: I would have ransack'd 
The pedlar's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
To her acceptance; you have let him go. 
And nothing martecl with him: If your lass 
Interpretation should abvise, and call this 
Your lack of love or bounty, you were stralted 
For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
Of happy holding her. 

Flo. Old sir, I know 

She prizes not such trifles as these are:l 
The gifts she looks from me are paek'd and lock'd 
Up In my heart; which I have given already, 
But not deliver'd.— O, hear me breathe my life 
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem. 
Hath sometime iov'd: I take thy hand; this band. 
As soft as dove's down, and as white as It; 
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow. 
That 's bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er. 

Pol. What follows this?— 
Hovv prettily the young swain seems to wash 
The hand was fair before!— I have put you out:— 
But lo your protestation; let rae hear 
What you profess. 

Flo. Do, and be witness to 't. 

Pol. And this my neighbour too? 

Flo. And he, and more 

Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all: 
That, were I crown'd the most Imperial monarch. 
Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth 
That ever made eye swerve; had force, and knowl- 
edge, 
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them, 
Without her love: for her, employ them all; 
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service. 
Or to their own perdition. 

PijJ. Fairly offer'd. 

Cam. This shows a sound affection. 

Sftt'p. But, my daughter. 

Say you the like to him? 

Per. I cannot speak 

So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: 
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
The purity of his. 

Shep. Take hands, a bargain;— 

And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to 't : 
lelve my daughter to him, and will make 
Her portion equal his. 



Flo. O, that must be 

V the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, 
I shall have more than you can dream of yet; 
Enough then for your wonder: But, come on. 
Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 

Shep. Come, your hand; 

And, daughter, yours. 

Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you; 

Have you a father? 

Flo. I have: But what of him? 

Pol. Knows he of this? 

Flo. He neither does, nor shall. 

Pol. Methlnks, a father 
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest 
That best becomes the table: Pray you once more, 
Is not your father grown incapable 
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid 
With age, and altering rheums? Can he speak? 

hear? 
Know man from man? dispute his own estate? 
Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing, 
But what he did being childish? 

tlo. No, good sir; 

He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed, 
Than most have of his age. 

Pol. By my white beard, 

You offer him. If this be so, a wrong 
Something nnflllal: Reason, my son 
Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason,] 
The lather, (all whose joy is nothing else 
But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel 
In such a business. 

Flo. I yield all this; 

But, for some other reasons, my grave sir. 
Which 't Is not fit yo>i know, I not acquaint 
My father of this business. 

Pol. Let him know 't. 

Flo. He shall not. 

Pol. Prithee, let him. 

Flo. No, he must not. 

Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve 
At knowing of thy choice. 

Flo. Come, come, he must not: — 

Mark our contract. 

Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 

[Discovering himself. 
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base 
To be acknowledg'd: Thou a sceptre's heir, 
That thus affect'st a sheephook !— Thou old traitor, 
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, lean 
But shorten thy life one week.— And thou fresh piece 
Of excellent witchcraft, who, of force, must know 
The royal food thou cop'st with;— 

Shep. O, my heart ! 

Pol. I '11 have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, 
and made 
More homely than thy state.— For thee, fond boy, 
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh 
That thou no more Shalt never see this knack, (as 

never 
I mean thou Shalt,) we 'II bar thee from succession; 
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin. 
Far than Deucalion oft'.— Mark thou my words; 
Follow us to the court.— Thou churl, for this time. 
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
From the dead blow of it.— And you, enchantment, 
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too. 
That makes himself, but for our honour therein. 
Unworthy thee,— if ever, henceforth, thou 
These rural latches to his entrance open. 
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
I will devise a death as cruel for thee 
As thou art tender to 't. \_Exit. 

Per. Even here undone ! 

I was not much afeard : for once, or twice, 
I was about to speak: and tell him plainly, 
The self-same sun that shines upon his court 
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
Looks on all alike.— Will 't please you, sir, be gone? 

ITo Florizel. 
I told you what would come of this: 'Beseech you. 
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine. 
Being now awake, I '11 queen It no inch farther, 
But milk ray ewes, and weep. 

Cam. Why, how now, father? 

Speak, ere thou diest. 

Shep. I cannot speak, nor think, 

Nor dare to know that which I know.— O, sir, 

[To Florizel. 
You have undone a man of foui-score three, 
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea. 
To die upon the bed my father died. 
To lie close by his honest bones: but now 
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me 
Where no priest shovels-ln dust.— O cursed wretch ! 

To Perdita. 
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st 

adventure 
To mingle faith with him.— Undone ! undone ! 
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
To die when I desire. [Exit. 

Flo. Why look you so upon me? 

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd. 
But nothing alter'd: What I was I am: 
More straining on, for plucking back; not following 
My leasli unwillingly. 

Cam. Gracious my lord, 

You know your father's temper: at this time 
He win allow no speech,— which, I do guess. 
You do not purpose to him;— and as hardly 
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: 
Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
Come not before him. 

Flo. I not purpose It, 

I think, Camlllo. 

Cam. Even he, my lord. 

Per. How often have I told you 't would be thus? 
How often said, my dignity would last 
But till 't were known? 

Flo. It cannot fail, but by 

The violation of my faith: And then 
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together. 
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks: 
From my succession wipe me, father! I 
Am heir to my affection. 

Cam. Be advised. 

Flo. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason 
Will thereto bo obedient, I have reason; 
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, 
Do bid it welcome. 

Com. This Is desperate, sir. 

Flo. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow; 
I needs must think it hsnesty. Camlllo, 



Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 

Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or 

The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide 

In unknown fathoms, will 1 break my oath 

To this my fair belov'd: Therefore, I pray you 

As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, 

When he shall miss me, (as. In faith, I mean not 

To see him any more,) cast your good counsels 

Unto his passion: Let myself and fortune 

Tug for the time to come. This you may know, 

And so deliver,- 1 am put to sea 

With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore; 

And, most opportune to our need, I have 

A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd 

For this design. What course I mean to hold 

Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 

Concern me the reporting. 

Cam. O, my lord, 

I would your spirit were easier lor advice. 
Or stronger for your need. 

Flo. Hark, Perdita..— [Takesher aside.] 

I '11 hear you by and by. [^To Camlllo. 

Cam, He 's Irremovable, 

Resolv'd for flight: now were I happy, if 
His going I could frame to serve my turn; 
Save him from danger, do him love and honour; 
Purchase the sight again of dear Slcllia, 
And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
I so much thirst to see. 

Flo. Now, good Camlllo, 

I am so fraught with curious business, that 
I leave out ceremony. 

Cam. Sir, I think, 

You have heard of my poor services, 1' the love 
That I have borne your father? 

Flo. Very nobly 

Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music, 
To speek your deeds; not little of his care 
To have them recompens'd as thought on. 

Cam. Well, my lord. 

If you may please to think I love the king. 
And, through him, what is nearest to him, which I? 
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, 
(If your more ponderous and settled project 
May suffer alteration,) on mine honour 
I '11 point you where you shall have such receiving 
As shall become your highness; where you may 
Enjoy your mistress; (from the whom, I see. 
There 's no disjunction to be made, but by. 
As heavens forfend! your ruin:) marry her; 
And (with my best endeavours In your absence,) 
Your discontenting fatherstrive to qualify. 
And bring him up to liking. 

Flo. How, Camlllo, 

May this, almost a miracle, be done? 
That I may call thee something more than man. 
And, after that, trust to thee. 

Cam. Have you thought on 

A place, whereto you '11 go? 

Flo. Not any yet: 

But as the unthought on accident is guilty 
To what we wildly do, so we profess 
Ourselves to be the slaves of cnance, and flies 
Of every wind that blows. 

Cam. Then list to me; 

This follows,— If you will not change your purpose. 
But undergo this flight,— make for Slcllia; 
And there present yourself, and your fair princess, 
(For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes; 
She shall be habited as it becomes * 

The partner of your bed. Me'thinks, I see 
Leontes opening his free arms, and weeping 
His welcomes forth: asks thee, the son, forgiveness, 
As 't were 1' the father's person: kisses the hands 
Of your fresh princess: o'er and o'er divides him 
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one 
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow 
Faster than thought or time. 

Flo. Worthy Camlllo, 

What colour for my visitation shall I 
Hold up before hini? 

Cam. Sent by the king your father 

To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, 
The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
What you, as from your father, shall deliver. 
Things known betwixt xis three, I '11 write you down. 
The which shall point you forth at every sitting 
What you must say; that he shall not perceive, 
But that you have your father's bosom there, 
And speak his very heart. 

Flo. I am bound to you: 

Thei-e Is some sap In this. 

Cam. A course more promising 

Tlian a wild dedication of yourselves 
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores; most cer- 
tain, , 
To miseries enough: no hope to help you: 
But, as you shake oft one, to take another: 
Nothing so certain as your anchors; who 
Do their best office, if they can but stay j'ou 
Where you 'II be loth to be: Besides, you know, 
Prosperity 's the very bond of love; 
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together 
Affliction alters. 

Per. One of these is true: 

I think affliction may subdue tlie cheek. 
But not take in tlie mind. 

Cam. Yea, say you so? 

There shall not, at your father's house, these seven 

years. 
Be born another such. 

Flo. My good Camlllo, 

She Is as forward of her breeding, as 
She Is i' the rear of our birth. 

Cam. I cannot say, 't is pity 

She lacks instructions; for she seems a mistress 
To most that teach. 

Per. Your pardon, sir, for this: 

I '11 blush you thanks. 

Flo. My prettiest Perdita !— 

But, O, the thorns we stand upon !— Camlllo,— 
Preserver of my father, now of me; 
The medicine of our house !— how shall we do? 
We are not f urnlsh'd like Bohemia's son; 
Nor shall appear in Slcllia. 

Cam. My lord. 

Fear none of this: I think, you know, my fortunes 
Do all lie there: it shall be so my care 
To have you royally appointed, as if 
The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, 
That you may know you shall not want,— one word. 
[Tliey talk aside. 



Enter Autolycus. 



Scene hi.] 



WINTERS TALE. 



Ill 



Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool honesty is ! and trust, 
his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman ! t 
have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, 
not a riband, glass, pomander, brooch, table-boolc, 
ballad, Icnife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn- 
rini;, to Iceep my pacTc from fasting; they throng 
who should buy first; as if my trliikets had been 
hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer: 
by which means I saw whose purse was best in 

glcture; and what I saw, to my good use I remem- 
ered. BIy clown, (who wants but something to be 
areasonable man,) grew so in love with the wenches 
song, that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had 
both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the 
herd to me, that all their other senses stuck in ears; 
you might have pinched a placket, it was senseless: 
't was nothing to geld a cod piece of a purse; I 
would have filed keys off that hung in chains: no 
hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring 
the nothing of it. So that, in this time of lethargy, 
I picked and cut most of their festival purses: and 
had not the old man come in with a whoobub against 
his daughter and the king's son, and scared my 
choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive 
In the whole armv. 

team., Flo., and Per. come forward. 

Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being there 
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 

Flo. And those that you '11 procure from king 
Leontes — 

Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 

Per. Happy be you ! 

All that you speak shows fair. 

Cam. Who have we here?— 

[Seeing Autolycus. 
We '11 make an instrument of this; omit 
Nothing may give us aid. 

Aut. If they have overheard me now, ^why, 

hanging. {Aside. 

Cam. How now, good fellow? why shakest thou so? 
Fear not, man; here 's no Iiarm intended to thee. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 

Cam. Why, be so still; here 's nobody will steal 
that from thee: Yet, forlhe outside of thy poverty 
we must make an exchange: therefore, disease thee 
Instantly, (thou must think there 's a neces.sity in 't,) 
and change garments with this gentleman: "Though 
the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold 
thee, there 's some boot. 

Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir:- 1 know ye well 
enough. [Aside. 

Cam. Nay, prithee, despatch: the gentleman is 
halt-flay'd already. 

Aut. Are you in earnest, ""ir?— I smell the trick on 
t.— [Aside. 

Flo. Despatch, IprithC.-. 

Aut, Indeed, 1 have had earnest; but I cannot with 
conscience take it. 

Cam.. Unbuckle, unbuckle.— 

(Tlo, and Autol, exchange garments. 
Fortunate mistress,— let my prophecy 
Come home to you!— you must retire yourself 
Into some covert: talje your sweetheart's hat. 
And pluck it o'er your brows; muffle your face; 
Dismantle you; and, as you can, disliken 
The truth of your own seeming; that j'ou may 
(For I do fear eyes over you) to shipboard 
Get undescried. 

Per. I see the play so lies 

That I must bear a part. 

Canu No remedy.— 

Have you done there? 

Flo. Should I now meet my father, 

He would not call me son. 

Cam. Nay, you shall have 

No hat: — Come, lady, come.— Farewell, my friend. 

Aut. Adieu, sir. 

Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot? 
I*ray you, a word. [They converse apart. 

Cam. What I do next shall be, to tell the king 

[Aside. 
Of this escape, J»nd whither they are bound; 
Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail 
To force him after; in whose company 
I shall review Sicilia; for whose sight 
I have a woman's longing. 

Flo. Fortune speed us!— 

Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. 

Cam. The swifter speed the better, 

[ £'xcuret Florizel, Perdita, and Caniillo. 

Aut. I understand the business, I hear it: To have 
an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is nec- 
essary for a cutpurse; a good nose is requisite also, 
tosmell out work for the other senses. I see this Is 
the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an 
exchange had this been, without boot! what a boot is 
here, with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this 
year connive at us, and we may do anything 
extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of 
Iniquity; stealing away from his father, with his 
clog at his heels: If I thought it were a piece of 
honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do't : 
1 hold it the more knavery to conceal it: and 
therein am I constant to my profession. 
Fnter Clown and Shepherd. 
Aside, aside;— here is more matter for a hot brain: 
Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- 
ing, yields a careful man work. 

Clo. See, see; what a man you are now! there is 
no other way but to tell the king she 's a changeling, 
and uone of your flesti and blood. 

Shep. Nay, but hear me. 

Clo. Nay, but hear me. 

Shep. Go to then. 

Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, your 
flesh and blood has not offended the king; and, so, 
your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. 
Show those things you found about her, tliose secret 
things, all but what she has with her: This being 
done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you. 

Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and 
his son's pranlcs too; who, I may say, is no honest 
man neither to his father, nor to me, to go about to 
make me the king's brother-in law. 

Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off 
you could have been to him; and then your blood had 
been the dearer, by I know how much an ounce. 

Aut. Very wisely; puppies! [Aside. 

Shep. Well; let us to the king; there is that In this 
fardel will make him scratch his beard. 

Aut. I know not what impediment this complaint 
may be to the flight of my master. 
Cio. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. 



Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so 
sometimes by chance:— Let me pocket up my pedlar's 
excrement.— rraitcs off his false beard.] |How now 
rustics? whither are you bound? 

Shep. To thepalace, and it like your worship. 

Aut. Your affairs there; what; with whom; the 
condition of that fardel; the place of your dwelling; 
your names; your ages; of what liaving, breeding; 
and anything that is fitting to be known, discover. 

Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 

Aut. A lie; you are rough and hairy: Let me have 
no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and the.v 
often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it 
with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they 
do not give us the lie. 

Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, If 
you had not taken yourself with the manner. 

Shep. Are you a courtier, an 't like you, sir? 

Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier. 
Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfold- 
ings? hath not my gait in It the measure of the 
court? receives not thy nose court odour from me? 
reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt? 
Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, or toze from thee 
thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am a 
courtier cap-a-pie; and one tliat will either push on 
or pluck back thy business there: whereupon I com- 
mand thee to open thy affair. 

Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. 

Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? 

Shep. I know not, an 't like you. 

Clo. Advocate 's the court-word for a present; say 
you have none. 

Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. 

Aut. How bless'd are we that are not simple men! 
Yet nature might have made me as these are, 
■Tlierefore I '11 not disdain. 

Clo. "rhis cannot be but a great courtier. 

Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them not 
handsomely. 

Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being fan- 
tastical: a great man, I '11 wan-ant; I know by the 
picking on 's teeth. 

Aut. The fardel there? what 's i' the fardel? 
Wherefore that box? 

Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and 
box, which none must know but the king; and which 
he shall know within this hour. If I may come to the 
speech of him. 

Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 

Shep. Why, sir? 

Aut. The king is not at the palace: he is gone 
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air him- 
self: For, if thou be'st capable of things serious, 
thou must know the king is full ot grief. 

Shep. So 't is said, sir, about his son, that should 
have married a shepherd's daughter. 

Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him 
fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall 
feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. 

Clo. Thinlc you so, sir? 

Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make 
heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are 
germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall 
all come under the hangman: which though it be 
great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whist- 
ling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daugh- 
ter come into grace ! Some say, he shall be stoned; 
but that death is too soft for him, say I: Draw our 
throne into a sheep-cote ! all deaths are too few, the 
sharpest too easy. 

Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, do you hear, an 't 
like you, sir? 

Ant. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive: then, 
'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's 
nest; then stand, till he be three-quarter.^ and a dram 
dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitae, or some 
other hot infusion; then, raw as he Is, and in the 
hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be 
set against a brick wail, the sun looking with a south- 
ward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with 
flies blown to death. But what talk we of these trai- 
torly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, 
their offences being so capital? Tell me, (for you 
seem to be honest plain men,) what you have to the 
king: being something gentl.v considered, I '11 bring 
you Avhere he is aboard, tender your persons to his 
presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and, if it be 
in man, besides the king, to effect your suits, here is 
man shall do it. 

Clo. He seems to be of great authority: close with 
him, give him gold; and though authority be a 
stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with 
gold: show the inside ot your purse to the outside 
of his hand, and no more ado: Eemember, stoned 
and flayed alive ! 

Shep. An 't please you, sir, to undertake the busi- 
ness for us, here is that gold I have: I '11 make it as 
much more; and leave tills young man in pawn, tUl 
I bring it you. 

Aut. After I have done what I promised.' 

Shep. Ay, sir. 

Aut. well, give me the moiety: — Are you a, party In 
this business? 

Clo. In some sort, sir: but though my case be a 
pitiful one, I hope I shall not be fiayed out of it. 

Aut. O, that 's the case ot the shepherd's son;— 
Hang him, he '11 be made an example. 

Clo. Comfort, good comfort: we must to the king, 
and show our strange sights: he must know, 't is 
none of your daughter, nor my sister; we are gone 
else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man, 
does, when the business is performed: and remain, 
as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you. 

Aut. I will trust you. Walk before, toward the 
sea-side; go on the right hand; I will but look upon 
the hedge, and follow you. 

Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may say, even 
blessed. 

Shep. Let 's before, as he bids us: he was provided 
to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. 

Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see fortune 
would not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth. 
I am courted now with a double occasion; gold, 
and a means to do the prince my master good; which, 
who knows how that may turn back to my advance- 
ment? I will bring these two moles, these blind 
ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to shore them 
again, and that the complaint they have to the king 
concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for 
being so far officious; for I am proof against that 
title, and what shame else belongs to 't: "To him will 
I present them; there may be matter In it. [Exit. 



Scene I.— Slcllia. A Room in the Palace of 
Leontes. 

Suiter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, 
omd others. 

Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have per- 
form'd 
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make 
Which you have not redeem'd; Indeed, paid down 
More penitence, than done trespass: At the last 
Do, as the heavens have done; forget your evil; 
With them, forgive yourself. 

I^on. Whilst I remember 

Her, and her virtues, I cannot forget 
My blemishes In them: and so still think of 
The wrong I did myself: which was so much. 
That heirless it hath made my kingdom: and 
Destroyed the sweet'st companion that e'er man 
Bred his hopes out of. 

Paul. True, too true, my lord. 

If, one by one, you wedded all the world. 
Or, from the all that are took something good. 
To make a perfect woman, she, you kill'd. 
Would be unparaliel'd. 

Leon. I think so. Kill'd ! 

She I kill'd ' I did so: but thou strik'st me 
Sorely, lo say I did; it is as bitter 
Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now^. 
Say so but seldom. 

Cleo. Not at all, good lady: 

You might have spoken a thousand things that would 
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd 
Your kindness better. 

Paul. You are one of those 

Would have him wed again. 

Dion. If you would not so. 

You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
Of his most sovereign dame: consider little. 
What dangers, by his highness' fail of Issue, 
May drop upon his Idngdom, and devour 
Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy 
Than to rejoice the former queen is well? 
What holier than, — for royalty's repair. 
For present comfort and for future good,— 
To bless the bed of majesty again 
With a sweet fellow to 'I? 

Paul. There is none worthy. 

Respecting her that 's gone. Besides, the gods 
Will have fulftU'd their secret purposes: 
For has not the divine Apollo said. 
Is 't not the tenor of his oracle. 
That king Leontes shall not have an heir 
Till his lost child be found? which, that it shall. 
Is all as monstrous toour human reason. 
As my Antigonus to break his grave. 
And come again to me; who, on my life. 
Did perish with the infant. 'T is your counsel 
My lord should to the heavens be contrary. 
Oppose against their wills.— Care not for issue; 

[To Leontes. 
The crown will find an heir; Great Alexander 
Left his to the worthiest; so his successor 
Was like to be the best. 

Xeon. Good Paulina, — 
Who has the memory of Hermione, 
I know, in honour,— O, that ever I 
Had squar'd me to thy counsel! then, even now, 
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes; 
Have taken treasure from her lips, 

Paul. And left them 

More rich, for what they yielded. 

Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 

No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse. 
And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit 
Again possess her corpse; and, on this stage, 
(Where we offenders now,> appear, soul-vexed. 
And begin, '■Why tome?' 

Paul. Had she such jxjwer 

She had just cause. 

Leon, She had; and would incense me 

To murther her I married. 

Paul. I should so. 

Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark 
Her eye; and tell me, for what dull part in 't 
You chose her: then I 'd shriek, that even your ears 
Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd 
Should be, ' Eemember minel ' 

Leon. Stars, stars. 

And all eyes else dead coals!— fear thou no wife, 
I 'U have no wife, Paulina. 

Paul. Will you swear 

Never to marry, but by my free leave? 

Leon. Never, Paulina: so be bless'd my spirit! 

Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his 
oath,— 

Cleo. You tempt him, over-much. 

Paid. Unless another. 

As like Hermfone as is her picttire. 
Affront his eye;r— 

Cleo. Good madam, I have done. 

Paul. Yet, if my lord will marry ,—tf yon will. 
No remedy but you will; give me the office 
To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young 
As was your former; but she shall be such 
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take 



joy 
ler in i 



To see her in your arms. 

Leon. Hy true Paulina, 

We shall not marry till thou bidd'st us. 

Paul. That 

Shall be, when your first queen 's again In breath; 
Never till then. 

Enter a Gentleman. 

Gent. One that gives out himself prince Floriael, 
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she 
The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access 
To your high presence. 

Leon. What with him? he comes not 

Like to his father's greatness: his approach. 
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 
'T is not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd 
By need and accident. What train? 

Gent. But few. 

And those but mean. 

Leon. His princess, say you, with him ? 

Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think. 
That e'er the sun shone bright on. 

Paul. O, Hermione, 

As every present time doth boast itself 
Above a better, gone, so must thy grave 
Give way to what 's seen now. Sir, you yourself 



112 



WINTER'S TALE. 



[Act v. 



Have said, and writ so, (but your wrking now 
Is colder than that tlienie.) ' She had not been, 
Nor was not to bo equalled;'— thus your verse 
riow'd with her beauty once; 't is shrewdly ebb'd, 
To say you ha ve seen a better. 

Oent. Pardon, madam; 

The one I have almost forgot ; (your pardon,) 
The other, when she has obtained your eye. 
Will have your tongue too. This Is a creature, 
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
Ot all professoj-s else; make proselytes 
Of who she but bid follow. 

Paid. How? not women? 

Glint. Women ^vlU love her, that she is a woman, 
More worth than any man ; men that she is 
The rarest of all women. 

Leon. Go, Cleomenes ; 

Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends. 
Bring them to our embracement.— Still 't is strange, 
[Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentlemen. 
He thus should steal upon us. 

Paul. Had our prince 

<Jewel of children) seen this hour, he had pair'd 
Well with this lord; there was not full a month 
Between their births. 

Leon. Prithee, no more ; cease ; thou know'st, 
He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure; 
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
Will bring me to consider that which may 
TJnfurnish me of reason.— They are come.— 

^ Reenter Cleomenes, with Florlzel, Perdita, and 
Attendants. 

Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; 
For she did print your royal father off. 
Conceiving you : Were I but twenty one. 
Your father's image is so hit in you. 
His very air, that I should call you brother. 
As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly 
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
And your fair princess, goddess !— O, alas ! 
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and (^arth 
Might thus nave stood, begetting wonder, as 
You, gracious couple, do ! and then I lost 
(All mine own folly,) the society. 
Amity too, of your brave father ; whom. 
Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
Once more to look on hiiii. 

Flo. Bj' his command 

Have I here touch'd SiciUa : and from him 
Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend, 
Can send his brother : and, but infirmity 
(Which waits upon worn times,) hath something 

seiz'd 
His wlsh'd abilities, he had himself 
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
Measur'd to look upon you ; whom he loves 
(He bade me say so,) more than all the sceptres. 
And those that bear them, living. 

ieoft. O, my brother, 

<(3ood gentleman !) the wrongs I have done thee stir 
Afresh within me ; and these thy offices, 
So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
Of my behind-hand slackness !— Welcome hither, 
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too 
Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage 
(At least, ungentle,) of the dreadful Neptune, 
To greet a nian not worth her pains ; much less 
The adventure of her person? 

^o. Good my lord, 

She came from Libya. 

Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 

That noble honour' lord is fear'd and lov'd? 

Flo. Most royal .sir, from thence ; from him, whose 
daughter 
His tears proclalm'd his, parting with her : thence 
<A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we have cross'd 
To execute the charge my father gave me. 
For visiting your highness : My best train 
I have from your Sicilian shores dismissed ; 
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 
Not only my success in Libya, sir, 
But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety 
Here, where we are. 

Leon. The blessed gods 

Purge all infection from our air, whilst you 
Do climate here ! You have a holy father, 
A graceful gentleman; against whose person. 
So sacred as it Is, I have done sin : 
For which the heavens, taking angry note. 
Have left me issueless ; and your father 's bless'd, 
(As he from heaven merits it,) with you. 
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been. 
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on. 
Such goodly things as you ! 

Enter a 'Lord. 

Lord. Most noble sir. 

That which I shall report wiU bear no credit. 
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
Bohemia greets you from himself by me: 
Desires you to attach his son ; who has 
(His dignity and duty both cast off,) 
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
A shepherd's daughter. 

Leon. Where 's Bohemia? speak. 

Lord. Here In your city ; I now came from him : 
I speak amazedly ; and it l.iecomes 
My marvel, and my message. To your court 
Whiles he was hast'nlng (in the chase, it seems. 
Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way 
The father ot this seeming lady, and 
Her brother, having both their country quitted 
With this young prince. 

Flo Camillo has hetray'd me ; 

Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now, 
Endur'd all weathers. 

Lord. Lay 't so to his charge : 

He 's vrith the king your father. 

Leon. Who? Camillo? 

Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him ; who now 
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth ; 
Forswear themselves as often as they speak: 
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
With divers deaths In death. 

Per. O, my poor father !— 

The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
Our contract celebrated. 

T^eon. You are married? 

Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first : — 
The odds for high and low 's alike. 

Leon. My lord, 



Is this the daughter of a king? 

Flo. She is. 

When once she is my wife. 

Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's 
speed. 
Will come on very slowly. 1 am sorry, 
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, 
Where you were tied in duty: and as sorry. 
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty. 
That you might well enjoy her. 

Flo. Dear, look up : 

Though fortune, visible an enemy, 
Should chase us, with my father, power no Jot 
Hath she to change our loves.— 'Beseech you, sir. 
Remember since you ow'd no more to time 
Than I do now : with thought of such affections. 
Step forth mine advocate; at your request, 
My father will grant precious things as trifles. 

Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mis- 
tress, 
Which he counts but a trifle. 

Paul. Sir, my liege. 

Your eye hath too much youth in 't: not a month 
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such 

gazes 
Than what you look on now. 

Leon. I thought of her. 

Even in these looks I made.— But your petition 

[To Florlzel. 
Is yet imanswer'd: I will to your father; 
Your honour not o'prthrown by your desires, 
I am friend to them, and you: upon which errand 
I now go toward him; therefore follow me. 
And mark what way I make: Come, good my lord. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— The same. Before the Palace. 

Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman. 

Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this re- 
lation? 

1 Gent. I was by at the opening'of the fardel; heard 
the old shepherd deliver the maimer how he found 
It: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were 
all commanded out of the chamber; only this, me- 
thought I heard the shepherd say, he found the child. 

Ant. I would most gladl.v know the issue of it. 

1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business:— 
But the changes I perceived in the king and Camillo 
were very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, 
with staring on oneanothcr, to tear the cases of their 
eyes; there Was speech in their dumbness, language 
in their very gesture; they looked as they had heard 
of a world ransomed, or one destroyed: A notable 

Easslon of wonder appeared in them: but the wisest 
eholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not 
say If the importance were joy or sorrow: but in the 
extremity of the one it must needs be. 

Enter another Gentleman. 
Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more: 
The news, Bogero? 

2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires: The oracle is fulfilled ; 
the king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder 
is broken out within this hour, that ballad-makers 
cannot be able to express it. 

Enter a third Gentleman. 

Here comes the lady Paulina's steward; he can de 
liver you more.— How goes it now, sir? this news, 
which is called true , is so like an old tale, that the 
verity of it is in strong suspicion: Has the king found 
his heir? 

3 Gent. Most true; if ever truth were pregnant by 
circumstance; that which you hear you '11 swear you 
see, there Is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of 
queen Hermlone:— her jewel about the neck of it;— 
ine letters of Antigonus, found with it, which they 
know to be his character:— the majesty of the crea- 
ture, in resemblance of the mother;— the affection of 
nobleness, which nature shows above her breeding,— 
and many other evidences, proclaim her, with all 
certainty, to be the king's daughter. Did you see the 
meeting of the two kings? 

2 Gent. No. 

3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was to be 
seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have 
beheld one joy crown another; so, and In such man- 
ner, that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of 
them; for their joy waded in tears. There was cast- 
ing up of eyes, holding up of hands; with counten- 
ance of such distraction, that they were to be known 
by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready 
to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter; 
as if that joy were now become a loss, cries, ' O, thy 
mother, tny mother! ' then asks Bohemia forgive- 
ness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again wor- 
ries he his daughter, with clipping her; now he 
thanks the old shepherd, which stands by, like a 
weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I 
never heard of such another encounter, which lames 
report to follow it, and undoes description to do it. 

2 Gent. What, pray vou, became of Antigonus, that 
carried hence the child? 

3 Gent. Like an old tale still; which will have mat- 
ter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not an 
ear open: He was torn to pieces with a bear: this 
avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his 
innocence (which seems much) to justify him, but a 
handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina knows. 

1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his follow- 
ers? 

3 Gent. Wracked, the same instant of their master's 
death: and in the view of the shepherd: so that all 
the instruments, which aided to expose the child, 
were even then lost, when it was found. But, O, the 
noble combat that, 'twixt joy and sorrow,was fought 
in Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of 
her husband; another elevated that the oracle was 
fulfilled: She lifted the princess from the earth; and 
so locks her in embr.acing, as if she would pin her to 
her heart, that she might no more be in danger of 
losing. 

1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the audi- 
ence of kings and princes; for by such was it 
acted. 

3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that 
which angled for mine eyes (caught the water, 
though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of the 
queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, 
(bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,) how 
attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one 
sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 'alas!' , 
I would fain say, bleed tears ; for I am sure my i 
heart wept blood. Who was most marble there I 



changed colour : some swooned, all sOrrt)wed : if all 
the world could have seen it, the woe had been uni- 
versal. 

1 Gent. Are they returned to the court? 

3 Gent. No : the princess hearing of her mother's 
statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,- a piece 
many years In doing, and now newly performed by 
that rare Italian master, Julio Boraano; who, had 
he himself eternity, and could put breath into his 
work, would beguile nature ot her custom, so per- 
fectly he is her ape; he so near to Hermione hath 
done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to 
her, and stand in hope of answer: thither, with all 
greediness ot affection, are they gone ; and there 
they intend to sup. 

2 Gent. I thought she had some great matter there 
in hand; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, 
ever since the death of Hermione, visited that re- 
moved house. Shall we thither, and with our com- 
pany piece the rejoicing? 

1 Gent. Who would be thence that has the benefit 
of access? every wink ot an eye, some new grace will 
be born: our absence makes us unthrifty to our 
knowledge. Let 's along. | Exeunt Gentlemen. 

Aut. Now, had I not tne dash of my former life in 
me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought 
the old man and his son aboard the prince: told him, 
I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know not what; 
but he at that time, over-fond ot the shepherd's 
daughter, (so he then took her to be,) who began to 
be much seasick, and himself little better, extremity 
ot weather continuing, this mystery remained un- 
discovered. But 't is all one to me; for had I been 
the finder out of this secret, it would not have 
relished among my other discredits. 

Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
Here come those I have done good to against my 
will, and already appearing in the blossoms ot their 
fortune. 

Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children, but thy 
sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 

do. You are well met, sir: You denied to fight with 
me this other day, because I was no gentleman born: 
See you these clothes? say, you see them not, and 
think me still no gentleman born: you were best say 
these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the 
lie; do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman 
born. 

Aut. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 

Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four 
hours. 

Shep. And so have I, boy. 

Clo. So you have:— but I was a gentleman' born 
before my father: for the king's son took me by the 
hand, and called me, brother; and then the two 
kings called my father, brother; and then the prince, 
my brother, and the princess, my sister, called my 
father, father; and so we wept; and there was the 
fir.st gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. 

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 

Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck; being in so pre- 
posterous estate as we are. 

Avt. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all 
the faults I have committed to 3'our worship, and to 
give me your good report to the prince my master. 

Shep. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now 
we are gentlemen. 

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life? 

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 

Clo. Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince, 
thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. 

Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 

Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let 
boors and franklins sav it, I '11 swear it. 

Shep. How if it be false, son? 

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may 
swear it, in the behalf of his friend:— And I *11 swear 
to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, 
and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know, that 
thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou 
wilt be drunk; but I '11 swear it: and I would thou 
would'st be a tall fellow of thy hands. 

Atit. I will prove so sir, to my power. 

Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: If I 
do not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, 
not being a tall fellow, trust me not.— Hark ! the 
kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see 
the queen's picture. Come, follow us; we '11 be thy 
good masters. [Exevnt. 

Scene III — r/ic same. A Boom in Paulina's House. 

Enter Leontes, Pollxenes, Florlzel, Perdita, Camillo, 
Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 

Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort 
That I have had of thee ! ' 

Paul. What, sovereign sir, 

I did not well, I meant well: All my services 
You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf 'd 
With your crown'd brother, and these your con- 
tracted 
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit; 
It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
Mv lite may last to answer. 

Leon. O Paulina, 

We honour you with trouble: But we came 
To see the statue of our queen: your gallery 
Have we pass'd through, not without much content 
In many singularities; but we saw not 
That which my daughter came to look upon, 
■Tlie statue of her mother. 

Paid. As she llv'd peerless. 

So her dead likeness, I do well believe. 
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon, 
Or hand ot man hath done; therefore I keep it 
Lonely, apart: But here it is: prepare 
To see the life as lively mook'd, as ever 
Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 't is 'well. 

fPaulina undraws a cnrtain and discovers a statue. 
I like vour silence, it the more shows off 
Your wonder: But yet speak;— first, you, my liege. 
Comes It not something near? 

Leon. Her natural posture !— 

Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed. 
Thou art Hermione: or, rather, thou art she. 
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender 
As infancy, and grace.— But yet, Paulina, 
Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing 
So aged, as this seems. 

Pol. O, not by much. 

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence; 
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her 
As she llv'd now. 



Scene hi.] 



WISTEJl'S TALE. 



113 



Leotu As now she might have done, 

So much to my good comfort, as it Is 
Nou' piercing "to my soul. O, thus she stood, 
Even with such life of majesty, (warn^. lite. 
As now it coldly stands,) when first t woo'd her! 
I am asham'd: Does uot the stone rebuke me, 
For being more stone than it?— O, royal piece, 
There 's magic in thy majesty, which has 
.My evils conjur'd to" remembrance; and 
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
Standing like stone with thee ! 

Per. And give me leave; 

And do not say 't Is superstition, that 
I kneel, and then implore her blessing.— Lady 
Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
t-iive me that hand of yours to kiss. 

Pniil. O, patience: 

The statue is but newly flx'd, the colour 's 
Sot dry. 

Cam. Jly lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on; 
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away. 
So many summers dry: scarce any joy 
Did ever so long live; no sorrow, 



Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: 
but 
I could afflict you further. 

Leon. Do, Paulina; 

For this affliction has a state as sweet 
As any cordial comfort.— Still, methinks. 
There is an air conies from her: What fine chisel 
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me. 
For I will kiss her. 

Pant. Good my lord, forbear: 

The ruddiness upon her lip Is wet; 
You '11 mar it, If you kiss it; stain your own 
With oil.v painting: Shall I draw the curtain? 

Leon. No, not these twenty years. 

Per. So long could I 

Stand by, a looker-on. 

Paul. Either forbear. 

Quit presently t'ne chapel; or resolve you 
For more amazement. If you can behold it, 
I 'II make the statue move indeed; descend. 
And take you by the hand: but then you '11 think, 
(U'hich I protest against,) I am assisted 
By wicked powers. 



Pol. Ay, and make 't manifest where she has liv'd, 
Or, how stol'n from the dead? 

Paul. That she is living. 

Were it but told you, should be hooded at 
Like an old tale; but it appears she lives. 
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.— 
Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel. 
And pray your mother's blessing.- Turn, good lady: 
Our Perdlta Is found. 

[Preaenting Per., who kneels to Her. 

Ber. ^ You gods look down. 

And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
Upon my daughter's head !— Tell me, mine own. 
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how 

found 
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I, 
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle 
Gave hope thou wast in being,— have preserv'd 
Myself, to see the Issue. 

Paul. There 's time enough for that; 

Lest they desire, upon this push to trouble 
Your joys with like relation. Go together. 




[King John.] 



Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so; I am not mad. 



[act III.— scene IV.] 



But klll'd itself much sooner. 

Pol. Dear my brother, 

Let him that was the cause of this have power 
To take off so much of grief from you, as he 
Will piece up in himself. 

Paul. Indeed, my lord. 

If I had thought the sight of m.v poor image 
Would thus have wrought you (for the stone Is mine), 
I 'd not have show'd it. 

Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on 't; lest your 
fancy 
-May think anon It moves. 

Leon. Let be, let be. 

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — 
What was he that did make It?— See, my lord. 
Would you not deem it breath'd? and that those 

veins 
Did verily bear blood? 

Pol. Masterly done: 

The very life seems warm upon lier lip. 

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in 't, 
AS we are mock'd with art. 

Paul. I '11 draw the curtain; 

My lord 's almost so far transported that 
He '11 think anon it lives. 

Leon. O sweet Paulina, 

Make me to think so twenty years together; 
No settled senses of the world can match 
The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. 



Leon. What you can make her do. 

I am content to look on: what to speak, 
I am content to hear; for 't is as easy 
To make her speak, as move. 

Paul. Itisrequir'd 

You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still: 
On: Those that think it is unlawful business 
I am about, let them depart. 

Leon. Proceed; 

No foot shall stir. 

Paul. Music; awake her: strike.— [J/ifsic. 

'T is time; descend; be stone no more: approach- 
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; 
I '11 fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away; 
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 
Dear life redeems you.— You perceive she stirs; 

[Hermione comes down from the pedestal. 
Start not, her actions shall be holy, as. 
You hear, my spell is lawful : do not shun her. 
Until you see her die again; for then 
You kill her double : Nay, present your hand: 
When she was young; yo\i woo'd her ; now in age. 
Is she become the suitor? 

Leon. O, she 's warm I \ Embracing her. 

If this he macic, let it be an art 
Lawful as eating. 

Pol. She embraces him. 

Cam. She hangs about his neck; 
If she pertain to life, let her speak too. 



You precious winners all ; your exultation 
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle. 
Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there 
My mate, that 's never to be foitnd again. 
Lament till I am lost. 

Leon. O peace, Paulina; 

Thou should'st a husband take by my consent. 
As I by thine, a wife: this is a match, 
And made between 's by vows. Thou hast found 

mine; 
But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her. 
As I thought, dead: and have, in vain, said many 
A prayer upon her grave: I 'U not seek far 
(For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee 
An honourable husband:— Come, Camillo, 
And take her by the hand; whose worth, r.nd 

honesty. 
Is richly noted; and here justified 
By us, a pair of kings.— Let 's from this place.— 
What?— Look upon my brother:— both your pardons, 
That e'er I put between your holy looks 
Jly ill suspicion. This your son-in-law. 
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing.^ 
Is troth-plight to your daughter.— Good Paulina, 
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely 
Each one demand, and answer to liis part 



Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since fl^rst 
We were dissever'd: Ilastily lead away. 



lE.vennt. 



114 



KINO JOUX. 



[Act l 



KING JOHN. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Prince Henry. Ws son.; afterwafds 
King Henry Itl. 

ArthuiI, Duke of Bretagne, son. of Gef- 
frey, late Duke of Brelagne, the elder 
brother of King John. 

William M.vreshall, Earl of Pem- 
broke. 

Geffrey Fitz-Petf.u, Earl of Essex, 
chief Justiciary o/ England. 



William Longsword, Ea7-l of Salis- 
bury. 

RoBKUT BiaoT, Earl of Norfolk. 

Hubert de Burgh, chamberlain to the 
King. 

Robert Faulconbridoe, son of Sir 
Robert Faulconbridge. 

Philip Faulconbridoe, his half-broth- 
er, bastard son tn King Richard I. 

James Gurney, servant to Lady Faul- 
conbridge. 



Peter, of Pomfret, a prophet. 
Philip, King of France. 
Lewis, the Dauphin. 
Archduke of Austria. 
Cardinal Pandulph, the Pojie'.') legate. 
Melun, a French lord. 
Chatillon, ambassador from France to 
King John. 

Elisor, the widow of King Henry II., 
and mother of King John. 



Constance, mother to Arthur. 

Blanch, daughter to Alphonso, King of 
Castile, and niece to King John. 

Lady Faulconbridge, mother to the 
Bastard and Robert Faulconbridge. 

Lords. Ladies, Citizens of Angler.s, Sher 
iff. Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messen- 
gers, and o'her Attendants. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— Northampton. A Room of State in the 
Palace. 

l-lnter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, Essex, 
Salisbury, and others, with Chatillon. 

King John. Now say, Chatillon, what would France 
with us? 

Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of 
France, 
In mv behaviour, to the majesty, 
The borrow'd majest.v of England here. 

Eli. A strange beginning;— borrow'd majesty! 

K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. 

Cliat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf 
Of thy deceased brother Geftrey's son, 
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
To tills fair island, and the territories; 
To Ireland, Poiotiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine: 
Desiring thee to la.v aside the sword. 
Which sways usurpingly these several titles; 
And put the same into young Arthur's hand, 
Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. 

K. John. What follows if we disallow of this? 

Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody war, 
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. 

K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood for 
blood, 
Controlment for controlment: so answer France. 

Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my 
mouth, 
The farthest limit of my embassy. 

K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace: 
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; 
For ere thou canst report I will be there. 
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: 
So, hence I Be thou the trumpet of our wrath, 
And sullen presage of your own decaj'. 
An honourable conduct let him have:— 
Pembroke, look to 't: Farewell, Chatillon. 

{Exeunt Chatillon and Pembroke. 

Eli. What now, my son? have I not ever said. 
How that ambitious Constance would not cease 
Till she had kindled France^ and all the world. 
Upon the right and party of her son? 
This might have been prevented, and made whole. 
With very easy arguments of love; 
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must 
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. , 

K. John. Our strong possession, and our right, for 
us. 

Eli. Tour strong possession much more than your 
right; 
Or else it must go wrong vsrith you and me: 
So much my conscience whispers in your ear; 
■Which none but Heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. 
Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who 
luhispers Essex. 

Esse.r. My lord, here is the strangest controversy, 
Come from the country to be Judged by you. 
That e'er I heard: Shall I produce the men? 

K. John. Let them approach. — [Exit Sheriff. 
Our abbeys, and our priories, shall pay 

Re-enter Sheriff, with Robert Faulconbridge, and 

Philip, his bastard Brother. 
This expedition's charge.— What men are you? 

Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, 
Born in Northamptonshire; and eldest son. 
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge; 
A soldier, by the honour-giving hand 
Of Coeur-de-Lion, knighted in the field. 

K.Jnhn. What art thou? 

Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. 

K. .John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? 
You came not of one mother then, it seems. 

Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king, 
That is well known: and, as I think, one father: 
But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, 
I put .vou o'er to heaven, and to my mother; 
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 

Eli. Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy 
mother. 
And wound her honour with this diffidence. 

Bn.s^ I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; 
Tliat is my brother's plea, and none of mine; 
The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
At least from fair five hundred pound a-year: 
Heaven guard ray mother's honour, and my land! 

K.John. A good blunt fellow:— Why, beingyounger 
born. 
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance? 

Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
But once he slander'd me with bastardy: 
But whe'r I be as true begot, or no, 
That still I lay upon my mother's head; 
But, that I am as well begot, my liege, 
(F.ilr fall the b(mes that took the pains for me!) 
Compare our faces, and be Judge yourself. 
If old Sir Robert did beget us both, 
And were our father, and this son, like him;— 

old Sir Rotert, father, on m.v knee 

1 ;ive Heaven thanks I was not like to thee. 



K. John. Why, what a madcap hath Heaven lent 
us here! 

EU. He hath a trick of Cceur-de-Lion's face; 
The accent of his tongue affecteth him: 
Do .vou not read some tokens of my son 
In the large composition of this man? 

K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts. 
And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak. 
What doth move you to claim your brotlier's land? 

Bast. Because he hath a halt-face, like my father. 
With that half-face would he have all my land: 
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a-year. 

Rob. My gracious liege, when that my fatlier liv'd. 
Your brother did employ my father much:— 

Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get m.v land; 
Your tale must, be how he employ'd my mother. 

Rob. And once dispatch'd him in an embassy 
To German.v, there, with the emperor. 
To treat of high affairs touching that (time: 
Th' advantage of his absence took the king. 
And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's; 
Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak: 
But truth is truth; large lengths of seas and shores 
Between my father and my mother lay,— 
As I have heard my father speak himself, — 
When this same lusty gentleman was got. 
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd 
His lands to me; and took it, on his death. 
That this, my mother's son, was none of his; 
And, if he were, he came into the Avorld 
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
riy father's land, as was my father's will. 

K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; 
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him: 
And. if she did play false, the fault was hers; 
Whiclx fault lies on the hazards of all husbands 
That marr.v wives. Tell me, how if my brother. 
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son. 
Had of your father claim'd this son for his? 
In sooth, good friend, your father might liave kept 
This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world; 
Tn sooth, he might: then, if he were my brother's. 
My brother might not claim him; nor your father, 
Being none of his, refuse him: This concludes: 
My mother's son did get your father's heir; 
Your father's heir must have your father's land. 

Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force. 
To dispossess that child which is not his? 

Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
Than was his will to get me, as I think. 

EU. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulcon- 
bridge, 
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land; 
Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-Lion, 
Lord of thy presence, and no land beside? 

Bast. Madam, an If my brother had my shape. 
And I had his, sir Robert his, like him; 
And if my legs were two such riding-rods; 
My arms such eel-skins stuff'd; my face so thin. 
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose. 
Lest men should say. Look, where three-farthings 

goes; 
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 
'Would I might never stir from off this place, 
I would give it ever.v foot to have this face; 
It would not be sir Nob in any case. 

Eli. I like thee well: Wilt thou forsake thy fortune. 
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?. 
I am a soldier, and now bound to France. 

Bast. Brother, take you my land, I '11 take my 
chance: 
Your face hath got five hundred pound a-year; 
Yet sell .vour face for five pence, and 't is dear. 
Madam, I '11 follow you unto the death. 

Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thithei-. 

Bast. Our country manners give oui- betters way. 

K. John. What is thy name? 

Bast. Philip, my liege: so is my name begun; 
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 

K. John. From henceforth bear his name whose 
form thou bearest: 
Kneel thou down, Philip, but arise more gi'eat; 
Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenet. 

Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your 
hand; 
My father gave me honour, yotirs gave land: 
Now^ blessed be the hour, b.v night or day. 
When I was got. sir Robert was away. 

Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet! 
I am thv gi'andame, Richard; call me so. 

Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth: What 
though? 
Something about, a little from the right. 

In at the window, or el.se o'er the hatch; 
Who dares not stir by day must walk by night; 

And have is have, however men do catch: 
Near or far off, well won is still well shot; 
And I am I, howe'er I was begot. 

K.John. Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy de- 
sii'e; 
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.- 
Come, madam, and come, Richard; we must speed 
For France, for France; for it is more than need. 



Bast. Brother, adieu; Good fortune come to thee! 
For thou wast got 1' the way of honesty. 

{Bxeitnt all btit the Bastard. 
A foot of honour better txian I was; 
But many a many foot of land the worse. 
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady. 
Good den, sirRichard,— God a-mercy, fellow: 
And if his name be George, I '11 call him Peter: 
For new-made honour doth forget men's names; 
'T is too respective, and too sociable. 
For your conversion. Now your traveller. 
He and his tooth-plckat my worship's mess. 
And when m.y knightly stomach is suflBc'd, 
Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise 

My picked man of countries: Mv dear sir, 

(Thus, leaning on my elbow, I beg'in,) 

I shall beseech you— That is question now; 

And then comes answer like an .\bsey book: 

O, sir, says answer, at your best command; 

At your employment; at your service, sir: 

No, sir, says question, I, sweet sir, at yours: 

And so, ere answer knows what question would. 

Saving in dialogue of compliment; 

And talkingof the Alps and Apennines, 

The Pyreuean, and the river Po, 

It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 

But this is worshipful society. 

And fits the mounting spirit like myself: 

For he is but a bastard to the time. 

That doth not smack of observation; 

(4nd so am I, whether I smack, or no;) 

And not alone in habit and device. 

Exterior form, outward accoutrement; 

But from the inward motion to deliver 

Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth: 

Which, though I will not practise to deceive. 

Yet to avoid deceit I mean to learn; 

For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.- 

But who comes in such haste, in riding robes? 

What woman-post is this? hath she no husband. 

That will take pains to blow a horn before her? 

Enter Lady Faulconbridge, and James Gurney. 

me! It is my mother:— How now, good lady? 
What brings you here to court so hastilj*? 

Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? where is 
he? 
That holds lncha.se mine honour up and down? 

Bast. My brother Roljert? old sir Robert's son? 
Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? 
Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so? 

Lady F. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend 
boy. 
Sir Robert's son. Why seorn'st thou at Sir Robert? 
He is sir Robert's son; and so art thou. 

Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a 
while? 

Giir. Good leave. Good Philip. 

Bast. Philip?— sparrow!— James, 

There 's toys abroad; anon I '11 tell thee more. 

[Exit Gurney. 
Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son; 
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
Upon Good Friday, and ne'er broke his last: 
Sir Robert could do well; Marry- to conf ess- 
Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it; 
We know nis handy-work:— Therefore, good mother. 
To whom am I beholden for these limbs? 
Sir Robert never holpto make this leg. 

Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too. 
That for thine own gain should'st defend mine hon- 
our? 
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? 

Bast. Knight, knight, good mother,— Basillsco-like: 
What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder. 
But, mother, I am not sir Robrrt's son; 

1 have di.sclaim'd sir Robert and my land; 
Legitimation, name, and all is gone: 

Tlien, good my mother, let me know m.v father; 
Some proper man, I hope: Who was it, mother? 

LadyF. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? 

BnsT. As faithfully as I deny the devil. 

Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-Lion was thy 
father: 
B.V long and vehement suit I was seduc'd 
To make room for him in my husband's bed. 
Heaven! lay not my transgression to my charge. 
That art the issue of my dear offence. 
Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. 

Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again, 
Madam, I would not wish a better father. 
Some sins do hear their privilege on earth. 
And so doth .yours; your fault was not your folly: 
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, — 
Subjected tribute to commanding love, — 
Against whose fur.v and unmatched force 
The awless lion could not wage the flght. 
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts, 
Ma.v easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, 
With all my heart I thank thee for my father I 
Who lives and dares but sa.v, thou didst not well 
When I was got, I '11 send his soul to hell. 
Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin; 



Scene i.] 



Kmo joim. 



115 



lExe. 



And they shall say, when Richard me bPROt, 
If thou hadst said him nay. It had been sin: 
Who says it was, he lies; I say, 't was not. 

ACT II. 

Scene I.— France. Before the vails of Anglers. 

FMer on one side, the Archduke of Austria, and 

Forces; on the other, Philip, King of France, and 

Forces; Lewis, Constance, Artlmr, and Attend- 
ants. 

Lew. Before Anglers well met, brave Austria. 
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood, 
Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart 
And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
By this brave duke came early to his grave: 
.■Vnd, for amends to his posterity, 
At our Importance hither Is he come. 
To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf; 
And to rebuke the usurpation 
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John; 
Embrace hiin, love him, give him welcome hither. 

Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-Lion's death, 
The rather, that you give his offspring life, 
Shadowing their right under your wings of war: 
I give you welcome with a powerless hand. 
But with a heart full of unstained love: 
Welcome before the gates of Anglers, duke. 

Lgw. A noble bov ! Who would not do thee right? 

Aiist. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss. 
As seal to this indenture of my love; 
That to my home I will no more return, 
Tin Anglers, and the right thou hast in France, 
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore. 
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides. 
And coops from other lands her islanders. 
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main. 
That water-walled bulwark, still secure 
And confident from foreign purposes. 
Even till that utmost corner of the west 
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy. 
Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 

Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's 
thanks. 
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength 
To make a more requital to your love. 

Aust. The peace of Heaven is theirs that lift their 
swords 
In such a just and charitable war. 

K. Phi. Well then, to work; our cannon shall be 
bent 
Against the brows of this resisting town. 
Call for our ehiefest men of discipline, 
To cull the plots of best advantages: 
We '11 lay before this town our royal bones, 
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood. 
But we will make it subject to this boy. 

Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy. 
Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood: 
JIv Lord Chatilion may from England bring 
That right in peace, which here we urge in war; 
And then we shall repent each drop of blood, 
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 
Enter Chatilion. 

K. Phi. A wonder, lady !— lo, upon thy wish. 
Our messenger Chatilion is arrived.— 
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord. 
We coldly pause for thee; Chatilion, speak. 

Chat. 'Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, 
And stir them up against a mightier task. 
England, impatient of your just demands. 
Hath put himself in arms; the adveise winds. 
Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time 
To land his legions all as soon as I: 
His marches are expedient to this town. 
His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
With him along is come the mother-queen. 
An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ; 
With her her niece the lady Blanch of Spain ; 
With them a bastard of the king's deceased : 
And all the unsettled humours of the land,— 
Rash, inconsiderate, flery, voluntaries, 
With ladies' faces and fierce dragons' spleens,— 
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes. 
Bearing their birthrights proudly on ther backs. 
To make a hazard of new fortunes here. 
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits. 
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er. 
Did never float upon the swelling tide. 
To do offence and scath in Christendom. 
The Interruption of their churlish drums 

[Drums beat. 
Cuts off more circumstance ; they are at hand, 
■To parley, or to fight; therefore, prepare. 

K. Phi. How much unlook'd-for is this expedition! 

Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much 
We must awake endeavour for defence ; 
For courage mounteth with occasion : 
Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. 

Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard, 
Pembroke, and Forces. 

K. John. Peace be to France; if France in peace 
permit 
Our just and lineal entrance to our own ! 
If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven ! 
Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven. 

K. Phi. Peace be to England; if that war return 
From France to England, there to live in peace ! 
England we love; and, for that England's sake. 
With burden of our armour here we sweat : 
This toil of ours should be a work of thine; 
But thou from loving England art so far, 
That thou has under-wrought his lawful king. 
Cut off the sequence of ptisterlty. 
Outfaced infant state, and done a rape 
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ;— 
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of bis : 
This little abstract doth contain that large. 
Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time 
Shall dra%v this brief into as huge a volume. 
That Geffrey was thy older brother born, 
And this his son: England was Geffrey's right. 
And this is Geffrey's, in the name of God. 
How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king. 
When living blood doth in these temples beat. 
Which owe the crown that thou o'ermasterest? 

K. John. From whom has thou this great com- 
mission, France, 
To draw my answer from thy articles? 



K. Plii. From that supernal Judge, that stirs good 
thoughts 
In any breast of strong authority. 
To look into the blots and stains of right. 
That Judge hath made me guardian to this boy: 
Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong; 
And, by whose help. 1 mean to chastise it. 

K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 

K. Phi. Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. 

Eli. \Vho is it thou dost call usurper, France? 

Const. Let me make answer;— th.y usurping son. 

Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king ; 
That thou may'st be a queen, and check the world. 

Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true. 
As thine was to thy husband : and tills boy 
Llker in feature to his father Geffrey, 
Than thou and John, in manners being as like 
As rain to water, or devil to his dam. 
My boy a bastard ! By my soul, I think. 
His father never was so true begot ; 
It cannot be, an it thou wert his mother. 

Eli. There 's a good mother, boy, that blots thy 
father. 

Const. There 's a good grandame, boy, that would 
blot thee. 

Aust. Peace ! 

Bast. Hear the crier. 

Aust. What the devil art thou? 

Bast. One that will play the de\-H, sir, with you. 
An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. 
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes. 
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard. 
I '11 smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right ; 
Sirrah, look to 't ; i' faith, I will, i' faith. 

Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe. 
That did disrobe the lion of that robe ! 

Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him. 
As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass :— 
But, ass, I '11 take that burden from your back ; 
Or lay on that shall make your shoulders crack. 

Aust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our 
ears 
With this abundance of superfluous breath? 
King,— Lewis, determine what we shall do straight. 

Lew. Women and fools, break off your conference. 
King John, this is the very sum of all,— 
England and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee : 
Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms? 

K. John. My life as soon :— I do defy thee, France. 
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ; 
And, out of my dear love, I '11 give thee more 
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : 
Submit thee, boy. 

Eli. Come to thy grandame, child. 

Const. Do, child, go to it' grandame, child ; 
Give grandame kingdom, and it' grandame wUl 
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig : 
There 's a good grandame. 

Arth. Good my mother, peace! 

I would that I were low laid in my grave ; 
I am not worth this coil that's made for me. 

Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he 
weeps. 

Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does, or 
no ; 
His grandame's wrongs, and not his mother's 

shames, 
Di-aw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor 

eyes. 
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; 
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd 
To do him justice, and revenge on you. 

Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and 
earth ! 

Coiisf. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and 
earth ! 
Call not me slanderer; thou, and thine, usurp 
The dominations, royalties, and rights 
Of this oppressed boy : This is the eldest son's son, 
Infortunate iu nothing but in thee ; 
Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; 
The canon of the law is laid on him. 
Being but the second generation 
Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. 

K. John. Bedlam, have done. 

Const. I have but this to say,— 

That he 's not only plagued for her sin. 
But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
On this removed issue, plagued for her 
And with her plague; her sin is injury, 
Her injury the beadle to her sin ; 
All punish'd in the person of this child. 
And all for her : A plague upon her ! 

Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
A will, that bars the title of thy son. 

Const. A}-, who doubts that? a will ! a wicked will ; 
A woman's will; a canker'd grandame's will ! 

K. Phi. Peace, lady ; pause, or be more temperate : 
It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim 
To these ill-tuned repetitions. 
Some trumpet summon hither to the walls 
These men of Anglers; let us hear them speak. 
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 

Trumpet sounds. Enter Citizens upon the walls. 

at. Who is it. that hath warn'd us to the walls? 

K. Phi. "I is France for England. 

K.John. England, for itself : 

You men of Anglers, and my loving subjects. 

K. Phi. You loving men of Anglers, Arthur's sub- 
jects. 
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parte. 

K. John. For our advantage ;— Therefore, hear us 
first. 
These flags of France, that are advanced here 
Before the eye and prospect of your town. 
Have hither march'd to your endamagement : 
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; 
And ready mounted are they, to spit forth 
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls ; 
All preparation for a bloody siege 
And merciless proceeding, by these French, 
Confronts your city's eyes, your winking gates; 
And but for our approach, those sleeping stones, 
That as a waist do girdle you about. 
By the compulsion of their ordnance 
By this time from their fixed beds of lime 
Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 
For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 
But, on the sight of us, your lawful king. 
Who paintuU.y, with much expedient march. 
Have brought a countercheck before your gates, 
To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks, — 



Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle: 

And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd In fire, 

lo make a shaking fever in your walls, 

They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke. 

To make a faithless error in your ears: 

Which trust accordingly, kind citizens. 

And let us in. Your king, whose labour'd spirits, 

Forwearied in this action of swift speed, 

Craves harbourage within your city walls. 

K. Phi. When Ihave said, make answer to us both. 
Lo, in this right hand, who.se protection 
Is most divinely vow'd upon tlie right 
Of him it holds, stands young Pantagenet, 
Son to the elder brother of this man,. 
And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys: 
For this downtrodden equity, we tread 
In warlike march these greens before your town; 
Being no further enemy to you, 
Than the constraint of hospitable zeal. 
In the relief of this oppressed child. 
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then 
To pay that duty, which you truly owe. 
To nim that owes it— namely, this young prince: 
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear 
Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up; 
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent 
Against th* invulnerable clouds of heaven; 
And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire, 
With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd. 
We will bear home that lusty blood again. 
Which here we came to spout against your town. 
And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. 
But if .you fondly pass our profter'd offer, 
'T is not the rounder of your old-fac'd walls 
Can hide you from our messengers of war. 
Though all these English, and their discipline 
Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. 
Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord. 
In that behalf which we have challeng'd it? 
Or shall we give the signal to our rage. 
And stalk in blood to our possession? 

at. In brief, we are the king of England's sul jccts 
For him, and in his right, we hold this town. 

K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let me 
in. 

at. That can we not: but he that proves the king. 
To him will we prove loyal; till that time. 
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. 

K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove 
the king? 
And if not that, I bring you witnesses. 
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,— 

Bast. Bastards, and else. 

K. John. To verify our title with their lives. 

K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as 
those,— 

Bast. Some bastards too. 

K. Phi. Stand in his face, to contradict his claim. 

at. Till .you compound whose right Is worthiest, 
We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. 

K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those 
souls. 
That to their everlasting residence. 
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet. 
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! 

K. Phi. Amen, amen!— Mount, chevaliers ! to arms: 

Bast. St. George, that swindg'd the dragon, ami 
e'er since 
Sits on his horseback, at mine hostess' door. 
Teach us some fence !— Sirrah, were I at home. 
At your den, sirrah, [to Austria] with your lioness. 
I 'd set an ox head to your lion's hide. 
And make a monster of you. 

Aust. Peace: no more. 

Bast. O, tremble; for you hear the lion roar. 

K. John. Up higher to the plain; where we '11 set 
forth. 
In best appointment, all our regiments. 

Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. 

K. Phi. It shall be so;— [to Lewisjand at the other 
hill 
Command the rest to stand.— God, and our right! 

[E-Teiint. 

Scene II.— The same. 

Alarums and Excursions; then a Retreat. Enter a 

French Herald, with Trumpets, to the Gates. 

F. Her. You men of Anglers, open wide your gates. 

And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in; 

Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made 

Much work for tears in many an English mother. 

Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground; 

Many a widow's husband groveling lies, 

Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; 

And victory, with little loss, doth play 

Upon the dancing banners of the French; 

Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, 

To enter conquerors, and to proclaim 

Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours! 
Enter an English Herald, with Trumpets. 
E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Anglers, ring your 
bells; 

King John, your king and England's, doth approach, 

Commander of this hot malicious day! 

'Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright. 

Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; 

There stuck no plume in any English crest. 

That is removed by a staff of France; 

Our colours do return in those same hands 

That did display them when we first march'd forth; 

And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 

Our lusty English, all with purpled hands. 

Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: 

Open your gates, and give the victors way. 
Hubert. Heralds, from off our towers we might be- 
hold. 

From first to last, the onset and retire 

Of both your armies; whose equality 

By our best eyes cannot be censured: 

Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd 
blows; 

Strength match'd with strength, and power con- 
fronted power: 

Both are alike; and both alike we like. 

One must prove greatest; while they weigh so even, 

We hold our town for neither; yet for both. 

Enter, at one side. King John, iitith his Power! 
Elinor, Blanch, anrf the Bastard; at the other. King 
Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces. 

K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast 
away? 



]16 



KING .ronx. 



LAcT in. 



Say, shall the current of our right roam on. 
Whose passage, vex'd with thy Impediment, 
Shall leave his native channel, ano o'erswell 
AVtth coui-se disturb'd even thy confining shores, 
XJnless thou let his sliver water keep 
A pt'acefiil progress to the ocean? 

K. Phi. England, thou hast not saved one drop of 
blood. 
In this hot trial, more than we of France: 
Rather, lost more: And by this hand I swear. 
That sways the earth this climate overloolcs, 
feefore we will lay down our just-borne arms, 
We '11 put thee down, 'gainst whom these arras we 

bear, 
Or add a royal number to the dead; 
Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss, 
^Vith slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 

liast. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers 
When the rich blood of kings is set on flre' 
O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel; 
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; 
And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men. 
In undetermin'd difl:erences of kings. 
Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? 
'Cry, havoc, kingsl back to the stained field, 
Vou equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits! 
Then let confusion of one part confirm 
The other's peace; till then, t)lows, blood, and death! 

K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? 

K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who 's your 

_ king? 

Hubert. The king of England, when we know the 
king. 

K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his 
right. 

K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, 
.A.nd bear possession of our person here; 
Lord of our presence, Anglers, and of you. 

Hubert. A greater power than we denies all this; 
,A.nd, till it be undoubted, we do lock 
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates, 
Kings, of our fear; until our fears, resolv'd. 
Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 

Bast. By heaven, these seroyles of Anglers flout 
you, kings; 
And stand securely on their battlements. 
As in a theatre, whence the.v gape and point 
At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
Your royal presences be rul'd by me; 
Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, 
Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend 
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: 
By east and west let France and England mount 
Their battering cannon charged to the mouths; 
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down 
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city; 
I 'd play incessantly upon these jades, 
Even till unfenced desolation 
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. 
That done, dissever your united strengths. 
And part your mingled colours once again; 
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point: 
Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth 
Out of one side her happy minion; 
To whom in favour she shall give the day. 
And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states? 
Smacks it not something of the policy? 

K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our 
heads, 
I like it well;— France, shall we knit our powers. 
And lay this Anglers even with the ground; 
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it? 

Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king. 
Being wrong'd, as wg are, by this peevish town, 
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery. 
As we will ours, against these saucy walls; 
And when chat we have dash'd them to the ground. 
Why, then defy each other, and, pell-mell. 
Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. 

K. Phi. L"t it be so:— Say, where will you assault? 

K. John. We from the west will send destruction 
Into this city's bosom. 

Aitst. I from the north. 

K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, 

Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 

Bast. O prudent discipline I From north to south; 
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth: 

[Aside. 
I '11 stir them to it:— Come, away, away ! 

Hubert. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while to 
stay. 
And I shall show you peace, and fair faced league; 
Win you this city without stroke or wound; 
Re.scue those breathing lives to die in beds, 
That here come sacrifices for the field: 
Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. 

K. John. Speak on, with favour; we are bent to 
hear. 

Hubert. That daughter there of Spain, the lady 
Blanch, 
Is near to England; Look upon the years 
Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid: 
If lusty love should go In quest of beauty. 
Where should he find It fairer than in Blanch? 
If zealous love should go in search of virtue. 
Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? 
If love ambitious sought a match of birth. 
Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch? 
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
Is the young Dauphin every way complete; 
If not complete of, say, he is not she; 
And she again wants nothing, to name want, 
It want it be not, that she Is not he: 
He Is the half part of a blessed man. 
Left to be finished by such a she; 
.\nd she a fair divided excellence. 
Whose fubiess of perfection lies in him. 
O, two such silver currents, when they join. 
Do glorify the banks that bound them in: 
And two such shores to two such streams made one. 
Two such controlling bounds shall j'ou be, kings. 
To these two princes, if you marry them. 
This union shall do more than battery can. 
To our fast-closed gat«s; for. at this match. 
With swifter spleen than powder can enforce. 
The mouth of passage shall we filng wide ope. 
And give you entrance; but. without this match. 
The sea enraged Is not half so deaf. 
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
More free from motion, no, not death himself 
In mortal fury half so peremptory. 
As we to keep this clty._ 

3ast. iiCre "^ a sta.v. 



That shakes the rotten carcase of old death 
Out of his rags ! Here 's a large mouth, indeed. 
That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and 

seas; 
Talks as familiarly of roaring lions. 
As maids of thirteen do of puppy -dogs ! 
What cannoneer begot this lust.v blood? 
He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and 

bounce; 
He gives the bastinado with his tongue; 
Our ears are cudgel'd; not a word of his. 
But buffets better than a fist of France: 
Zounds I I was never so bethump'd with words, 
Since I first cali'd my brother's father, dad. 

A'((. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match; 
Give with our niece a dowry large enough: 
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown. 
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
The bloom that promisetli a mighty fruit. 
I see a yielding in tlie looks of France; 
Mark, how they whisper: urge them, while their 

souls 
Are capable of this ambition; 
Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath 
Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, 
Cool and congeal again to what it was. 

Hubert. Why answer not the double majesties 
This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town? 

K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for- 
ward first 
To speak unto this city: What sa.v you? 

K. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely 
son. 
Can in this book of beauty read, I love, 
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen 
For Anjou, and fair Touraine. Maine, Poictlers, 
And all that we upon this side the sea 
(E.xcept this city now by us besieg'd,) 
Find liable to our crown and dignity, 
Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich 
In titles, honours, and promotions. 
As she in beauty, education, blood, 
Holds hand with any princess of the world. 

K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy? look in the lady's 
face. 

Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find 
A wonder, or a wondrous miracle, \ 
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye; 
Which, being 'out the .shadow of your son. 
Becomes a sun. and makes your son a shadow: 
I do protest, I never lov'd myself, 
Till now infixed I beheld myself. 
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. 

[Whisper.'! withBlanch. 

Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye !— 
Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow I— 
And quarter'd in her heart !— he doth espy 

Himself love's traitor This is pity now. 
That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there 

should be. 
In such a love, so vile a lout as he. 

Blanch. My uncle's will. In this respect, is mine. 
If he see aught in you, that makes him like. 
That anything he sees, which moves his liking, 
I can with ease translate it to my will; 
Or, if you will, to speak more properly 
I will enforce it easily to my love. 
Further I will not flatter you, my lord. 
That all I see in you is worthy love, 
Tnan this,— that nothing do I see in you. 
Though churlish thoughts themselves should be 

your ludge, 
That I can find should merit any hate. 

K. John. What say these young ones? What say 
you, my niece? 

Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do 
What you in wisdom still vouchsafe to say. 

K, John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you 
love this lady? 

Lew. Nay, ask me if lean refrain from love: 
For I do love her most unfeignedly. 

K. John. Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, 
Maine, 
Poictlers, and Anjou, these five provinces. 
With her to thee; and this addition more. 
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin, 
Philip of France, If thou be pleas'd withal. 
Command thy son and daughter to join hands. 

K. Phi. It likes us well. Young princes, close your 
hands. 

Atist. And your lips too; for, I am well assur'd, 
That I did so, when I was first assur'd. 

K. Phi. Now. citizens of Anglers, ope your gates. 
Let in that amitj' which you have made; 
For at saint Mary's chapel, presently. 
The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. 
Is not the Lady Constance in this troop? 
I know, she is hot; tor this match, made up. 
Her presence would have Inten-upted much: 
Where Is she and her son? tell me, who knows. 

Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness' 
tent. 

K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have 
made. 
Will give her sadness verj' little cure. 
Brother of England, ho%v may we content 
This widow lady? In her right we came; 
Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way. 
To our own vantage. 

K. John. We will heal up all. 

For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, 
And earl of Richmond;— and this rich fair town 
We make him lord of.— Call the lady Constance; 
Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
To our solemnity: I trust we shall. 
If not fill up the measure of her will. 
Yet in some measure sarisfy her so. 
That we shall stop her exclamation. 
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, 
To this unlook'd-for. unprepared pomp. 

[Exeunt nil hut the Bastard.— IVie Citizens 
retire from the ivalls. 

Bast. Mad world! mad kings! mad composition! 
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, 
Hath willingly departed with a part: 
And France, whose armour conscience buckled on. 
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field. 
As God's own .soldier, rounded in the ear 
With that same purpose changer, that sly devil; 
That broker that still breaks the pate of faith; 
That daily break-vow; he that wins of all, 
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids;— 
■^ho having no external thing to lose 



1 But the word maid, cheats the poor maid of that; 
That smooth faced gentleman, tickling commodity; 
Commodity, the bias of the world; 
The world, who of Itself is peised well, 
-Made to run even; upon even ground; 
Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias. 
This sway of motion, this commodity, 
Jlakes it take head from all ludilterency. 
From all direction, purpose, course, intent: 
I And tills same bias, this commodity, 
j This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
; Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 
Hath drawn him from his own determiu'd aid. 
From a resolv'd and honourable war. 
To a most base and vile-concluded peace. — 
And why rail I on this commoditv? 
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: 
Not that I have the power to clutch my hand. 
When his fair angels would salute my palm: 
But, for my hand, as unattempted vet. 
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
Well, whiles 1 am a beggar, I will rail. 
And say,— there is no sin but to l^e rich; 
And being rich, my virtue then shall be. 
To say,— there is no vice but beggary: 
Since kings break faith upon commodity. 
Gain, be my lord! for I will worship thee! 



[Exit. 



ACT IIL 



Scene 1.— 77ie same. The French King's tent. 
Enter Constance, Arthur and Salisbury. 

Const. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace! 
False blood to false blood join'd' Gone to be friends! 
Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those pro- 
vinces? 
It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard; 
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again: 
It cannot be; thou dost but .say, 't is so: 
I trust I may not trust thee; for thy word 
Is but the vain breath of a common man ; 
Believe me. 1 do not believe thee, man ; 
I have a king's oath to the contrarv. 
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me. 
For I am sick, and capable of fears ; 
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ; 
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears . 
A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
And though thou now confess thou didst but jest 
With my vex'd spirits, I cannot take a truce, 
But they will quake and tremble all this dav. 
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? 
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ? 
What means that hand upon that breast of thine? 
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum. 
Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds'^ 
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy wonls? 
Then speak again; not all thy former tale. 
But this one word, whether thy tale he true. 

Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false. 
That give you cause to prove my saying true. 

Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow. 
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die ; 
And let belief and life encounter so. 
As doth the furj' of two desperate men. 
Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die.— 
Lewis marry Blanch ' O, boy, then where art thou? 
France friend with England ! what becomes of 

me?- 
Fellow, be gone : I cannot brook thy sight ; 
This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 

Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done. 
But spoke the harm that is by others done? 

Const. Which harm within itself so heinous Is, 
As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 

Arth. I do beseech .vou, madam, be content. 

Const. If thou, that bidd'st me be content, wert 
grim. 
Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb. 
Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains. 
Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious, 
Patch'd with foul moles and eye-offending marks, 
I would not care, I then would be content ; 
For then I should not love thee; no, nor thou 
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy. 
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
Of Nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast. 
And with the half -blown rose : but fortune, O ! 
She is corrupted, chang'd and won from thee; 
She adulterates hourly with thy uncle John; 
And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France, 
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. 
And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
Fiance is a bawd to fortune, and king John; 
That strumpet fortune, that usurping John : — , 
Tell nie, thou fellow, is not France forsworn? 
Envenom him with words; or eet thee gone. 
And leave tho.se woes alone, which I alone 
Am bound to under-bear. 

Sal. Pardon me, madam, 

I may not go without you to the kings. 

Const. Thou mayst, thou shalt, I will not go with 
thee ; 
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud : 
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop. 
To me, and to the state of m.v great grief. 
Let kings assemble; for mj- grief's so great 
That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; 
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 

[She throws herself on the ground. 

Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis. Blanch. 
Elinor, the Bastard, Austria, and Attendants. 

K. Phi. 'T is true, fair daughter; and this blessed 
day 
Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
To solemnize this daj', the glorious sun 
Stavs in his course, and plays the alchymist; 
Turning, with splendour of his precious eve, 
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold: 
The yearly course that brings this day about 
Shall never .see it but a holyday. 

Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — 

[Rising. 
What hath this day dcserv'd? what hath it done, 
That it in golden letters should be set. 
Among the high tides, in the kalendar? 
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week; 
This dav of shame, oppression, perjurj-: 
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child 
Prav. that their burdens may not fall this day. 
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd: 



Scene i.l 



KING JOHN. 



But on this day, let seamen tear no wrack; 
No bargains break, that are not this day made: 
This day, all things begun come to ill end; 
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change! 

K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you snail have no cause 
To curse the fair proceedings of this day. 
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? 

Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit. 
Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd, and 

tried, 
Proves valueless: You are forsworn, forsworn; 
Y^ou came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood. 
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours: 
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war 
Is cold. In amity and painted peace, 
And our oppression hath made up this league:— 
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings! 
A widow ciies; be husband to me, heavens! 
Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
Wear out the day in peace; but, ere sunset, 
Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings! 
Hear me, O, hear me! 

Aust. Lady Constance, peace. 

Const, War! war! no peace! peace is to me a war. 
O Lymoges! O Austria! tliou dost shame 
That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou 

coward; 
Thou little valiant, great in villainy! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side! 
Thou fortune's champion that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety! thou art perjur'd too. 
And sooth'st up greatness. What a tool art thou, 
A ramping tool; to brag, and stamp, and swear, 
Upon my party! Thou coldblooded slave. 
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? 
Been sworn my soldier? Bidding me depend 
Cpon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength? 
And dost thou now fall over to my foes? 
Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame. 
And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 

Aitst. O, that a man should speak those words to 
me! 

Bast. And hang a calf's-skln on those recreant 
limbs. 

Aiist. Thou d.ar'.st not sny so, villain, for thy life. 

Bast. Aiul hung a call's-skin on those recreant 
limbs. 

K. John. We like not this; thou dost forget thy 
self. 

Enter Pandulph. 

K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. 

Panel. Hail, vou anointed deputies of heaven'— 
Totliee, King John, my holy errand is. 
I, Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, 
And from Pope Innocent the legate here. 
Do, in his name, religiously demand. 
Why thou against the church, our holy mother. 
So wilfully dost spurn; and, force perforce. 
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen arcnbishop 
Of Canterbury, from that holy see? 
This, in our 'foresaid holy father's name. 
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 

K. John. Wliat earthly name to interrogatories 
Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous. 
To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England, 
Add thus much more,— That no Italian priest 
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; 
But as we under heaven are supreme head. 
So, under him, that great supremacy. 
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold. 
Without the assistance of a mortal hand: 
So tell the pope; all reverence set apart. 
To him, and liisusurp'd authority. 

K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. 

K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Chris- 
tendom, 
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest. 
Dreading the curse that money may buy out; 
And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust. 
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man. 
Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself; 
Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led. 
This juggling witchcraft vplth revenue cherish; 
Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose 
Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. 

Pand. Then by the lawful power that I have. 
Thou Shalt stand curs'd, and excommunicate; 
And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt 
From his allegiance to an heretic; 
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd. 
Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, 
IThat takes away by any secret course 
Thv hateful life. 

Con.'it. O, lawful let it be. 

That I have room with Rome to curse awhile! 
Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen. 
To my keen curees: for, without my wrong. 
There Is no tongue hath power to curse liim right. 

Pand. There 's law and warrant, lady, for my 
curse. 

Const. And for mine too; when law can do no 
right. 
Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong; 
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here; 
For he that holds his kingdom holds the law: 
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong. 
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? 

Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, 
Let go the hand of that arch-heretic; 
And raise the power of France upon his head. 
Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 

Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go thy 
hand. 

Const. Look to that, devil! lest that France repent. 
And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. 

Anst. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 

Bast. And hang a calf's-skin on his recreant limbs. 

Anst. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these wrongs 
Because 

Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 

K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal? 

Const. What snould he say, but as the cardinal? 

Leio. Bethink you, father; for the difference 
Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
Or the light loss of England for a friend: 
Forego the easier. 

Blanch. That 's the curse of Rome. 

Const. O Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee 
here. 



In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. 

Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her 
faltli. 
But from her need. 

Const. O, ifthou grant my need. 

Which only lives but by the death of faith. 
That need must needs infer this principle,— 
That faith would live again by death of need; 
O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up; 
Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. 

K.John. The king is raov'd, and answers not to 
this. 

Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well. 

Aust. Do so, king Pliilip; liang no more in doubt. 

Bast. Hang notliing but a calf 'sskin, most sweet 
lout. 

K. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. 

Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee 
more. 
If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd? 

K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person 
yours. 
And tell me how j'ou would bestow yourself. 
This royal hand and mine are newly knit: 
And the conjunction of our inward souls 
Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
With all religious strength of sacred vows. 
The latest breath that gave the sound of words 
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love. 
Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves; 
And even before this truce, but new before,— 
No longer than we well could wash our hands. 
To clap this royal bargain up of peace,— 
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and over- 

stain'd 
With slaughter's pencil; where revenge did paint 
The fearful difference of incensed kings. 
And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood. 
So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, 
Un3'oke this seizure, and this kind regreet? 
Play fast and loose with faith? so jest with heaven. 
Make such uncoiistant children of ourselves. 
As now again to snatch our palm from palm; 
Unswear faith sworn; and on the marriage bed 
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host. 
And make a riot on the gentle brow 
Of true sincerity? O, holy sir. 
My reverend father, let it not be so- 
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
Some gentle order; and then we shall be bless'd 
To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 

Pand. All form is formless, order orderless. 
Save what is opposite to England's love. 
Therefore, to arms ! be champion of our church : 
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 
A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
J'rance. thou may 'st hold a serpent by the tongue, 
A chased lion by the mortal paw, 
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth. 
Than keep in peace tliat hand which thou dost hold. 

K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, btit not my faith. 

Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith ; 
And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath. 
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow 
First made to heaven, fli-st be to heaven perform 'd; 
That Is, to be the champion of our church ! 
What since thou swor'st is sworn against thyself. 
And may not be performed by thyself • 
For that which thou hast sworn to do amiss 
Is not amiss when it is truly done; 
And being not done, where doing tends to ill. 
The truth is then most done not doing it . 
The better act of purposes mistook 
Is, to mistake agam; though indirect. 
Yet indirection thereby grows direct. 
And falsehood falsehood cures; as Are cools fire. 
Within the scorch'd veins of one new burn'd. 
It is religion that doth make vows kept; 
But thou hast sworn against religion 
By what thou swear'st against the thing thou 

swear'st ; 
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth 
Against an oath ; The truth thou art unsure 
To swear, swears only not to be forsworn; 
Else, what a mockery should it be to swear? 
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; 
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. 
Therefore, thy later vows, against thy first. 
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself . 
And better conquest never canst thou make. 
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
Against these giddy loose suggestions: 
Upon which better part our prayers come in. 
If thou vouchsafe them: but, if not, then know. 
The peril of our curses light on tliee 
So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, 
But, in despair, die under their black weight. 

Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! 

Bast. Will 't not be? 

Will not a calf's-skln stop that mouth of thine? 

Leiv. Father, to arms ! 

Blanch. Upon thy wedding-day? 

Against the blood that thou has married? 
What, shall otir feast be kept with slaughter'd men? 
Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums. 
Clamours of hell, be measures to our pomp ! 
O husband, hear me '—ah, alack, how new 
Is husband In my mouth!— even for that name. 
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce. 
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 
Against mine uncle. 

Const. O, upon my knee. 

Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee. 
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
Fore-thought by heaven. 

Blanch. Now shall I see thy love. What motive 
may 
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife? 

Const. That which upholdeth him that thee up- 
holds. 
His honour : O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour ! 

Lew. I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold. 
When such profound respects do pull you on. 

Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 

K. Phi. Thou Shalt not need:— England, I will fall 

from thee. 
Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty! 

JCli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy! 

K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within 

this hour. 
Bast. Old time the clock-setter, that bald sexton 
time. 
Is It as he will? well then, France shall rue. 



Blanch. The sun 's o'ercast with blood ; Fair day. 
adieu! 
Which is the side that I must go withal? 
I am with both: each army hath a hand; 
And, in their rage, I having hold of both. 
They whirl asunder, and dismember me. 
Husbanu, I cannot pray that thou may'st win; 
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose; 
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine; 
Grandame, I will not wisli thy wishes thrive: 
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose; 
Assured loss, before tlie match be play'd. 
Leiv. Ijady, with me; with me thy fortune lies. 
Blancli. There where my fortune lives, there my 

life dies. 
K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance together.— 

[Exit Bastard. 
France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath; 
A rage whose heat hath this condition. 
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood. 
The blood, and dearest-valued blood, of France. 
K. Plii. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou shalt 
turn 
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that flre: 
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 
K. John. No more than he that threats.— To arms 
let 's hie! {Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— The same. Plains near Anglers. 

Alarums; Excursions. Enter the Bastard, 
with Austria's head. 
Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous 
hot; 
Some airy devil hovers in the sky. 
And pours down mischief. Austria's head. He 

there; 
While Philip breathes. 

Enter King John, Arthur, and Hubert. 
K. John. Hubert, keep this boy:— Philip, make up: 
My mother is assailed in our tent. 
And ta'en, I fear. 

Bast. My lord, I rescued her; 

Her highness is in safety, fear you not; 
But on, my liege; for very little pains 
Will bring this labour to a happy end. \Exeunt. 

Scene 111.— The same. 

Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Enter King John, 

Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords. 

K. John. So shall it be; your grace shall stay be- 
hind, I To Elinor. 
So strongly guarded.— Cousin, look not sad: 

[To Arthur. 
Thy grandame loves thee: and thy uncle will 
As dear be to thee as thy father was. 

Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief. 

K. John. Cousin, [to the Bastard] away for Eng- 
land; haste before , 
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
Of hoarding abbots; Imprison'd angels 
Set thou at liberty; the fat ribs of peace 
Must by the hungry now be fed upon; 
Use our commission in his utmost force. 

Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me 
back. 
When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
I leave your highness:— Grandame, I will rray 
(If ever I remember to be holy,) ■ 

For your fair safety; so I kiss your hand. 

Eli. Farewell, gentle cousin. 

K. John. Coz. farewell. | E.v. Bast. 

Eli. Come hither, little kinsman; hark, a word. 

[She takes Arthur aside. 

K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hu- 
bert, 
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh 
There is a soul counts thee her creditor, 
And with advantage means to pay thy love: 
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say,— 
But I win fit it with some better tune. 
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd 
To say what good respect I have of thee. 

Hnf). 1 am much bounden to your majesty. 

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so 
yet- 
But thou Shalt have: and creep time ne'er so slow. 
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. 
I had a thing to say,— But let it go: 
The sun is in the heaven, and the proud daj'. 
Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
Is all too wanton and too full of gawds. 
To give me audience:— If the midnight bell 
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
Sound on into the drowsy race of night; 
If this same were a church-yard where ive stand. 
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; 
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy. 
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick, 
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins. 
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes. 
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
A passion hateful to my purposes;) 
Or if that thou could'st see rae without eyes. 
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
Without a tongue, using conceit alone. 
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words; 
Then, In despite of brooded, watchful day, 
I would unto thy bosom pour my thoughts- 
But ah, I will not:— Y'et I love thee well: 
And. by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well. 

Hnh.' So well, that what you bid me undertake. 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act. 
By heaven, I would do it. 

K. John. Do not I know thou would 'st'^ 

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
On yon young boy I '11 tell thee what, my friend. 
He is a very serpent in my way; 
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread 
He lies before me: Dost thou understand me? 
Thou art his keeper. 

Hub. And I '11 keep him so. 

That he shall not offend your majesty. 

K. John. Death. 
] Hub. My lord? 

1 K. .John. A grave. 
1 Hub. He shall not live. 

1 K. John. Enough. 

I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee. 
; Well. I 'II not say what I intend for thee: 
I Remember. Madam, fare you wd!. 



118 



KINO JOHN. 



\,j\C1 IV. 



I 'II send those powers o'er to your majesty. 

KU. My hlrssliij; ro with thee ! 

K. John. lAir EiiKliinU, cousin, gO'. 
Hubert shall lie viiur man, attend on you 
With all true duty. -On toward Calais, ho ! {Exeunt. 

SCKNK W. — The same. The French King's Tent. 

Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and 
Attendants. 

K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
A whole arinailoHof eonvleted sail 
Is soalti'i-'d aiul dls.loin'd from fellowship. 

Paiiil. (\>m-ak'e and eoiiil'ort ! all shall yet go well. 

K. rill. What can go well, when we have run so 111? 
Are wi' not beaten? Is not Anglers lost? 
Artlini- tain prisoner? divers dear friends slain? 
And bloody England Into England gone, 
O'erbenrlng interruption, spite of France? 

Lew. What he hath won that hath he fortified: 
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd. 
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause. 
Doth want example: Who hath read, or heard. 
Of anv kindred action like to this? 

K. Plii. Well could I bear that England had this 
praise. 
So we could find some pattern of our shame. 

Enter Constance. 
Look, who comes here ! a grave imto a soul; 
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, 
In the vile prison of afflicted breath:— 
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 

Const. Lo, now ! now see the Issue of your peace ! 

K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! oomfort, gentle Con- 
stance ' 

Const. No, I defy all counsel, all redress 
But that which ends all counsel, true redress. 
Death, death, O amiable lovely death ! 
Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
Arise torth from the couch of lasting night, 
Tliou hate and terror to prosperity. 
And I will kiss thy detestable bones; 
And put my eyeballs in thy vanity brows; 
And ring these fingers with thy household worms; 
And stop this gap of breath with fidsomo dust. 
And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
Come, grin on me; and I will think thou smll'st, 
And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery 's love, 
O, come to me! 

K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace! 

Const. No, no, I will not, havinij breath to cry:— 
O, that my tongue were In the thunder's mouth! 
Then with a passion would I shake the world; 
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, 
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice. 
Which scorns a modern Invocation. 

Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. 

Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so; 
I am not mad: this hair I tear is mine; 
.My name Is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; 
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: 
I am not mad;— I would to heaven, I were! 
For then 't Is like I should forget myself: 
O, If I could, what grief should I forget!— 
Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
-And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal; 
For, being not mad but sensible of grief, 
My reasonahje part produces reason 
How I may be deliver'd of these woes. 
And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
If I were mad, I should forget my son; 
Or madly think a babe of clouts were lie: 
I am not mad; too well, too well I feel 
The different plague of each calamity. 

K. Phi. Bina up those tresses: O, what love I note 
In the fair multitude of those lier hairs! 
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen. 
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends 
Do glue themselves In sociable grief; 
Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, 
Sticking together in calamity. 

Const. To England, If you will. 

K. Phi. Bind up your hairs. 

Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will I doit? 
[ tore them fi-om their bonds; and cried aloud, 

that these hands could so redeem my son, 
As they have given these hairs their liberty! 
But now I even envy at their liberty, 

And will again commit them to their bonds 

Because my poor child is a prisoner. 

And, father cardinal, I have heard you say. 

That we shall see and know our friends In heaven; 

If that be true, 1 sliall see my boy again; 

For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child. 

To him that did but yesterday suspire. 

There was not such a gracious creature born. 

But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. 

And chase the native beauty from his clieek, 

And he will look as hollow as a ghost: 

As dim and meagre as an ague's-fit- 

And so he '11 die; and, rising so again. 

When I shall meet him In the court of heaven 

1 shall not know him: tlierefore never, never 
Must I behold my pretty .\rthur more. 

Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 

Coast. He talks to me that never nad a son. 

K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. 

Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me. 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words. 
Remembers me of all his graclims parts. 
Stuffs out his vacant garments witli liis form; 
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. 
Fare vou well: had you sucli a loss as I, 
I could give better comfort than vou ilo.— 
I win not keep this form upon my licail, 

[Tcariiiii offlicr head-dress. 
When there Is such disorder in my "it. 
O lord I my boy, my Artlnir, my fair son ! 
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! [Exit. 

K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I '11 follow her. 

[Exit. 

Lew. There 's nothing In this world can make me 
doy: 
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale. 
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man; 
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's 

taste. 
That it yields naught but shame and bitterness. 

Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease. 
Even in the instant of repair and health, 
The fit is strongest; evils, that take leave. 



On their departure most of all show evil: 
Whal liave you lost by losing of this day? 

/.('»'. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 

I'iiHil. ir you liad won it, certainly, you liiid. 
No, no: wlien fortune means to nu'u niost good. 
She looks upon tlicm witli u tlireaiening eye. 
'T is strauKe to tiiink liow nuuli king John hath lost 
In this which he accounts so cleaily won: 
Are you not gricv'd that Arthur is Ids prisoner? 

Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hatii him. 

Pand. Your mliul Is all as youthful as vour blood. 
Now hear me speak, with a prophetic spirit; 
For even the breath of what I mean to speak 
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub. 
Out of the path which shall directly lead 
Thy foot to England's throne; and, therefore, mark. 
John hath selz'd Arthur; and it cannot be 
That, whiles warm life plays In that infant's veins, 
The misplac'd Jolm should entertain an hour, 
One ndnute, nay, one quiet breath of rest: 
A sceptre, snatch'd with an unruly hand. 
Must be as boisterously malntain'd as gain'd: 
An<l he that stands upon a slippery place 
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up: 
That John may stand then Arthur needs must fall; 
So be it, for it cannot be but so. 

Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's fall? 

Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch your wife, 
May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 

Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 

Pand. How green you are, and fresh in this old 
world! 
John lays you plots; the times conspire with you: 
For he that steeps his safety in true blood 
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. 
This act, so evilly borne, shall cool the hearts 
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal. 
That none so small advantage shall step forth 
To check his reign, but tliey will cherisn It; 
No natural exhalation In the slcy. 
No scope of nature, no distemper'd day, 
No common wind, no cust<mied event. 
But they will pluck away his natural cause. 
And call tliem meteors, prodigies, and signs, 
Abortives, presages, anci tongues of lieaven, 
Plainly denouncing vengeance up<m John. 

Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's 
life, 1 

But hold himself safe in his prisonment. 

Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach. 
If that young Arthur be not gone already. 
Even at that news he dies: and then the hearts 
Of all his people shall revolt from him, 
And kiss tlie lips of tniacquainted change; 
And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath, 
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of Jolm. 
Methinks, I see this hurly ail on foot; 
And, O, what better matter breeds for you. 
Than I have nam'd!— The bastard Faulconliridge 
Is now in England, ransacking the church. 
Offending charity: If but a dozen French 
Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
To train ten tliousand Englisli to their side; 
Or, as a little snow tumbled about. 
Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, 
Go with me to the king: 'T Is wonderful, 
What may be wrought out of their discontent. 
Now that their souls are topfull of offence. 
For England go; I will whet on the king. 
Lew. Strong reasons make strange actions: Let us 
go; 
If you say ay the king will not say no. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I.— Northampton. A Room in the Castle. 

Enter Hubert and two .attendants. 

Hub. Heat me these Irons hot; and, look thou 
stand 
Within the arras: when I strike my foot 
Upon tlie bosom of the ground, rush forth. 
And bind the boy, which you sliall find witli me. 
Fast to the chair: be heediul: lience, and watch. 

1 Attend. 1 hope your wanuut will bear out the 
deed. 

Hub. Lncleanly scruples! Fear not you; look to 
't.— [Exeunt Attendants. 

Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. 
Enter Arthur. 

Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more prince,) as may be.— You are sad. 

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me ! 

Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : 
Yet, I remember, when I was In France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night. 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
I should be as merry as the day is long; 
And so I would l)e here, but that I doubt 
My tmcle practises more harm to me : 
He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
Is It my fault that I was Geffrey's son? 
No, indeed. Is 't not : And I would to heaven 
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to hl"m, witli ids innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. [Aside. 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale today : 
In sootli. I would vou were a little side ; 
That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
I warrant I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.— 
Read here, young Arthur. [Shewing a paper. 

How now, foolish rheum, [Aside. 
Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
I must be brief; lest resolution drop 
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 
Can vou not read it? is it not fjilr writ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
Must you with hot Irons burn out botii mine eyes? 

Hub. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will you? 

Hub. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did 
but ake, 
I knit my handkercher about your brows, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought It me,) 
And I did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour. 



Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 

Saying, What lack you'' and, Wliere lies your grief? 

Or, \\ hat good love may I perform for you-' 

Many a poor man's son would have laiii still. 

And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 

Hut you at your sick service had a prince. 

Nay, you may think my love was crafty love. 

And call it, cunning; do, an if you will : 

If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me 111, 

Why, then you nmst.— Will you put out mine eyes' 

These eyes, that never did, nor never shall. 

So much as frown on you? 

Huh. I have sworn to do it ; 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do It ! 
The Iron of itself, thouuh lieat red-iiot. 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears. 
And quench his fiery indlgiuition. 
Even In the matter of mine innocence; 
Nay, after tliat, consume away In rust. 
But for containingflre to harm' mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hanimer'd Iron? 
An If an angel should iiave come tome. 
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believ'd him. No tongue but 
Hubert's— 

Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 

Reenter Attendants, tcith Cords, Irons, <S:c. 
Do as I bid you. 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! mveyes are 
out. 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Huh. Give me the Iron, I say, and bind him here. 

Arth. Alas, what need you be so bolst'rous- 
rough? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven sake, Hubert, let me not bo bound ! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
And I win sit as quiet as a lamb; 
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
Nor look upon the iron angerly : 
Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. 

1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a tleed. 
[Exeunt Attendants 

Arth. Alas! I then have chid away my friend; 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart:— 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. O heaven!— that there were but a mote 111 
yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair. 
Any annoyance in tliat precious sense! 
Then, feeling what small things are bolst'rous there. 
Your vile intent i^uist needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is this your prondse? go to, hold your tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes: 
Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 
So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes; 
Though to no use, but still to look on you! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
And would not harm me. 

Ht/b. I can heat It, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth;, the flre is dead with 
grief. 
Being create for comfort, to be us'd 
In imdeserv'd extremes: See else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal; 
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out. 
And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush. 
And glow witii shame of your proceedings, Hubert: 
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes; 
And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight. 
Snatch at his master that dotii tarre him on. 
All things that you should use to do me wrong 
Deny their office: only you do lack 
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends. 
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes: 
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy. 
With this same very iron to burn tnem out. 

Artli. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while 
You werediguised. 

Hub. Peace, no more. Adieu; 

Your uncle must not know but you are dead: 
I '11 fill tliese dogged spies witli false reports. 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, , 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. 
Will not offend thee. 
Artli. O heaven!— I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence; no-more: Go closely In with me. 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— The same. A Room of State in the 

Palace. 

Enter King John, crowned; Pembroke, Salisbury, 

and oWier Lords. The King takes his State. 

K. John. Here once again we sit, once again 
crown'd. 
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 

Pern. This once again, but that your highness 
pleas'd. 
Was once superfluous: you were crown'd before. 
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off; 
The faith of men n<!'er stained with revolt; 
Fresh expectation troubled not the land. 
With any long'd tor change, or better state. 

Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp. 
To guard a title that was rich before. 
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
To tlirow a perfume on the violet. 
To smooth tlie ice, or add another hue 
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
To seek ilic l)c'auteous eyeof heaven to garnish, 
Is wastcl'ul, and ridiculous excess. 

Pern. But tiiat your royal pleasure must be done, 
Thisact is an ancient tale new told; 
And, In the last repeating, troublesome. 
Being urged at a time unseasonable. 

Sal, In this, the antique and well-noted face 
Of plain old form is nuioli disfigured; 
Ancl, like a sliiftcd wind unto a sail. 
It makes the course of tlioughts to fetch about; 
Startles and frights consideration; 



Scene ii.] 



KING JOHN. 



119 



Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected. 
For putting on so new u rashlon'd robe. 

Pern. When workmen strive to do better than well, 
They do confound their skill In covetousness. 
And, oftentimes, excusing of ii fault 
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse; 
As patches, set upon a little breach, 
Discredit more In hiding of the fault. 
Than did the fault before It was so patch'd. 

Sal. To this effect, before you were new-crown'd. 
We breath'd our counsel; but It pleas'd your hlgh- 

jiess 
To overbear it; and we are all well pleas'd. 
Since all and every part of what we would. 
Doth make a stand at what your highness will. 

K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation 
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong; 
And more, more strong (when lesser Is my fear,) 
I shall Indue you with: Meantime, but ask 
What you would have rpforin'd that is not well. 
And well shall you nerci-lve how willingly 
I will both hear and grant you your "requests. 

Pern. Then I, (as one that ar.i the tongue of these. 
To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) 
Both for myself and them, (but chief of all. 
Your safety, for the which myself and them 
Bend their best studies,) heartily request 
Th' enfranchisement of Arthur; whose restraint 
Doth move the murnmrlng lips of discontent 
To break into this dangerous argument,— 
If, what in rest you have In right you hold. 
Why then, your fears, (which, as they say, attend 
The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up 
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
The rich advantage of good exercise? 
That the time's enemies may not have this 
To grace occasions, let It be onr suit. 
That you have bid us ask his liberty; 
Which for our goods we do no further ask. 
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending. 
Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. 

K. John. Let it be so; I do commit his youth 
Enter Hubert. 
To your direction.— Hubert, what news with you? 

Pern. This Is the man shoulil do the bloody deed; 
He .show'd his warrant to a friend of mine: 
The Image of a wicked heinous fault 
Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his 
Does show the mood of a much troubled breast; 
And I do fearfully believe, 't is done 
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 

Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go. 
Between his purpo.se and his conscience. 
Like heralds "twlxt two dreadful battles set: 
His passion Is so ripe it needs must break. 

Pern. And, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence, 
Tlie foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 

K. John. VVe cannot hold mortality's strong 
hand:— 
Good lords, although my will to give Is living. 
The suit which you demand is gone and dead: 
He tells us, Arthur Is deceas'd to-night. 

Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sickness was past cure. 

Pern. Indeed we heard how near his death he 
was. 
Before the child himself felt he was sick: 
This must beanswer'd, either here, or hence. 

K. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on 
me? 
Think you I bear the shears of destiny? 
Have I commandment on the pulse of life? 

Sal. It is apparent foul-play: and 't Is shame 
That greatness should so grossly offer it: 
So thrive It In your game! and so farewell. 

Pern. Stay yet, lord Salisbury; I '11 go with thee, 
And find the Inheritance of this poor child. 
His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle. 
Three foot of it doth hold. Bad world the while! 
This must not be thiis borne: this will break out 
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. 

[/ixeifnt Lords. 

K. John. They burn in Indignation. I repent. 
There Is no sure foundation set on blood; 
No certain life achlev'd by others' death. 

Enter a Messenger. 
A fearful eye thou hast. Where Is that blood. 
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks? 
So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 
Pour down thy weather :— How goes all In France? 

Mess. From France to England.— Never such a 
power 
For any foreign preparation, 
' Was levied In the body of a land I 
The copy of your speed is iearn'd by them ; 
For, when you should be told they do prepare, 
The tidings come, that they are all arriv'tl. 

K. John. O, where hath our Intelligence been 
drunk? 
Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care? 
That such an army could be drawn in France, 
And she not hear of it? 

Mess. My liege, her ear 

Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died 
Your noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord, 
The lady Constance in a frenzy died 
Three days before : i>ut this from rumour's tongue 
I Idly heard; if true, or false, I know not. 

K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ! 
O, make a league with me, till t have pleas'd 
My discontented peers !— What ! mother dead? 
How wildly then walks my estate in France !— 
Under whose conduct came those powers of France, 
That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here? 

3Iess. Under the Dauphin. 

Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret. 

K. John. Thou hast made me giddy 

With these ill tidings.— Now, what .says the world 
To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff 
My head with more ill news, for it Is full. 

Ba.'it. But, if you be afeard to hear the worst. 
Then let the worst, unheard, fail on your head. 

K. John. Bear wltli me, cousin; for I was amaz'd 
Under the tide : but now I breathe again 
Aloft the flood; and can give audience 
To any tongue, speak it of what It will. 

Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen. 
The sums I have coliectefl shall express. 
But, as I travelled hither through tne land, 
I find the people strangely funtasled; 
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams; 



Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear . 

And here '» a prophet, that I brought with me 

From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 

With many hundre'ls treading on his heels; 

To whom lie sung, in ludi' hai-sli sounding rhymes. 

That, Cl-e the m-xi .A^ci-nsioti-day al noon. 

Your highness shotild ij'-jivcj- up \-o\ir crtjwn. 

K.Johii. Thou idle dre.imer, wherefore didst thou 
so? 

Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. 

K. John. Hubert, away with him; imprison him; 
And ou that day at noon, whereon, he .says, 
I shall yield up my crown, let him be haug'd : 
Deliver hlr)i to safety, aiui return. 
For I must use thee.— O my gentle cousin, 

[Ki-it Hubert, vrlth Peter. 
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? 

Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are full 
of It: 
Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, 
(With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,) 
And others more, going to seek the grave 
Of Arthur, who, they sa.y, is kili'd to-night 
Onyour suggestion. 

K. John. Gentle kinsman, go. 

And thrust thyself into their companies : 
I have a way to win their loves again; 
Bring them before me. 

Bast. I will seek them out. 

K. John. Nay, but make haste ; the better foot 
before. 
O, let mo iiave no subject enemies, 
Wlien adverse foreigners affright my towns 
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! 
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels; 
And fly, like thought, from them to me again. 

Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 

(Exit. 

K. John. Spoke like a sprltefnl noble gentleman. 
Go after him; for he, perhaps, shall need 
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers; 
And be thou he. 

Mess. With all my heart, my liege. [Exit. 

K. John. Tily mother dead ' 

Reenter Hubert. 

Hub. My lord, they sas', five moons were seen to- 
night: 
Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about 
The other four, in wondrous motion. 

K. John. Five moons? , 

Hub. Old men, and beldams, In the streets 

Do prophesy upon it dangerously: 
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths: 
And when they talk of him, they shalie their heads. 
And whisper one another In the ear; 
And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist; 
Whilst he that hears makes fearful action. 
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with roiling eyes. 
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus. 
The whilst his Iron did on the anvil cool. 
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news; 
Who, with his shears and measure In his hand. 
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
That were emhatteied and rank'd In Kent: 
Another lean unwash'd artificer 
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 

K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these 
fears? 
Why urgest thou so oft yoimg Arthur's death? 
Thy hand hath murder'd him: I had a mighty cause 
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 

Hub. None had. my lord ' why, did you not pro- 
voke me? 

K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended 
By slaves that take their humours for a warrant 
To break within the bloody house of life; 
And, on the winking of authority. 
To imderstand a law; to know the meaning 
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
More upon humour than advls'd respect. 

Hub. Here is your hand and .seal for what I did. 

K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven 
and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
Witness against us to damnation ! 
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
Makes ill deeds done ! Hadst thou not been by, 
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd. 
Quoted, and slgn'd, to do a deed of shame, 
'This murder had not come Into my mind: 
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect. 
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy. 
Apt, liable, to be eraploy'd in danger, 
I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; 
And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

Huh. My lord,— 

K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made 
a pause. 
When I spake darkly what I purposed. 
Or tum'd an eye of doubt upon my face. 
As bid me tell my tale In express words. 
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me brsak 

off. 
And those thy fears might have wrought fears In me; 
But thou didst understand me by my signs. 
And didst in signs again parley with sin; 
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent. 
And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 
Thedeed, Which both our tongues held vile to name. 
Out of my sight, and never see me more ' 
My nobles leave me; and my state is brav'd. 
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers; 
Nay, in the body of this fieshly land, 
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, 
Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
Between my conscience and my cousin's death. 

Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
I '11 make a peace between your soul and you. 
Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine 
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand. 
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
Within this bosom never enter'd yet 
The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought; 
And you have siander'd nature in my form, 
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly. 
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 

K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the 
peers. 
Throw this report on their incensed rage. 



And make them tame to their obediencel 
Forgive the conmient that my passion made 
Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind. 
And foul imaglnarv eves of blood 
Presented thee more hideous tlian thou art. 

answer not; but to mv closet bring 
The angry lords, witli ail expedient haste: 

1 conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. [Exeunt. 

ScE.VE lll.—Tlie same. Before the Castle. 
Enter Arthur, on the Walls. 
Arth. The wall Is high: and yet w ill I leap down:— 
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not!— 
There 's few, or none, do know me; If they did. 
This ship boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. 
I am afraid; and yet I '11 venture It. 
If I get <lown, and do not break my limbs, 
I 'U find a thousand shifts to get away: 
As good to die and go, as die and stay. 

[Leaps down. 

me! my uncle's spirit is In these stones:— 
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones. 

[Dies. 
Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. 

Sal. Lords, I will meet him at saint Edmund's- 
Bury; 
It Is our safety, and we must embrace 
This gentle offer of the perilous time. 

Pent. Who brought that letter from the cardinal? 

Sal. The count Melun, a nobie lord of France; 
Whose private with me, of the Dauphin's love, 
Is much more general than these lines import. 

Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. 

Sal. Or rather then set forward: for 't will be 
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 
Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. Once more today well met, dlstemper'd 
lords! 
The king, by me, requests your presence straight. 

Sal. The king hath dispcssbss'd himself of us. 
We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot 
That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks: 
Return, and tell him so; we know the worst. 

Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, 
were best. 

Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. 

Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; 
Tiierefore, 't were reason you had manners now. 

Pern. Sir, sir. Impatience hath his privilege. 

Bast. 'T is true; to hurt his master, no man else. 

Sal. This is the prison: What is he lies here? 

[Seeing Arthur. 

Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely 
beauty! 
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 

Sal. Murther, as hating what himself hath done. 
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 

Big. Or, when he doom'd this beauty to a grave. 
Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 

Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? You have be- 
held. 
Or have you read, or heard? or could you think? 
Or do you almost think, although you see, 
That you do see? could thought, without this oljject. 
Form such another? This is the very top. 
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. 
Of murther's arms: this is the bloodiest shame. 
The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke. 
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage. 
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 

Pern. All murthers past do stand excus'd in this: 
And this so sole, and so unmatchable. 
Shall give a holiness, a purity. 
To the yet unbegotten sin of times; 
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 

iJosf. It Is a damned and a bloody work; 
The graceless action of a hea\'y hand, 
If that it be the work of any hand. 

Sal. If that it be the work of any hand?— 
We had a kind of light what would ensue 
It Is the shameful work of Hubert's hand; 
The practice, and the purpose, of the king:- 
From whose obedience I forbid my soul. 
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life 
And breathing to his breathless excellence 
The Incense or a vow, a holy vow. 
Never to taste the pleasures of the world. 
Never to be infected with delight. 
Nor conversant with ease and idleness. 
Till I have set a glory to this hand. 
By giving it the worship of revenge 

Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. 
Enter Hubert. 

Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste In seeking you: ■ 
Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. 

Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death:— 
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone' 

Hub. I am no villam. 

Sal. Must I rob the law? 

[Drawing his sword. 

Bast. Your sword Is bright, sir; put it up again. 

Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murtherer's skin. 

Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I 
say; 
By heaven, I think, my sword 's as sharp as yours: 
T would not; have you, lord, forget yourself. 
Nor tempt the danger of my true defence; 
Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 

Big. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a nobleman? 

Rub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend 
My Innocent life against an emperor. 

Sal. Thou art a murtherer. 

Huh. Do not prove me so; 

Y'et, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false. 
Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. 

Pern. (3ut him to pieces. 

Ba-st. Keep the peace, I say. 

Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you. Faulconbridge. 

Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury: 
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 

1 '11 strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betlme; 
Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron. 
That you shall think the devil Is come from hell. 

Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge': 
Second a villain and a murderer? 
Hxb. Lord Bigot, I am none. 
Big. Who kili'd this prince? 



130 



KING JOHN. 



LACT V. 



Hub. "I Is not an hour since I left him well: 
I honour'd him, I lov'd him, and will weep 
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss. 

Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes, 
For villainy is not witliout such rlieum; 
And he, long traded in It, makes it seem 
Like rivers of remorse and innocency. 
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor 
The uncleanly savours of a slaugliter-house; 
For I am stifled with this smell of sin. 

Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there! 

Fcm. There, tell the king, he may inqiiire us out. 

[Exeunt Lords. 

Bast. Here 's a good world!— Knew you of this fair 
work? 
Beyond the infinite and boundless .reach 
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death. 
Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 

Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 

Bast. Ha! I '11 tell thee what; 
Thou 'rt damn'd as black— nay, nothing is so black; 
Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer: 
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell 
As thou Shalt be. If mow. didst kill this child. 

Hull. Upon my soul,— 

Bast. If thou didst but consent 

To this most cruel act, do but despair. 
And, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
That ever spider twisted from her womb 
Will serve to strangle thee; a rush will be 
A beam to hang thee on; or would'st thou drown 

thyself. 
Put but a little water in a spoon. 
And it shall be, as all the ocean. 
Enough to stifle such a villain up.— 
I do suspect thee very grievously. 

Hub. It I in act, consent, or sin of thought. 
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
Whicli was embounded In this beauteous clay, 
Let hell want pains enough torture me! 
I left him well. 

Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms. — 

I am imaz'd, methinks; and lose my way 
.\mong the thorns and dangers of this world. — 
How easy dost thou take all England up ! 
From forth this morsel of dead royalty. 
The lite, the right, and truth of all this realm 
Is fled to heaven: and England now is left 
To tug and scramble, and to part by the teeth 
The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. 
Now, tor the bare-pick'd bone of majesty 
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest. 
And snarieth in the gentle eyes of peace: 
Now powers from home, and discontents at home, 
Meet In one line: and vast confusion waits. 
As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast, 
The imminent decay of wrested pomp. 
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can 
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child. 
And follow me with speed; I '11 to the king: 
A thousand businesses are brief in hand. 
And heaven itself doth frown upon the laud. 

\_Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene l.—Tlie same. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King John, Pandulph, with the Crown, and 
Attendants. 

K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
The circle of my glory. 

Band. Take again 

{Giving John the Crown. 
From this my hand, as holding of the pope, 
Your sovereign greatness and authority. 

K. John. Now keep your holy word: go meet the 
French: 
And from his holiness use all your power 
To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd. 
Our discontented counties do revolt; 
Our people quarrel with obedience; 
Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, 
To stranger blood, to foreign I'oyalty. 
This inundation of mistemper'd humour 
Rests by you only to be qualified. 
Then pause not; for the present time 's so sick, 
That present medicine must be minister'd. 
Or overthrow incurable ensues. 

Band. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, 
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope: 
But, since you are a gentle convertite. 
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war. 
And make fair weather In your blustering land. 
On this Ascension-day, remember well. 
Upon your oath of service to the pope. 
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Ex. 

K. John. Is this Ascension-day? Did not the pro- 
phet 
Say, that before Ascension-day at noon. 
My crown I should give off? Even so I have: 
I did suppose it should be on constraint: 
But, heaven be thank'd. It is but voluntary. 
Enter the Bastard. 

Bast. All Kent hath yielded; nothing there holds 
out 
But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd. 
Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers: 
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
To offer service to your enemy: 
And wild amazement hurries up and down 
The little number of your doubtful friends. 

K. John. VYould not m.y lords return to me again, 
After they heard young Arthur was alive? 

Bast. They found him dead, and cast Into the 
streets; 
An empty casket, where the jewel of life 
By some damn'd hand was robb'd and ra'en away. 

K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 

Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. 
But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad? 
Be great in act, as you have l)epn in thought; 
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust. 
Govern the motion of a kingly eye: 
Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; 
Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow 
Of bragging horror: so shall Inferior eyes. 
That borrow their behaviours from the great, 
Grow great by your example, and put on 
The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
Away; and glister like the god of war. 
When he intendeth to become the field : 
Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 



What, shall they seek the lion in his den. 

And fright him there' and make him tremble there? 

O, let it not be said!— Forage and run 

To meet displeasure further from the doors; 

And grapple with hlra, ere he comes so nigh. 

K. John. The legate of the pope hath been with 
me, 
And I have made a happy peace with him; 
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers 
Led by the Dauphin. 

Bast. O Inglorious league ! 

Shall we, upon the footing of our land. 
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise. 
Insinuation, parley, and base truce. 
To arms invasive? shall a beardless boy, 
A cocker'd silken wanton, brave our fields. 
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil. 
Mocking the air with colours idly spread. 
And And no check? Let us, my liege, to arms ; 
Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace; 
Or if he do, let it at least be said. 
They saw we had a purpose of defence. 

K.John. Have thou the ordering of this present 
time. 

Bast. Away then, with good courage ; yet I know. 
Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— A Plain, near St. Edmund's-Bury. 

Enter in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pembroke, 
Bigot, and Soldiers. 

Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out. 
And keep it safe for our remembrance: 
Return the precedent to these lords again; 
That, having our fair order written down. 
Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes. 
May know wherefore we took the sacrament. 
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 

Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear 
A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith. 
To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince, 
I am not glad that such a sore of time 
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt. 
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound. 
By making many. O, it grieves my soul. 
That I must draw this metal from my side 
To be a widow-maker; O, and there, , 
Where honourable rescue, and defence. 
Cries out upon the name of Salisbury: 
But such is the infection of the time. 
That, for the health and physic of our right. 
We cannot deal but with the very hand 
Of stern injustice and confused wrong.— 
And Is 't not pity, O my grieved friends. 
That we, the sons and children of this isle. 
Were born to see so sad an hour as this: 
Wherein we step after a stranger, march 
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep 
Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) 
To grace the gentry of a land remote. 
And follow unacquainted colours here? 
What, here?— O nation, that thou conld'st remove ! 
That Nep.tune's arms, who clippeth thee about, 
Would bear thee from the knowledge of th.vseif, 
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore; 
Where these two Christian armies might combine 
The blood of malice in a vein of league, 
And not to spend it so unneighbourly ! 

/-€!«. A noble temper dost thou show in this; 
And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom, 
Do make an earthquake of nobility. 

0, what a noble combat hast thou fought. 
Between compulsion, and a brave respect! 
Let me wipe off this honourable dew. 
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks: 
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears. 
Being an ordinary inundation ; 

But this effusion of such manly drops. 

This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul. 

Startles mine eyes, and makes me more araaz'd 

Than had I seen the vanity top of heaven 

Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. 

Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 

And with a great heart heave away this storm : 

Commend these waters to those baby eyes, 

'Tliat never saw the giant world eiirag'd; 

Nor met with fortune other than at feasts. 

Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping: 

Come, come: for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep 

Into the purse of rich prosperty. 

As Lewis himself :— so, nobles, shall you all. 

That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. 

Enter Pandulph, attended. 
And even there, methinks, an angel spake: 
Look, where the holy legate comes apace. 
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven; 
And on our actions set the name of right. 
With holy breath. 

Pand. Hail, noble prince of France! 

The next is this,— King John hath reconcil'd 
Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in. 
That so stood out against the holy church. 
The great metropolis and see of Borne: 
Therefon^ thv threat'ning colours now wind up. 
And tame the savage spirit of wild war; 
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand. 
It mav lie gentlv at the foot of peace. 
And be no further harmful than in show. 

Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back; 
I am too high born to be propertied, 
"To be a secondary at control. 
Or useful serving-man, and Instrument, 
■To any sovereign state throughouttheworld. 
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 
Between this eha.stis'd kingdom and mvself. 
And brought in matter that should feed this fire; 
And now 't is far too huge to be blown out 
With that same weak wind which enkindled it. 
You taught me how to know the face of right. 
Acquainted me with interest to this land. 
Yea, thrust this enterprise Into my heart; 
And come you now to tell me, John hath made 
His peace with Rome? What Is that peace to me? 

1, by the honour of my niarrlage-bed. 
After .young Arthur, claim this land for mine; 
And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back 
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? 
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne. 
What men provided, what munition sent. 

To underprop this action? is 't not I 
That undergo this charge? who else but I, 



And such as to my claim are liable. 
Sweat in this business, and maintain this war? 
Have I not heard these islanders shout out, 
Vive le ruy! as I have bank'd their towns? 
Have I not here the best cards for the game, 
To win this easy match play'd for a crown? 
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 
No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. 

Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. 

Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return 
Till my attempt so much be glorified 
As to my ample hope was promised 
Before I drew this gallant head of war. 
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world. 
To outlook conquest, and to win renown 
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.— 

[Trumpet sounds. 
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon usV 
Enter the Bastard, attended. 

Bast. According to the fair play of the world. 
Let me have audience. I am sent to speak: 
My holy lord of Milan, from the king 
I come, to learn how you have dealt with him; 
And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
And warrant limited unto my tongue. 

Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful opposite. 
And will not temporize with my entreaties; 
He flatly says, he 'II not lay down his arms. 

Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd. 
The youth says well:— Now hear our English king; 
For thus his royalt,y doth speak in me. 
He is prepar'd; and reason too he should: 
This apish and unmannerly approach. 
This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel. 
This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops, 
The king doth smile at; and IS well prepar'd 
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms. 
From out the circle of his territories. 
That hand, which had the strength, even at your 

door. 
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch; 
To dive, like buckets, In concealed wells; 
To crouch in litter of your stable planks; 
To lie, like pawns, loek'd up in chests and trunks; 
To hug with swine; to seek sweet safety out 
In vaults and prisons; and to thrill, and shake. 
Even at the crying of your nation's crow. 
Thinking this voice an armed Englishman;— 
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here. 
That in your chambers gave you chastisement? 
No: Know, the gallant monarch is in arms; 
And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers. 
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.— 
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts. 
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 
Of our dear mother England, blush for shame: 
For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids. 
Like Amazons, come tripping after drvims; 
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change. 
Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts 
To fierce and bloody Inclination. 

Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in 
peace; 
We grantthon canst outscold us: fare thee well; 
We hold our time too precious to be spent 
With such a brabbler. 

Pand. Give me leave to speak. 

Bast. No, I will speak. 

Leiv. We will attend to neither.^ 

Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war 
Plead for our interest, and our being here. 

Bast. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry 
out; 
And so shall you, being beaten: Do but start 
An echo with the clamour of thy drum. 
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd. 
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; 
Sound but another, and another shall. 
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear. 
And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder; for at hand 
(Not trusting to this halting legate here. 
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,) 
Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits 
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 

Lew. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. 

Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do nc t 
doubt. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— The same. A Field of Battle. 
Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. 

K. John. How goes the day with us? O, tell me 

Hubert. 
Hub. Badl.v, I fear: How fares your majesty? 
K. John. 'This fever, that hath troubled me tjo 
long. 
Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick ! 
Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Fauloon- 
bridge. 
Desires your majesty to leave the field. 
And send him word by me which way you go. 
K. John. Tell him, towards Swinstead, to the ab- 
bey there. 
Mess. Be of good comfort; for the great supply, 
That was expected by the Dauphin here. 
Are wrack'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. 
This news was brought to Richard but even now: 
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. 

K. John. Ah me ! this tyrant fever burns n)e up, 
And will hot let me welcome this good news. 
Set on towards Swinstead: to my litter straight: 
Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Ex'eiint. 

Scene IV.—TIie same. Another part of the same. 
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others. 

Sal. I did not think the king so stored with friends. 

Pern. Up once again: put spirit in the French: 
If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 

Sal. That misbegotten devil, Fauleonbrldge, 
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. 

Pern. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the 
field. 
Enter Melun, wounded, and led by Soldiers. 

Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 

Sal. When we were happy we had other names. 

Pem. It is the count Melun. 

Sal. Woundedto death. 

Mel. Fly, noble English, you >are bought and sold; 
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion. 



SCKNK IV.] 



KING JOHN. 



121 



And welcome home aprain disoardecl faith. 
Seek out king John, and fall Ix'fore liis feet; 
For, ii." the French be lord of this Ic^ud da>', 
He means to recompense the pains you take, 
Hy cutting off your heads : Tims liatli he sw&ril, 
And I with him, an<l many more with me, 
Upon the altar at saint Edmund's-Bury ; 
Even on that altar wliere we swore to yon 
Dear amity and evei-Iasting love. 

RaL May this be possible^ may this be true? 

3M. Have I not hideous death within my view, 
Retaining but a quantity of lite 
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire? 
What in the world should make me now deceive. 
Since I must lose the use of all deceit? 
Why should I then be false; since it is true 
That I must die here, and live hence by truth? 
I say again, it Lewis do win the day. 
He IS forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours 
Behold another day break in the east : 
But even this night,— whose black contagious breath 
Already smokes about the burning crest 



Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Where is my pritice, the Datiphin? 

Leie. Here :— What news? 

Mess. The count Melun is slain; the Engli.^h lords. 
By his persuasion, are again fallen off : 
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long. 
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. 

icio. Ah, foul shrewd news!— Beshrew thy very 
heart! 
I did not think to be so sad tonight. 
As this hath made me.— Who was he, that said. 
King John did fl.v, an hour or two before 
The stumbling night did part our weary powers? 

Mess. AVhoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. 

Levi. Well ; keep good quarter and good care to- 
night ; 
The day shall not be up so soon as I, 
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. 

Scene VL—An open Place in the Neighbourhood 
o/Swinstead Abbey. 

Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. 



Hub. Wh.v, know you not? the lords are all come 
back. 
And brought prince Henry in their company; 
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them. 
And they are all about his majesty. 

Bast. Withhold thy indignation, mighty heaven. 
And tempt us not to Ijear above our power ' 
I '11 tell thee, Hubert, halt my power this night. 
Passing these flats, are tak<>n by the tide, 
The.se Lincoln washes have devoured them ■ 
Myself, well mounted, hardly have cscap'd.' 
Away, before ! conduct me to the king ; 
I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. \_Exeunt. 

Scene Yll.—The Orchard of Swinstead Abbey. 

Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot. 
P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood 
Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain 
(Which .some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) 
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 
Foretell the ending of mortality. 




[King Richard //.] 

Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun,— 
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire ; 
Paying the line of rated treachery. 
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives 
If Lewis by your as.sistance win the day. 
Commendnie to one Hubert, with your king; 
The love of him,— and this respect besides. 
For that my grandsire was an Englishman, — 
Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence 
From forth the noise and rumour of the field; 
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts 
In peace, and part this tody and my "soul 
With contemplation and devout desires. 

SaJ. We do believe thee,— And beshrew my soul 
But I do love the favour and the form 
Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
We will untread the steps of damned flight ; 
And, like a bated and retired flood. 
Leaving our rankness and irregtilar course, 
Stoop low within tliose bounds we have o'erlook'd. 
And calmly run on in obedience. 
Even to our ocean, to our great king John. 
M.v arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; 
For I do see the cruel pangs of death 
Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends! New flight ; 
And happy newness, that Intends old right. 

[Ej'ei'nt^ leading off '^lG\\\n. 

OCENE V. — The same. The French Camp. 

Enter Lewis andhis Train. 

Lew. Th3 sun of heaven, methought, was loath to 

set, 
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush. 
When English measure backward their own ground 
In faint retire : O. bravely came weoff. 
When with a volley of ourmedless shot. 
After such bloody toil, we bid good night; 
And wound our tottering colours clearly up, 
Lost in tlie fleld, and almost lords of it f 



Gard. I speak no more than every one doth know. 

Hiib. Who 's there? speak, ho ! speak quickly, or 
I shoot. 

Bast. A friend.- What art thou? 

Hub. Of the part of England. 

Bast. Whither dost thou go? 

Hub. What 's that to thee? Why may I not de- 
mand 
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? 

Bast, Hubert, I think. 

Hnh. Thou hast a perfect thought : 

I will, upon all hazards, well believe 
Thou art mv friend, that know'st my tongue so well: 
Who art thou? 

Bast. Who thou wilt : and if thou please. 

Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think, 
I came one way of the Plantagenets. 

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless 
night. 
Have done me shame :— Brave soldier, pardon me. 
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue. 
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 

Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news 
abroad? 

Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night. 
To find you out. 

Bast. Brief, then; and what 's the news? 

Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night. 
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 

Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news ; 
I am no woman, I 'II not swoon at it. 

Huh. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
To acquaint you with this evil; that you might 
The better arm you to the sudden time. 
Than if you had at leisure known of this. 

Bust. How did he take it? who did taste to him? 

Huh. A monk, I tell vou; a resolved villain. 
Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king 
\el speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. 

Bast. Wlio didst tiiou leave to tend his majesty? 



[act in. — SCENE IV,] 

Enter Pembroke. 

Pern.. His highness yet doth speak; and holds be- 
lief. 
That being brought into the open air 
It would allay the burning quality 
Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.— 
Doth he still rage? lExit Bigot. 

Pern. He is more patient 

Than when you left him; even now he sung. 

P. Hen. O vanity of sickness' fierce extremes. 
In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
Death, having pre.y'd upon the outward parts. 
Leaves them invisible; and his siege is now 
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds 
With many legions of strange phantasies; 
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold. 
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that deatli should 

sing. 
I am the c.rgnet to this pale faint swan. 
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; 
And, from the organ-mpe of frailty, sings 
His soul and body to their lasting rest. 

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born 
To set a form upon that indigest. 
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 
Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, ivho bring in 
King John, in a Chair. 

K. John. Ay, man-y, now my soul hath elbow- 
room. 
It would not out at windows, nor at doors. 
There is so hot a suntmer in mj* bosom. 
That all m.v bowels crumble up to dust: 
I am a scribled form, drawn with a pen 
Upon a parchment; and against this Are 
Do I shrink up. 

P. Hen. How fares your majesty? 

K. John. Poison'd,— ill-fare;— dead, forsook, cast 
off: 

And none of you will bid the winter come. .. 

1 "> 



12S 



KING lilCHARD IT. 



[Act I 



To thrust his icy fliiKcrs in my maw; 

Nor let my kingdom's rivers talie tlieir course 

Throufchmy burn'd bosom; nor entreat the nortli 

To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, 

And comtort me with cold:— I do not aslc you much, 

I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait. 

And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 

P. Hen. O, that tliere were some virtue In my tears, 
That might relieve you! 

K. John. The salt in them Is hot. 

Within me Is a hell; and there ttie poison 
Is, as a ftend, contin'd to tyrannize 
On unreprievable condemned blood. 

Knter the Bastard. 

Sast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
And spleen of speed to see your majesty. 

K. John. O cousin, thovi art come to set mine eye: 
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burnt; 
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail. 
Are turned to one thread, one little hair: 
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
Which holds but till thy news be utter'd; 
And then all this thou seest is but a clod. 
And module of confounded royalty. 

Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hithervvard. 
Where, heaven he knows how we shall answer him: 
For, in a night, the best part of my power. 
As I upon advantage did remove. 
Were in the washes, all unwarily. 



Devour'd by the unexpected flood. [The King dies. 

Sal. You breathe tiiese dead news in as dead an 
ear.— 
My liege! my lord!— But now a king,— now thus. 

P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
What surety of the world, wliat hope, what stay, 
When this was now a king, and now is clay! 

Bast. Art tliou gone so? I do but stay behind. 
To do the ofBce for tliee of revenge; 
And then my soul shall wait on tnee to heaven. 
As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 
Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres. 
Where be your powers? Show now your mended 

faiths; 
And instantly return with me again. 
To push destruction, and perpetual shame. 
Out of the wealc door of our fainting land: 
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; 
The Dau])hin rages at our very heels. 

Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we: 
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, 
Who half an hour since came from the i)auphin; 
And brings from him such offers of our peace 
As we witli honour and respect may take. 
With purpose presently to leave this war. 

Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees 
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already; 
For many carriages he hath dispateh'd 
To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel 



To the disposing of the cardinal. 
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, 
If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
To consummate this business happily. 

Bast. Let it be so:— And you, my noble prince, 
With otiier princes that may loest be spar'd. 
Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; 
For so he will'd it. 

Bast. Thither shall it then. 

And happily may your sweet self put on 
The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
To whom, with all submission, on my knee 
I do bequeath my faitliful services 
And true subjection everlastingly. 

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
To rest without a spot for evermore. 

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you 
thanks. 
And knows not how to do it, but with tears. 

Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe. 
Since it hath been beforehand with ourgriefs. — 
This England never did, nor never shall. 
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. 
But when it first did help to wound itself. 
Now these her princess are come home again. 
Come the three corners of the world iu arms. 
And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us 

rue. 
If England to Itself do rest but true. [Exeunt. 



KING RICHARD 11. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



King Richard II. 
Edmund of Langley, ") 

JJuke of York, I uncles to the 

John of GAtiNT, Duke ( King. 

of Lancaster, J 

Henry, sumamed Boltngbroke, Duke 

of Hereford, son of John of Gaunt, 

afterwards King Henry IV. 
Duke of Aumbrle, son to the Duke of 

York. 



Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 

Duke op Surrey. 

Eari., of Salisbury. 

Earl Berkley. 

Bushy, 1 

Baoot, > creatures to King Bichard. 

Green, ) 

Earl op Northumberland. 

Henry Percy, his son. 

Lord Boss. 



Lord Willovghby. 
Lord Fitzwater. 

Bishop of Carlisle. 
Abbot op Westminster. 

Lord Marshal ; and another Lord. 

Sir Pierce of Exton. 
Sir Stephen Scroop. 

Captain of a band of Welchmen. 



Queen to King Richard. 
Duchess op Gloster. 
Duchess op York. 
Lady attending on the Queen. 

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers. Two 
Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom 
and other Attendants. 

SCENE.— Z)ispe»'sedJj/ in England and 
Wales. 



Scene I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt, 

and other Nobles, with him. 
K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lan- 
caster, 
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band. 
Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son; 
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 
Which then our leisure would not let us hear. 
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? 
Gaunt. I have, my liege. 

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded 
him, 
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; 
Or worthily as a good subject should. 
On some known ground of treachery in him? 
Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu- 
ment. 
On some apparent danger seen in him, 
Aim'd at your highness,— no inveterate malice. 
K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to 
face. 
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak: — 

I Exeunt some Attendants. 
Hlgh-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire. 
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as flre. 

Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke and 
Norfolk. 
Baling. Many years of happy days befal 
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! 
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; 
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, 
Add an Immortal title to your crown! 
K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters 
us, 
As well appeareth by the cause you come; 
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.— 
Covisin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? 

Baling. First, (heaven be the record to my speech!) 
In the devotion of a subject's love. 
Tendering the precious safety of my prince, 
And free from other misbegotten hate. 
Come I appellant to this princely presence. 
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, 
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak, 
My body shall make good upon this earth, 
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; 
Too good to be so, and too bad to live; 
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky. 
The uglier seem the clouds that in It fly. 
Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; 
And wish, (so please my sovereign,! ere I move. 
What my tongue speaks, my rignt-drawn sword may 
prove. 
JVor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 
'T is not the trial of a woman's war. 
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues. 
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain: 
The blood is hoi that must be cool'd for this. 
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, 
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: 
First, the fair reverence of your hlgliness curbs me 
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; 
Which else would pusr. until it had rctiirn'd 
These terms of I irasc. 11 doiiblod cUiwn liis throat. 
Betting aside his liigli blood's royalty, 



And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
I do defy him, and I spit at him; 
Call him a slanderous coward, and a villain: 
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds; 
And meet him, were I tied to run afoot 
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
Or any other ground inhabitable 
Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. 
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, — 
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 
Doling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my 
gage. 
Disclaiming here the kindred of the kings; 
And lay aside my high blood's royalty, 
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: 
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength. 
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop; 
By that, and all the rites of knighthood else. 
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, 
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. 
Nor. I take it up; and bv that sword I swear, 
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, 
I 'U answer thee in any fair degree. 
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: 
And, when I mount, alive may I not light. 
It I be traitor, or unjustly flght! 
K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
charge? 
It must be great, that can inherit us 
So much as of a thouglit of ill In him. 
Baling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove it 
true; — 
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles 
In name of lendtngs for your highness' soldiers ; 
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, 
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. 
Besides I say, and will iu battle prove, — 
Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge 
That ever was survey'd by English eye,— 
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years 
Complotted and contrived in this land. 
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. 
Further I say,— and further will maintain 
Upon his bad life, to make all this good,— 
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death ; 
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries ; 
And, consequentl.v, like a traitor coward, 
Slulc'd out his innocent soul through streams of 

blood : 
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries. 
Even from the tougueless caverns of the earth. 
To me, for justice and rough chastisement ; 
And, by the glorious worth of my descent. 
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 

K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars 1— 
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? 

Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, 
And bid his ears a little while be deaf, 
Till I have told this slander of his blood, 
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. 

K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: 
Were he my brother, nay, our kingdom's heir, 
(As he is but my father's brother's son,) 
Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow. 
Such neiglibour nearness to our sacred blood 
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
"The unstooping firmness of my upright soul : 
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou; 
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. 

Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart. 
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest ! 
Three parts of that receipt I liad for Calais 
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers: 



The other part reserv'd I by consent ; 

For that my sovereign liege was in ray debt 

Upon remainder of a dear account. 

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: 

Now swallow down that lie.— For Gloster's death,— 

I slew him not; but to my own disgrace, 

Neglected my sworn dut.y in that case. 

For you, m.v noble lord of Lancaster, 

The honourable father to my foe, 

Once I did lay an ambush for your life, 

A tl-espass that doth vex my grieved soul 

But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, 

I did confess it ; and exactly begg'd 

Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had It. 

This is my fault : As for the rest appeal'd. 

It issues from the rancour of a villain, 

A recreant and most degenerate traitor : 

Which in myself I boldly will defend; 

And interchangeably hurl down my gage 

Upon this overwheening traitor's foot. 

To prove myself a loyal gentleman 

Even in the best blood cnamberd In his bosom : 

In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 

Your highness to assign our trial day. 

K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; 
Let 's purge this choler without letting blood: 
This we prescribe, though no physician ; 
Deep malice makes too deep Incision : 
Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agreed; 
Our doctors say, this is no month to bleed. 
Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. 

Gaunt. To be a makepeace shall become my 
age:— 
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. 

K. Rich. And, Norfolk throw down his. ' 

Gaunt. When, Harry? when? 

Obedience bids I should not bid again. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no 
boot. 

Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot : 
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame ; 
The one my duty owes; but my fair name, 
(Despite of death,) that lives upon my grave. 
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have, 
lamdisgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here; 
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom 'd spear; 
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood 
Which breath'd this poison. 

K. Rich. Rape must be withstood: 

Give me his gage:— Lions make leopards tame. 

Nor. Yea, but not change his spots: take but my 
shame 
And I resign my grge. My dear dear lord. 
The purest treasure mortal times afford. 
Is spotless reputation; that away. 
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay. 
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'dup chest 
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
Mine Iionour is my life; both grow in one; 
Take honour from me, and my life is done: 
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; 
In that I live, and for that will I die. 

K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you 
begin. 

Boliny. O, Heaven defend my soul from such foul 
sin! 
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? 
■Or with pale beggar fear impeach my height 
Before this outdar'd dastard? Ere my tongue 
Shall wouiul mine honour with such feeble wrong. 
Or sound so base a p.irle, my teeth shall tear 
The slavish motive of recanting fear; 



Scene i.] 



KIXG RICHAJiV II. 



133 



And spit it bleeding, in Ills liiRh disgrace, 
vViiere shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's 
face. {ICvit Gaunt. 

K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com- 
mand: 
Which since we cannot do to nialce you friends, 
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it. 
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day; 
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
The swellinsj difference of your settled hate; 
Since we cannot atone j'ou, you shall see 
Justice design the victor's chivalry. 
Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms 
Be ready to direct these homealarm.«. [Exezint. 

Scene IL— London. A Room in the Duke of 
Lancaster's Palace. 

Enter Gaunt, and Duchess of Gloster. 
Gaunt. Alas I the part I had in Gloster's blood 
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, 
To stir against the butchers of his life. 
But since correction lietli in those hands, 
Which made the fault that we cannot correct. 
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; 
Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth. 
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 

Ditch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sliarper spur? 
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? 
Ed\yard's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, 
Were as seven phials of his sacred blood. 
Or seven fair branches springing from one root: 
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, 
Some of those bi-anches by the destinies cut: 
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster,— 
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
One flourishing branch of his most royal root. 
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt; 
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all vaded, 
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. 
Ah, Gaunt ! his blood was thine; that bed, that 

womb, 
That mettle, that self -mould, that fashioned thee. 
Made him a man; and though thou liv'st and 

breath'st. 
Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent 
In some large measure to thy father's death 
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die. 
Who was the model of thy father's life. 
Call it not patience. Gaunt, it is despair: 
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd. 
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life. 
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: 
That which in mean men we entitle patience 
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life. 
The best way Is to 'venge my Gloster's death. 
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's sub- 
stitute. 
His deputy anointed in his sight, 
Hath caus'd his death: the which if -nrongfuUy, 
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift 
An angry arm against his minister. 
Duch. Where then, alas ' may I complain myself? 
Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and de- 
fence. 
Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. 
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: 
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear. 
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! 
Or, if misfortune miss the first career, 
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom. 
That the,v may break his foaming courser's back, 
And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford ! 
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife 
With her companion grief must end her lite. 

Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry: 
As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! 
Duch. Yet one word more;— Grief bouudeth where 
It falls. 
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: 
I take my leave before I have begun; 
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
Lo, this is all:— Nay, yet depart not so; 
Though this be all, do not so quickly go; 
I shall remember more. Bid liim— 6, what?— 
With all good speed at Flashy visit me. 
Alack, and what shall good old York there see. 
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, 
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? 
And what cheer there for welcome but my groans? 
Therefore commend me; let him not come there. 
To seek out sorrow that dwells every ivhere: 
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die; 
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exe. 

Scene III.— Open Space near Coventry. 

Lists set oiit, and a Throne. Heralds, <£-c., attending. 

Enter the Lord Marshal and Aumerle. 

Mar. My lord Aumerle, Is Harry Hereford arm'd' 
A7im. Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in 
Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold. 

Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 
Aum. Why then the champions are prepar'd, and 
stay 

For nothing but his majesty's approach. 

Flmirish of trumpets. Enter King Richard, who 
takes his seat on his throne; Gaunt, and several 
Noblemen, who take their places. A trumpet is 
sounded, and ansicered by another trumpet with- 
in. Then enter Norfolk, in ai-mour, preceded bu 
a Herald. 
K. Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 

The cause of his arrival here in arms: 

Ask him his name; and orderly proceed 

To swear him in the justice ot"his cause. 
Mar. In God's name and the king's, say who thou 
art. 

And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms: 

Against what man thou com'st, and what 's thy 
Quarrel: 

Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thine oath; 

As so defend thee heaven, and thy valour ! 
Aor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Nor- 
folk; 

Who hither come engaged by my oath, 

(Which heaven defend a knight should violate !) 

Both to defend my loyalty and truth 

To God, my king, and my succeeding Issue, 



Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me; 
And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm. 
To prove him, in defending of myself, 
A traitor to my God, mv king, arid me; 
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

[He takes his seat. 
Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, in armour; 
preceded by a Herald. 

K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arm.-. 
Both who he is, and why lie corneth hither 
Thus plated in habiliments of war; 
And formally according to our law 
Depose him in the justice of his cause. 
Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st 
thou hither. 
Before king Richard, in his royal lists'' 
Against whom coniest thou? and what 's thy quarrel? 
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 

Baling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms, 
To prove, by heaven's grace, and my iiodv's valour, 
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray duke of Norfolk, 
That he 's a traitor, foul and dangerous, 
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me; 
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 

Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold, 
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists. 
Except the marshal, and such officers 
Appointed to direct these fair designs. 
Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 
hand. 
And bow my knee before his majesty; 
For Mowbray and myself are like two men 
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ; 
Then let us take a ceremonious leave, 
And loving farewell, of our several friends. 
Mar. The appellant m all duty greets your high- 
ness. 
And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. 
K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our 
arms. 
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right. 
So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
Farewell, my blood; whicli if to-clay thou shed, 
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 
Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear; 
As confident as is the falcon's flight 
Against a bird do I with Mowbra.y fight— 
My loving lord, [to Lord Marshal] I take my leave 

of you ; 
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle : — 
Not sick, although I have to do with death; 
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet : 
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,— 

[To Gaunt. 
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate. 
Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up 
To reach at victory above my head,— 
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; 
And with thy blessings steel m.y lance's point. 
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, 
And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, 
Even in the lusty 'haviour of Ills son. 
Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make th pros- 
perous ! 
Be swift like lightning in the execution ; 
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled. 
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : 
Bouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 
Boling. Mine Innocency, and Saint George to 
thrive. [Iletakes his seat. 

Nor. ^Rising.'} However heaven, or fortune, cast 
my lot. 
There lives, or dies, true to king Richard's throne, 
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman : 
Never did captive with a freer heart 
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace 
His golden uncontroU'd enfranchisement, 
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
This feast of battle with mine adversary. 
Itfost mighty liege, and my companion peers. 
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : 
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest. 
Go I to fight ; Truth hath a quiet breast. 

K. Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy 
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. 
Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 

[The King and the Lords returnto their seats. 
Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Receive thy lance ; and Gtod defend thy right! 
Boling. [Rising.] Strong as a tower In hope I cry 

— amen. 
Mar. Go bear this lance [to an Officer] to Thomas, 
duke of Norfolk. 

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself. 
On pain to be found false and recreant. 
To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
A traitor to his God, his king, and him. 
And dares him to set forward to the fight. 

2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of 
Norfolk, 

On nain to be found false and recreant, 
Both to defend himself, and to approve 
Henry of Hereford. Lancaster, and Derby, 
To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal; 
Courageously, and with a free desire. 
Attending but the signal to begin. 

3Iar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combat- 
ants. [A charge sounded. 
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. 

K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their 
spears. 
And both return back to their chairs again: 
Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound. 
While we return these dukes what we decree.— 

[.4 long flourish. 
Draw near [TotheComl)atants. 

And list, what with our council we have done. 
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 
With that dear blood which it hath fostered; 
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; 
And for we think the eagle-winged pride 
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts. 
With rival-hating envy, set on you 
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 
Draws the sweet Infant breath of gentle sleep; 



Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums. 
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray. 
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms. 
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace. 
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood; 
Therefore, we banish you our territories: 
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death. 
Till twice five summers have eiirich'd our fields, 
Shall not regreet our fair dominions, 
But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 
Boling. Your will be done: This must my comfort 
be. 
That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me; 
And tliose his golden beams, to you here lent. 
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, 
Whicli I witli some unwillingness pronounce: 
The sly slow hours shall not determinate 
The dateless limit of thy dear exile;— 
The hopeless word of, never to return. 
Breathe I against thee upon pain of life. 

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege. 
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: 
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
As to be cast forth in the common air. 
Have I deserved at your highness' hands. 
The language I have learn'd these forty years, 
My native English, now I must forego: 
And now my tongue's use is to me no more 
Than an unstringed viol, or a harp; 
Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up. 
Or, being open, put into his hands 
That knows no touch to tune the harmony. 
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue. 
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; 
And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse. 
Too far in years to be a pupil now; 
What is thy sentence then, but speechless death, 
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? 

K. Rich. It Ijoots thee not to be compassionate; 
After our sentence, plaining comes too late. 

Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light. 
To dwell in solemn shades of endess night. 

[RetiHng. 
K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
Lay on our royal sword your banish 'd hands; 
Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, 
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) 
To keep the oath that we administer:— 
You never shall (so help you truth and heaven!) 
Embrace each other's love in banishment; 
Nor never look upon each other's face; 
Nor never write, regreet, or reconcile 
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; 
Nor never by advised purpose meet 
To plot, contrive, or coinplot any ill 
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 
Boling. 1 swear. 

Noi: And I, to keep all this. 

Boling. Norfolk,— so far as to mine enemy;— 
By this time, had the king permitted us. 
One of our souls had wander'd In the air, 
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh. 
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: 
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly this realm; 
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. 

Nor. No, Bolingbroke; If ever I were traitor. 
My name be blotted from the book of life, 
And I from heaven banish'd as from hence ! 
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know; 
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. 
Farewell, my liege:— Now no way can I stray; 
Save back toEngland, all the world 's my way. [Exit. 

K. Rich. Uncle, even In the glasses of thine eyes 
I see thy grieved heart; thy sad aspect 
Hath from the number of his banish'd years 
Pluck'd four away:— Six frozen winters spent. 
Return [To Boling.] with welcome home frorri ban- 
ishment. 
Boling. How long a time lies in one little word ! 
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, 
End in a word : Such is the breath of kings. 

Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me. 
He shortens four years of my son's exile; 
But little vantage shall I reap thereby; 
For ere the six years that he hath to spend 
Can change their moons, and bring their times about, 
My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light. 
Shall be extinct with age and endless night; 
My Inch of taper will be burnt and done. 
And blindfold death not let me see my son. 
K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. 
Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: 
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, 
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: 
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age. 
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; 
Thy word is current with him for my death: 
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 

K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, 
Whereto thy tongue a part}' -verdict gave; 
Why at our justice seem'd thou then to lower? 
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion 
sour. 
You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather 
You would have bid me argue like a father: 
O, had it been a stranger, not my child. 
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: 
A partial slander sought I to avoid, 
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 
Alas, I look'd, when some of you should" say, 
I was too strict, to make mine own away; 
But you gave leave to mine unwilling tongue. 
Against my will to do myself this wrong. 

X Rich. Cousin, farewell:— and, uncle, bid hira so; 
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 

[Flourish. Exeunt K. Richard and Train. 
Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not 
know, 
From where you do remain, let paper show. 

Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride. 
As far as land will let me, bv your side. 
Gaunt. O, to what purpos'e dost thou hoard thy 
words. 
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? 

Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you. 
When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 
Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 
Boling. Joy absent, grief Is present for that time. 



lai 



KIXG niCIlAlil) IT. 



[Act u. 



Gaunt. Whntis six winters? tlipy nre quickly prmo. 

Soling. To ineu 111 joy; tut gilff makes oue liour 
ten. 

Gaunt. Call it a travel tliat thou tak'st for plea- 
sure. 

Baling. 5Iy heart will sIrIi. when I miscall it so, 
Wliich finds it an enforce<I pilKrimaBO. 

On lint. The sullen passage of tiiy weary steps 
Esteem a foil, wlierefn tlKiu art to set 
The precious jewel of thy home return. 

£oling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
"Will but reineml)er me, Nvhat a deal of world 
I wander from the Jewels that I love. 
Must I not serve a long apprentieeliood 
To foreign )iassages; and in the end, 
Having iiiy freedom, boast of notliing else 
But that I was a journeyman to grief? 

Gaunt. All places that the e.ve of lieaven visits. 
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens: 
Teach th.v necessity to reason thus; 
There Is no virtue like necessity. 
Think not, the king did banish thee; 
But tliou the king: Woe doth the heavier sit. 
Where it perceives It is but faintly borne. 
Go, say I sent thee fortli to pureliase honour. 
And not, the king exiled thee: or suppose 
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air. 
And thou art flying to a fresher clime. 
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st. 
Suppose the singing birds, musicians; 
Tlie grass whereon thou tread'sc, the pi-esence 

strew'd; 
The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps, no more 
Than a delightful measure or a dance: 
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. 

Holing. O, who can hold a Are in his hand. 
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, 
By bare imagination of a feast? 
Or wallow naked in December snow^, 
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 
O, no ! the apprehension of the good 
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: 
Fell sorrow's tootli doth never rankle more. 
Than when it bites but lanceth not the sore. 

Gaunt. Come, come, uiy son, I '11 bring thee on 
thy way: 
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 

Baling. 'Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet 
soil, adieu; 
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet ! 
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can. 
Though banlsh'd, yet a true-born Englishman. 

[Exe2int. 

Scene IV.— A Boom in the King's Palace. 

Enter King Eichard, Bagot, and Green; Aumerle 

follotoing. 

K. BIch. We did observe.— Cousin Aumerle, 
How far brought .vou higli Hereford on his way? 

Anm. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so. 
But to the next highway, and there I left him. 

K. Bich. And, say, what store of parting tears were 
shed? 

Aum. 'Faith none for me, except the north east 
wind. 
Which then blew bitterly against our face, 
Awak'd the sleepy rheum; and so, by chance. 
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 

K. Bich. What said our cousin when, you parted 
with him? 

Aum. Farewell, 

And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
Should so profane the woi-d, that taught me ci'aft 
To counterfeit oppression of such grief. 
That word seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen'd 

hours. 
And added years to his sliort banishment. 
He should have had a volume of farewells; 
But, since it would not, he had no<ie of me. 

K. Bich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 't is doubt. 
When time shall call him home from banishment. 
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends 
Ourseif and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
Observ'd his courtship to the common people: — 
How he did seem to dive Into their hearts. 
With humble and familiar courtesy; 
What reverence he did throw away on slaves; 
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles. 
And patient Huderbearing of his fortune, 
As't were to banish their affects with him, 
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; 
A brace of draymen bid— God speed him well, 
And had the tribute of his supple knee, 
Witli- Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends; 
As were our England in reversion his, 
And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 

Green. Well, lie is gone; aud witii him go these 
thoughts. 
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland; 
Expedient manage must be made, my liege. 
Ere 1 iirther leisure yield them further means, 
For their advantage, and your highness' loss. 

K. Bich. We will ourseif in person to this war. 
And, for our coffers, with too great a court, 
Aud liberal largess, are gro.vn somewhat light. 
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; 
The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
For our affairs in hand: If that come short, 
Our substitute at home shall have blank charters; 
Wiiereto, when they shall know what men are rich, 
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold. 
And send them after to suppl.v our wants; 
For we will make for I'.'eland presently. 

Enter Bushy. 
Bushy, what news? 

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my 
lord; 
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste, 
To entreat your majesty to visit him. 

K. Bich. W^here lies he? 

Bu.thy. At EI.v House. 

K. Bich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's 
mind. 
To help him to his grave immediately! 
The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. 
Come, gentlemen, let 's all go visit him: 
Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late! 

lExeunt. 



ACT ir. 

Scene I.— London. A Boom in Ely House. 

Gaunt ore a couch; the Duke of York, anil others 
standing by him. 

Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe my 

last 
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth. 
York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your 

breath; 
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 

Gaunt. O, but tlie.v say, the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention, like deep harmony; 
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in 

vain; 
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in 

pain. 
He, that no more must say, is listen'd more 
Than they whom youth and ease liave taught to 

glose; 
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before; 

The setting sun, and music at the close. 
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last. 
Writ in remembrance more than things long past; 
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear. 
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 
York. No; it is stopped with other flattering 

sounds; 
As praises of his state: then, there are found 
Lascivious metres; to whose venom sound 
The open ear of youth doth always listen: 
Report of fashions in proud Italy; 
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
Limps after in base imitation. 
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 
(So it be new, there 's no respect how vile,) 
That is not quickl.v buzz'd into his ears? 
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard. 
Where will doth mutiny witli wit's regard. 
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; 
'T is breath thou lack'st, and that breatii wilt thou 

lose. 
Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd; 
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him: 
His rash, fierce blaze of riot cannot last; 
For violent fires soon burn out themselves; 
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are 

short; 
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; 
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: 
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant. 
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, 
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
This other Eden, demi-paradise; 
This fortress, built by nature tor herself, 
Against infection and the hand of war; 
This happy breed of men, this little world; 
This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
Which serves it in the office of a wall. 
Or as a moat defensive to a house. 
Against the envy of less happier lands; 
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Eng- 
land, 
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth. 
Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
(For Christian service, and true chivalry,) 
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, 
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mai-y's son: 
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land. 
Dear for her reputation through the world. 
Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,) 
Like to a tenement, or pelting farm: 
England, bound in with the triumphant sea. 
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame. 
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds; 
That England, tliatwas wont to conquer others, 
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: 
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, 
How happy then were my ensuing deatlil 

Enter King Eichard arec? Queen; Aumerle, Bushy, 
Green, Bagot, Eoss, and Willoughby. 

York. The king is come: deal mildly with his 
youtli; 
For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. 

Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancastei? 

K. Bich. What comfort, man? How is 't with 
aged Gaunt? 

Gaunt. 0, how that name befits my composition! 
Old Gaunt, indeed; r.nd gaunt in being old: 
Witliin me grief liathlwpt a tedious fast; 
.4nd who abstains from meat, tliat is not gaunt? 
For sleeping England longtime have I watch'd; 
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt; 
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon 
Is my strict fast,— I mean my children's looks; 
.\nd, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt; 
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave. 
Whose hollow womb inlierits nought hut bones. 

K. Bich. Can sick men play so nicely with their 
names? 

Gaunt. No, miseiT makes sport to mock itself: 
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. 

K. Bich. Should dying men flatter witli those that 
live? 

Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. 

K. Bich. Thou, now a dying, say'st thou flatter'st 
me. 

Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker 
be. 

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee 
ill. 

Gaunt. Now, he that made me, knows I see thee 
ill; 
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land, 
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick: 
And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
Conimitt'st thy anointed body to tlie cure 
Of those physicians that first wounded thee. 
A thousand flatterers sit within thj' crown. 
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; 
And yet, incaged in so small a verge, 
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye. 
Seen how his son's sou sliould destroy his sons. 
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame. 
Deposing thee before th()U \vert possess'd. 
Which art possess'd now to dcDose thyself. 



Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world. 
It were a shame to let tliis land by lease: 
But, for thy world, enjoying but this land. 
Is it not more than shame to shame it so? 
Landlord of England art thou, and not king: 
I Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; 
I And 

K. Bich. And thou a lunatic lean-wltted fool. 
Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 
Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood. 
With fury, from his native residence. 
I Now by my seat's right royal majesty, 
Wert thou not brother to great Etiward's son. 
This tongue, that runs so roundly in thy head, 
Sliould run thy head from thy unrevereiid shoulders. 

Gavnt. O, spare me not, my brother E<lward's son. 
For that I was his father Edward's son; 
That blood already, like the pelican. 
Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carouR'd: 
My brother Gloster, plain well meaning soul, 
(Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy soulsl) 
May be a precedent and witness good , 
1 hat thou lespect'st not spilling Edward's blood : 
Join with the present sickness that I have ; 
And thy unkindness be like ci-ooked age. 
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. 
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee !— 
These words hereafter thy tormentors be !— 
Conve.v me to rny bed, then to my grave : 
Love they to live, that love and honour have. 

[E.vit, borne out by his Attendants. 

K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens 
have ; 
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 

York. 1 do beseech your majesty, impute his words 
To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
He loves you, on my life, and nolds you dear 
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. 

K. Bich. Right ; you say true : as Hereford's love, 
so his : 
As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. 
Enter Northumberland. 

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to 
your majesty. 

K. Bich. What says he? 

North. Nay, nothing ; all Is said : 

His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; 
Words, lite, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 

York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so ! 
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 

K. Bich. The ripest fi-uit first falls, and so doth he: 
His time is spent, cur pilgrimage must be : 
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars : 
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns. 
Which live like venom, where no venom else 
But only they have privilege to live. 
And for these great affairs do ask some charge. 
Towards our assistance, we do seize to us 
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables. 
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 

York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, liow long 
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? 
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment. 
Nor Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs 
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke " 

About Ills marriage, nor my own disgrace. 
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek. 
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face, 
lam the last of noble Etlward's sons. 
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first • 
In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce. 
In peace, was never gentle lamb more mild. 
Than jN'as that young and princely gentleman ■ 
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he. 
Accomplished with tlie ntimber of thy hours ; 
But when he frown'd it was against the French, 
And not against his friends ; his noble hand 
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that 
Which his triumphant father's hand had won : 
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood. 
But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
O, Richard ! York is too far gone witli grief. 
Or else he never would compare between. 

K. Bich. Why, uncle, what 's the matter? 

York. O, my liege. 

Pardon me, if you please; if not. I, pleas'd 
Not to be pardou'd, am content withal. 
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands. 
The royalties and rights of baiiish'd Hereford? 
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? 
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? 
Did not the one deserve to have an heir? 
Is not his heira well-deserving sou? 
Talie Hereford's rights away, and take from time; 
His charters, and his customary rights ; 
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ; 
Be not thyself, tor how art thou a king. 
But by fair sequence and succession? 
Now, afore God (God forbid, I say ti'ue !) 
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's right. 
Call in the letters- patents that he hath 
By his attornies-generai to sue 
His livery, and deny his ofEer'd homage. 
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head. 
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts. 
And prick my tender patience to those tlioughts 
Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 

K. Bich. Think what you will ; we seize into our 
hands 
His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. 

York. I '11 not be by the while : My liege, farewell . 
What will ensue hereof there 's none can tell ; 
But by bad courses may be understood. 
That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. 

K. Bich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire 
straight ; 
Bid him repair to us to El.y House 
•lo see this businpss • To-morrow next 
We will for Ireland ; and 't is time, I trow ; 
And we create, in absence of ourseif. 
Our uncle York lord governor of England, 
For he is just, aud always lov'd us well. 
Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part ; 
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. {Flourish. 
[E.eeunt King, Queen, Bushy, Aumerle, Green, 
and Bagot. 

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. 

Boss. Ani living too : f(>r now his son is duke. 

Wiilo. Ba/eiy in title, not in revenue. 

North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 

Boss. M.y heart is great ; but it must break with 
silence. 



■ 



Scene i.] 



KIXG JilCHAIlD II. 



125 



Ere 't he riisburdpnM with a liberal tongue. 

North. Nay, speak thy mind : and let him ue'er 
spealv more 
That speaks thv words again to do thee harm ! 

Willo. Tends that thou 'dst speak to the duke of 
Hereford? 
If it be so, out with it boldly, man : 
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. 

Ross. No good at all that I can do for him ; 
Unless you call it good to pity him, 
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 

North. Now, afore heaven, 't is shame such wrongs 
are borne, 
In hlra a royal prince, and many more 
Of noble blood in this declining land. 
The king is not himself, but basel.v led 
By flatterers; and what they will inform, 
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all. 
That will the king severely prosecute 
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 

Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grevious 
taxes. 
And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fln'd 
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 

Willo. And dally new exactions are devis'd— 
.A.S blanks, benevolence, and I wot not what ; 
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? 

North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he 
hath not. 
But basely jielded upon compromise 
That which his ancestors achieved with blows: 
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. 

Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. 

Willo. The king 's grown bankrupt, like a broken 
man. 

North. Reproach and dissolution hangeth over 
him. 

Rnss. He hath not money for these Irish wars. 
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding. 
Bur by the robbing of the banish 'd duke. 

North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! 
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, 
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm: 
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 
.And yet we strike not, but securel.y perish. 

fJus«. We see the very wrack that we must suffer. 
And unavoided is the danger noiv. 
For suffering so the causes of our wrack. 

North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of 
death 
I spy life peering: but I dare not say 
How near the tidings of our comfort is. 

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost 
ours. 

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland : 
We three are but thyselt; and, speaking so. 
Thy words ai-e but as thoughts ; therefore, be bold. 

North. Then thus:— I have from Port le Blanc, a 
bay 
In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence. 
That Harry duke of Hereford, Reignold lord Cob- 
ham. 
That late broke from the duke of Exeter, 
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, 
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, 
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis 

Quoint,— 
All these, well f urnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, 
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, 
Are making hither with all due expedience. 
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore ; 
Perhaps, tiiey had ere this, but that they stay 
The first departing of the king for Ireland. 
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke. 
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing. 
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd cro^vn. 
Wipe oft the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt. 
And make high majesty look like itself, 
Away with me m post to Ravenspurg: 
But if you faint, as fearing to do so. 
Stay and be secret, and myself will go. 

Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them 
that fear. 

Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene 11.— The same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 

Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: 
Vou promis'd, when you parted with the king. 
To lay aside life-harming heaviness. 
And entertain a cheerful disposition, 

Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself, 
r cannot do it; yet I know no cause 
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief. 
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
.4.S ray sweet Richard: Yet, again, methlnks. 
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, 
Is coming towards me: and my inward soul 
With nothing trembles: at something it grieves, 
Jlore than with parting from my lord the king. 

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty 
shadows. 
Which show like grief itself, but are not so: 
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding rears. 
Divides one thing entire to many objects. 
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd ujpon. 
Show nothing but confusion,— ey'd awry. 
Distinguish form; so your sweet majesty. 
Looking awry upon your lord's departure. 
Find shapes of griefs, more than himself, to wail; 
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows 
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, 
3Iore than your lord's departure weep not; more 's 

not seen: 
Or if it be, 't is with false sorrow's eye. 
Which, for things true, weeps things Imaginary. 

Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul 
Persuades me it is otherwise: Howe'erit be, 
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad. 
As— though, in thinking, on rio thought I think,— 
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 

Bushy. 'T is nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. 

Queen. T is nothing less: conceit is stiU deriv'd 
From some forefather grief; mine is not so; 
For nothing hath begot my somethinggrief; 
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve; 
'T is in reversion that I do possess: 
But what it is, that is not yet known; what 
I cannot name; 't is nameless woe, I wot. 
Enter Green. 

Green. Heaven save your majesty!— and well met, 
gentlemen: 



I hope, the king is not yet shipped for Ireland. 

Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 't is better hope he is; 
For his designs ci'ave haste, his haste good hope; 
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? 

Qreen. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his 
power, 
And driven into despair an enemy's hope, 
Who strongly have set footing in this land: 
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself. 
And with uplifted arms is sate arriv'd 
At Ravenspurg. 

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid! 

Qreen. O, madam, 't Is too true; and that is worse, — 
The lord Northumberland, his young sou Henry 

Percy, 
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 

Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumber- 
land, 
And the rest of the revolted faction traitors? 

Green. We have: whereupon the earl of Worcester 
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship. 
And all the household servants fled with him 
To Bolingbroke. 

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe. 
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: 
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigj'; 
And I, a gasping new-delivered mother. 
Hath woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow, join'd. 

Bushy. Despair not, madam. 

Qiieen. Who shall hinder me? 

I will despair, and be at enmity 
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, 
A parasite, a keeper-back of death. 
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
Which false hope lingers in extremity. 
Enter York. 

Green. Here comes the duke of York. 

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck; 
O, full of careful business are his looks I 
Uncle, 
For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. 

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: 
Comfort 's in heaven, and we are on the earth. 
Where nothing lives, but crosses, care, and grief. 
Your husband he is gone to save far off, 
Whilst others come to make him lose at home: 
Here am I left to underprop his land; 
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: 
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; 
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd htm. 
Enter a Servant. 

&»•«. My lord, your son was gone before I came. 

York. He was?— Why, so !— go all which way it 
will ! 
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold. 
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.— 
Sirrah, get thee to Flashy, to my sister Gloster; 
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: 
Hold, take my ring. 

Sen: My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship: 
To-day, I came by, and called there;— 
But I shall grieve j'ou to report the rest. 

York. What is it, knave? 

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 

York. Heaven for his mercy! what a tide of woes 
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! 
I know not what to do:— I would to heaven, 
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,) 
The king had cut off my head with my brother's. 
What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland?— 
How shall we do for money for these wars? — 
Come, sister,- cousin, I would say: pray, pardon 

me. — 
Go, fellow, [to the Servant] get thee home, provide 

some carts. 
And bring away the armour that is there. — 

[E.vit Servant. 
Gentlemen, will j'ou go muster men? if I know 
How, or (vhich way, to order these affairs, 
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, 
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: — 
The one 's my sovereign, whom both my oath 
And duty bids defend; the other again 
Is .iiy kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd. 
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
Well, somewhat we must do.— Come, cousin, I '11 
Dispose ot you:— Gentlemen, go muster up your 

men. 
And meet me presently at Berkley -castle. 

I should to Plashy too; 

But time will not perniit;— All is uneven. 
And every thing is left at six and seven. 

[ Exeunt York and Queen. 

Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ire- 
land, 
But none returns. For us to levy power. 
Proportionable to the enemy, 
Is all Impossible. 

Green. Besides, our nearness to the kinj^ in love. 
Is near the hate of those love not the king. 

Bagot. And that 's the wavering commons: for 
their love 
Lies In their pur.ses; and whoso empties them. 
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. 

Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- 
demn'd. 

Bagot. If Judgment lie In them, then so do we. 
Because we ever have been near the king. 

Green. Well, I '11 for refuge straight to Bristol cas- 
tle; 
The earl of Wiltshire is already there. 

Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office 
Will the hateful commons perform for us; 
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces. — 
Will you go along with us? 

Bagot. No; I will to Ireland to his majesty, 
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain. 
We three here part, that ue'er shall meet again. 

Bushy. That 's as York thrives to beat back Boling- 
broke. 

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes 
Is numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; 
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 
Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever 

Bushy. Well, we may meet again. 

Bagot. I fear me, never. 

f Exeunt. 

SCENK III.— The Wilds in Glostershire. 

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, with 
Forces. 



Baling. How far Is it, my lord, to Berkley now? 

North. Believe me, noble lord, 
I am a stranger here in Glostei'shlre. 
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways. 
Draw out our miles, and make them wearlsome: 
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar. 
Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
But, I bethink me, what a weary way 
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found 
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company; 
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
The tedlousness and process of my travel: 
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have 
The present benefit which I possess: 
And hope to Joy, is little less In joy. 
Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords 
Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath done 
By sight of what I have, your noble company. 

Baling. Of much less value is my company 
Than your good words. But who comes here? 

Enter Harry Percy. 

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. — 
Harry, how fares your uncle? 

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn 'd his 
health of you. 

North. Why, Is he not with the queen? 

Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the 
court, 
Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd 
The household of the king. 

North. What was his reason? 

He was not so resolv'd when we last spake together. 

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed trai- 
tor. 
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, 
To offer service to the duke of Hereford; 
And sent me over by Berkley, to discover 
What power the duke of York had levied there; 
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. 

North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? 

Percy. No, my good lord; for that Is not forgot 
Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge, 
I never in my lite did look ^n him. 

Nortli. Then learn to know him now; this is the 
duke. 

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service. 
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; 
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm 
To more approved service and desert. 

Baling. 1 thank thee, gentle Perc.v; and be sure, 
I count m.yself In nothing else so happy 
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; 
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love. 
It shall be still thy true love's recompense: 
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. 

North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir 
Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? 

Percji. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, 
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard : 
And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Sey- 
mour: 
None else of name and noble estimate. 

Enter Ross and Willoughby. 

North. Here comes the lords of Ross and Willough- 
hy. 
Bloody with spurj'Ing, fiery-red with haste. 
Baling. Welcome, my lords: I wot your love ptrr- 
sues 
A banish'd traitor; all my treasury 
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich 'd. 
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. 
Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble 

lord. 
Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. 
Baling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the 
poor; 
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, 
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? 
Enter Berkley. 
North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 
Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. 
Baling. My lord, my answer is— to Iian master: 
And I am come to seek that name In England: 
.^nd I must find that title in your tongue. 
Before I make reply to aught you say. 
Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 't is not my mean- 
ing 
To raze one title of your honour out:— 
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,) 
From the most gracious regent of this land. 
The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on 
To take advantage of the absent time. 
And fright our native peace with self -born arms. 
Enter York, attended. 

Baling. I shall not need transport my words by 
you; 
Here comes his grace in person.— My noble uncle ! 

[Kneel)!, 

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy 
knee. 
Whose duty is deceivable and false. 

Baling. My gracious uncle ! 

Yo7-k. Tut, tut ! 

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle. 
I am no ti'altor's uncle: and that word, grace. 
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. 
Why have these banish'd and forbidden legs 
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? 
But then more why;— why have they dar'd to march 
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, 
Frighting her pale-fac'd villagers with war. 
And ostentation of despised arms? 
Cora'st thou because the anointed king is hence? 
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind. 
And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth 
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself. 
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, 
From forth the ranks of many thousand French, 
O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine. 
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee. 
And minister correction to thy fault ! 

Baling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; 
On what condition stands it, and wherein ? 

York. Even iu condition of the worst degree,— 
In gross rebellion, and detested treason- 
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come, 
Before the expiration of thy time. 
In braving arms against thy sovereign. 



KING lilCIIABD 11. 



[Act IK.. 



Baling. As I was banish'd, I was banisli'd Here- 
ford: 
But as I come, I come for Lancaster, 
And, noble uncle, I beseech your srace. 
Look not on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: 
Voii are my father, for, methlnks in you 
I se'C old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father! 
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
A wand'ring vagabond; ray rights and royalties 
Pluek'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
To upstart unthrifts? \Vherefore was I born? 
If that my cousin king be king of England, 
It must be granted I am duke ot Lancaster. 
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman; 
flad you first died, and he been thus trod down. 
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father. 
To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. 
I am denied to sue my livery here. 
And yet my letters-patents give me leave: 
My father's goods are all distrain 'd, and sold; 
And these, and all, are all amiss eniploy'd. 
AVIiat would you have me do? I am a subject. 
And challenge law: Attorneys are denied me; 
And therefore personally I lay my claim 
To my inheritance of free descent. 

North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. 

Hoss. It stands your grace upon, to do him ritjht. 

Willo. Base men by his endowments are made 
great. 

Ynrk. My lords of England, let me tell you this,— 
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs. 
And labour'd all I could to do him right: 
But in this kind to come, in braving arms, 
Be his own carver, and cut out his way. 
To find out right with wrong,— it may not be; 
And you that do abet him in this kind. 
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 

North. The noble duke Iiath sworn his coming is 
Bnt tor his own: and, for the right of that, 
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; 
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath. 

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms; 
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess. 
Because my power is weak, and all ill left: 
But, if I could, by him that gave me life, 
I would attach you all, and make you stoop • 
Unto the sovereign merry of tiie king; 
But since I cannot, be it known to you, 
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; — 
Unless you please to enter In the castle. 
And there repose you for this night. 

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. 
But we must win your grace to go with us 
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held 
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices. 
The caterpillars of the commonwealth. 
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. 

York. It may be I will go with you:— but yet I '11 
pause; 
For I am loth to break our country's laws. 
Kor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are: 
Things past redress are now with me past care. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene TV.— A Camp in Wales. 

Enter Salisbury and a Captain. 

Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days. 
And hardly kept our countrymen together, . 
And yet we hear no tidings from the king; 
Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. 

Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welchman; 
The king reposeth all his confidence 
In thee. 

Cap. 'T is thought the king is dead; we will not 
stay. 
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd. 
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; 
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth. 
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; 
Eich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, — 
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy. 
The other, to enjoy by rage and war: 
These signs forerun the death (or fall] of kings.— 
Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled. 
As well assur'd Kichard their king is dead. [Exit. 

Sal. Ah, Eichard ! with the e.ves of heavy mind, 
I see thy glory, like a shooting star, 
Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! 
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west. 
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest; 
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes; 
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. 

ACT in. 

Scene I.— Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. 

Entpr Bollngbroke, York, Northumberland, Percy, 
Wllloughby, Boss: Officers behind, with Bushy and 
Green, prisoners. 

Baling. Bring forth these men. — 
Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls 
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) 
With too much urging your pernicious lives. 
For 't were no charity; yet, to wash your blood 
From off my hands, here, in the view of men, 
I will unfold some causes of your deaths. 
You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments. 
By you unhappied and di.sfigur'd clean. 
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours, 
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and liim; 
Broke the possession of a royal bed. 
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. 
Myself— a prince, by fortune of my birth; 
Near to the king in blood; and near in love. 
Till you did make him misinterpret me,— 
Have stoop 'd my neck under your injuries. 
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, 
Eating the bitter bread of banishment: 
While you have fed upon my seignories, 
Dlspark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods; 
From mine own windows torn my household coat, 
Eaz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign- 
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,— 
To show the world I am a gentleman. 
This, and much more, much more than twice all this. 
Condemns you to the death:— See them deliver'd 

over 
To execution and the hand of death. 

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me. 
Than Bollngbroke to England. Lords, farewell. 



Green. My comfort is that heaven will take our 
souls, 
And plague Injustice with the pains of hell. 
Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them de- 
spatch'd. 

[Exeunt North, and others, with Prisoners. 
Uncle, you say, the (lueen is at your house: 
For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated: 
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends; 
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 

York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd 
With letters of your love to her at large. 

Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.— Come, lords, away; 
To fight with Glendower and his complices; 
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [Exeunt. 

Scene XI.— The coast of Wales. A Castle in View. 

Flourish: Di-ums and Trumpets. Enter King Rich- 
ard, Bishop of Carlisle, Aunierle, and Soldiers. 
Jr. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand? 
Aiim. Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the 
air. 
After your late tossing on the breaking seas? 

K. Rich. Needs must I like It well; I weep for joy. 
To stand upon my kingdom once again. 
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand. 
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: 
As a long parted mother with her child 
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles, in meeting; 
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, iny earth. 
And do thee favour with my royal hands. 
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth. 
Nor with thy sweet comfort his rav'nous sense: 
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. 
And lieavy-gaited toads, lie in their way; 
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet 
Which with usurping steps do trample thee. 
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies: 
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower. 
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder. 
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. 
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords; 
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones 
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. 
Bishop. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made 
you king 
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all. 
The means that heaven yields must be erabrac'd. 
And not neglected; else. If heaven would. 
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse; 
The proffer'd means of succour and redress. 

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; 
Whilst Bollngbroke, through our security. 
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends. 
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not 
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world. 
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen. 
In murthers, and in outrage, boldly here; 
But when, from under this terrestrial ball. 
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines. 
And darts his light through every guilty hol§, 
•Then murthers. treasons, and detested sins. 
The cloak of night being pluek'd from off their backs. 
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? 
So vv'hen this thief, this traitor, Bollngbroke,— 
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night. 
Whilst we are wand'ring with the antipodes, — 
Shall see us rising in our throne the east. 
His treasons will sit blushing in his face. 
Not able to endure the sight of day. 
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. 
Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
Can wash the balm from an anointed king : 
The breath of worldly men cannot depose 
The deputy elected by the Lord: 
For every man that Bollngbroke hath press'd. 
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
Heaven for his Eichard hath in heavenly pay 
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight. 
Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the 
right. 

Enter Salisbury. 
Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power? 
Sal. Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious lord, 
Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue, 
And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord. 
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: 
O, call back yesterday, bid time return. 
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men: 
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, 
O'ertlirows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; 
For all the Welchmen, hearing thou wert dead. 
Are gone to Bollngbroke, dlspers'd, and fled. 
Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace so 

pole? 
K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand 

men 
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; 
And, till so much blood thither come again. 
Have I not reason to look pale and dead? 
All souls that will be safe fly from my side; 
For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 
Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember ^vho you are. 
K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king? 
Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleepest. 
Is not the king's name forty thousand names? 
Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes 
At thy great glory.— Look not to the ground, 
Ye favourites of a king. Are we not high? 
High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York 
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who 
Comes here? 

Enter Scroop. 
Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, 
Than can my caretun'd tongue deliver him. 

K. Rich. Mine car is open, and my heart prepar'd; 
The worst is wordly loss thou canst unfold. 
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 't was my care; 
And what loss is it to be rid ot care ? 
Strives Bollngbroke to be as great as we? 
Greater he shall not be; If he serve God, 
We '11 serve him too, and be his fellow so. 
Eevolt our subjects? that we cannot mend; 
They break their faith to God, as well as us: 
Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay; 
"rhe worst Is death, and death will have his day. 

Soroop. Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd 
To bear the tidings of calamity. 



Like an unseasonable stormy day. 

Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores 

As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears; 

So high above his limits swells the rage 

Of Bollngbroke, covering your fearful land 

With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. 

White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless 

scalps 
Against thy majesty; and boys, with women's voices. 
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints 
In stiff unwieldly arms against thy crown: 
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 
Of double-fatal yew against thy state; 
Yea, distaff women manage rusty bills 
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel. 
And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale soilL 
Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? 
What is become of Bushy? where is Green? 
That they have let the dangerous enemy 
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? 
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. 
I warrant they have made peace with Bollngbroke. 

Scroop. Peace have they made with him. Indeed, 
my lord. 

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- 
demption! 
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! 
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my 

heart! 
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! 
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war 
Upon their spotted souls for this offence! 

Scroojj. Sweet love, I see, changing his property. 
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate: 
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made 
with heads, and not with hands: those whom you 

curse, 
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound. 
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. 

Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, 
dead? 

Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. 

Aum. Where is the duke myfatherwith his power? 

K. Rich. No matter where. Of comfort no man 
speak: 
Let 's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; 
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, 
iet 's choose executors, and talk of wills: 
And yet not so,— for what can we bequeath, 
Save our deposed bodies to the ground? 
Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own but death; 
And that small model of the barren earth. 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:— 
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war. 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed; 
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping klU'd; 
All murther'd:— For within the hollow crown 
That rounds the mortal temples of a king. 
Keeps death his court; and there the antic sits, 
Scoffing his state, and giinning at his pomp, — 
Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
To monarchize, be fear'd.and kill with looks; 
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,— 
As If this flesh, which walls about our life. 
Were brass impregnable,— and, huniour'd thus, 
Comes at the last, and with alittle pin 
Bores through his castle walls, and — farewell king! 
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
With solemn reverence; throw away respect, 
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty. 
For ybu have but mistook me all this while: 
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
Need friends:— Subjected thus. 
How can you say to me— I am a king? 

Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present 
woes. 
But presently prevent the ways to wall. 
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength. 
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe. 
And so your follies fight against yourself. 
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight: 
And fight and die, is death destroying death; 
Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. 

Aum. My father hath a power, inquire of him; 
And learn to make a body of a limb. 

K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well:- Proud Boling 
broke, I come 
To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
This ague-flt of fear is over-blown; 
An easy task it is to win our own. 
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? 
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 

•Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky 

The state and Inclination of the day: 
So may you by my dull and heavy eye; 

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
I play the torturer, by small and small. 
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: — 
Your uncle York is joln'd with Bollngbroke; 
And all your northern castles yielded up. 
And all your southern gentlemen In arms 
Upon his faction. 

K. Rich. Thou hast said enough.— 

Beshrew thee, coUsin, which didst lead me forth 

[To Aumerle. 
Of that sweet way I was in to despair! 
What say you now? What comfort have we now? 
By heaven, I 'II hate him everlastingly 
That bids me be of comfort any more. 
Go to Flint castle; there I '11 pine away; 
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
That power I have, discharge; and let them go 
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, 
For I have none:— Let no man speak again 
To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 

Aum. My liegei one word. 

K. Rich. He does me double wrong 

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
Discharge my followers, let them hence.— Away, 
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. 

[Exezint. 

Scene III.— Wales. Before Flint Castle. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Bollngbroke and 
Forces; York, Northumberland, and others. 

Boling. So that by this Intelligence we learn; 
The Welchmen are dlspers'd; and Salisbury 
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed 



Scene hi.] 



KING RICHARV 11. 



lar 



With some few private friends, upon this coast. 

North. The news is very fair and good, my lord; 
Richard, not far from hence, hath liid his head. 

York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, 
To say, king Kichard: Alack the heavy day. 
When sucli a sacred king should hide his head ! 

North. Your grace mistakes; only to be brief, 
Left I his title out. 

York. The time hath been, 

Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you. 
For lakiuK so the head, your whole head's length. 

Boling. Mistake not, uncle, farther than you should. 

York. Take not, good cousin, farther than you 
should, 
Lest vou mis-take: The heavens are o'er your head. 

lioiing. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself 
Against their will.— But who comes here? 

Enter Percy. 

Welcome, Harry; what, will not this castle yield? 

Percy. The castle royally is mann'dj my lord, 
.Vgainst thy entrance. 

Boling. Royally? 

Why, it contains no king? 

Percy. Yes, my good lord, 

It doth contain a king; king Richard lies 
Within the limits of yon lime and stone: 
And with him the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, 
Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman 
Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. 

North. OhI belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle. 

Boling. Noble lord, [To North. 

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle: 
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
Into his ruln'd ears, and thus deliver. 
Henry Bolingbroke 

Upon his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand; 
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart. 
To his most royal person: hither come 
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power; 
Provided that, my banishment repeal'd, 
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted: 
If not, I '11 use the advantage of my power. 
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: 
The which, how far off from the mind of Boling- 
broke 
It Is such crimson tempest should bedrench 
The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land. 
My stooping duty tenderly shall show. 
Go, signify as much; while here we march 
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 

rNorthumberland advances to the castle, with a 
trumpet. 
Let 's march without the noise of threat'ning drum. 
That from this castle's totter'd battlements 
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. 
Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet 
With no less terror than the elements 
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock 
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
Be he the fire, I 'II be the yielding water: 
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
My waters; on the earth, and not on him. 
March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. 

A parte so'tnded and answered hy another trumpet 
within. Flourish. Enter on the walls King Rich 
ard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop, and 
Salisbury. 

York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear 
As doth the blushing discontented sun, 
From out the fiery portal of the east; 
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
Of his bright passage to the Occident. 
Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye. 
As bright as Is the eagle's, lightens forth 
Controling majesty; Alack, alack, for woe, 
That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 
K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have we 

stood 
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, 

[To Northumberland. 
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: 
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
To pay their awful duty to our presence? 
If we be not, show us the hand of God 
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship; 
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, 
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
And though you think, that all, as you have done, 
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us,! 
And we are barren, and bereft of friends; 
Yet knoWj— my master, God omnipotent, 
Is mustermg in his clouds, on our behalf. 
Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike 
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot. 
That lift your vassal hands against my head. 
And threat the glory of my precious crown. 
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,) 
That every stride he makes upon my land, 
Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope 
The purple testament of bleeding war; 
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, 
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 
Shall ill become the flower of England's face; 
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. 
North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the 

king 
Should so with civil and uncivil arms 
Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin, 
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand; 
And by the honourable tomb he swears, 
That stands upon vour royal grandsire's bones; 
And by the royalties of both your bloods. 
Currents that spring from one most gracious head; 
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt; 
And by the worth and honour of himself. 
Comprising all that may be sworn or said,— 
His coming hither hath no further scope. 
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg 
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees; 
Which on thy royal party granted once, 
His glittering arms he will commend to rust, 
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
To faithful service of .your majesty. 
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; 
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 



K. Rich. Northumberland, say,— thus the king re- 
turns;— 
His noble cousin Is right welcome hither; 
And all the nimiber of his fair demands 
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction: 
With all the gracious utterance thou hast. 
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. — 
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [To Aum. 
To look so jjoorly, and to speak so fair? 
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
Defiance to the traitor, and so die? 
Aum. No, good my lord; let 's tight with gentle 
words. 
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful 
swords. 
.Jr. Rich. O God ! O God ! that e'er this tongue of 
mine, 
That laid the sentence of dread banishment 
On yon proud man, should take it off again 
With words of sooth ! O, that I were as great 
As is my grief, or lesser than my name ! 
Or that I could forget what I have been I 
Or not remember what I must be now ! 
Swell'st thou, proud heart? I '11 give thee scope to 

beat. 
Since foes have scope to beat doth thee and me. 

Aum. Northumberland comes back from Boling- 
broke. 

K. Rich. What must the king do now? Must he 
submit? 
The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd? 
The king shall be contented: Must he lose 
The name of king? o' God's name, let it go: 
I '11 give my jewels, for a set of beads; 
My gorgeous palace, for a hei'mitage; 
My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown; 
My ligur'd goblets, for a dish of wood; 
My sceptre, for a palmer's walking-staff; 
My subjects, for a pair of carved saints; 
And my large kingdom, for a little grave, 
A little little grave, an obscure grave: — 
Or I '11 be buried in the king's highway. 
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head: 
For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live; 
And, buried once, why not upon my head? 
Aumerle, thou weep'st; My tender-hearted cousin!— 
We '11 make foul weather with despised tears; 
Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn. 
And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes. 
And make some pretty match with shedding tears? 
As thus;— To drop them still upon one place. 
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
Within the earth; and, therein la.ia,— There lies 
Tivo kinsmen, digg'd their graves with weeping eyes? 
Would not this ill do well?— Well, well, I see 
I talk but idly, and you mock at me.— 
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, 
What says king Bolingbroke? will his majesty 
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? 
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says— ay. 

North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend 
To speak with you; may 't please you to come down? 

K. Mich. Down, down, I come; like glistering 
Phaeton, 
Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 

[North retires to Boling. 
In the base court? Base court, where kings grow 

base. 
To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
In the base court? Comedown? Down courti down 

king! 

For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should 
sing. [Exeunt from above. 

Boling. What says his majesty? 

North. Sorrow and grief of heart 

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man: 
Yet he is come. 

Enter King Richard, and his Attendants below. 

Boling. Stand all apart, 

And show fair duty to his majesty. 

My gracious lord.— [Kneeling. 

K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely 
knee. 
To make the base earth proud with kissing it: 
Me rather had my heart might feel your love. 
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, 
Thus high at least, [touching his own head] although 
your knee be low. 

Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. 

K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and 
all. 

Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, 
As my true service shall deserve your love. 

K. Rich. Well you deserve: — They well deserve to 
have 
That know the strong'st and surest way to get. 
Uncle, give me your hand: nay, dry your eyes; 
Tears show their love, but want their remedies. — 
Cousin, I am too young to be your father, 
Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
What you will have, I '11 give, and willing too; 
For do we must what force will have us do. — 
Set on towards London:— Cousin, is it so? 

Boling. Yea, my good lord. 

K. Rich. Then I must not say no. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— Langley. The Duke of York's 

Garden. 

Enter the Queen and two Ladies. 

Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this gar- 
den. 
To drive away the heavy thought of care? 

1 Lady. Madam, we '11 play at howls. 

Queen. 'T will make me think 

The world is full of rubs, and that ray fortune 
Runs 'gainst the bias. 

1 Lady. Madam, we will dance. 

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight, 
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: 
Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. 

1 Lndy. Madam, we '11 tell tales. 

Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy? 

1 Lady. Of either, madam. 

Queen. Of neither, girl: 

For if of joy, being altogether wanting. 
It doth remember me the more of sorrow; 
Or if of grief, being altogether had. 
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: 
For what I have, I need not to repeat; 



And what I want, it boots not to complain. 
1 Lady. Madam, I '11 sing. 

Queen. 'T is well, that thou hast cause; 

But thou should'st please me better would 'st thou 
weep. 
1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you 

good. 
Queen. And I could sing, would weeping do me- 
good, 
And never borrow any tear of thee. 
But stay, here come the gardeners: 
Let 's step into the shadow of these trees. — 

Enter a Gardener find two Servants. 
My wretchedness unto a row of pins. 
They '11 talk of state: for every one doth so 
Against a change: Woe is forerun with woe. 

[Queen and Ladies retire. 

Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks, 
Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: 
Give some supportance to the bending twigs. 
Go thou, and like an executioner 
Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays. 
That look too lofty in our commonwealth: 
All must be even in our government. 
You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
I'he soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 

1 Servant. Why should we in the compass of a pale,. 
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,. 
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate? 
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land. 
Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, 
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruln'd. 
Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
Swarming with caterpillars? 

Gard. Hold thy peace: — 

He that has suffer'd this disorder'd spring 
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: 
The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did shel- 
ter. 
That seem'd In eating him to hold him up, 
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke; 
I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 

] Serv. What, are they dead? 

Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke 

Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.— O I what pity is it 
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land, 
As we this garden ! We at time of year 
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees;. 
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood. 
With too much riches it confound itself: 
Had he done so to great and growing men. 
They might have lived to bear, and he to taste 
Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches 
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: 
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown. 
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 

1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall be de- 
pos'd ? 

Gard. Depress'd he is already; and depos'd, 
'T is doubt, he will be: Letters came last night 
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, 
That tell black tidings. 

Queen. O, I am press'd to death through want of 

speaking ! [Coming from her concealment. 
Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden. 
How dares thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleas- 

ing news? 
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee 
To make a second fall of cursed man ? 
Why dost thou say king Richard is depos'd ? 
Dar'st thou, thou little netter thing than earth, 
Divine his downfal? Say where, when, and how, 
Cam'st thou by these ill-tidings? speak, thou wretch- 

Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I 
To breathe these news: yet what I say is true. 
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh 'd: 
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself. 
And som.e few vanities that make him light; 
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
Besides himself, are all the English peers, 
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down. 
Post you to London, and you '11 flnd it so: 
I speak no more than every one doth know. 

Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,. 
Doth not thy embassage belong to me. 
And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st 
To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go. 
To meet at London London's king in woe. 
What, was I born to this ! that my sad look 
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? 
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, 
I would the plants thou graft'st may never grow. 

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 

Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be no- 
worse, 
I would my skill were subject to thy curse. — 
Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place, 
I '11 set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace: 
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt.. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I.— London. Westminister Hall. The Lords 
spiritual on the right side of the throne; the Ix>rds 
• temporal on the left; the Commons below. 

Enter Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey, Northumber- 
land, Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, Bishop of 
Carlisle, Abbot of Westminister, and Attendants. 
Officers behind with Bagot. 

Boling. Call forth Bagot. 
Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; 
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death: 
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd 
The bloody office of his timeless end. 

Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. 

Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that 
man. 

Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring^ 
tongue 
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, 
I heard you say.— Is not my arm of length. 
That reacheth from the restful English court 
As far as Calais, to my uncle's head? — 
Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse 
The offer of an hundred thousand crown';. 



128 



KING men A EI) II. 



LACT V 



Than Bolinchroke's roturn to England; 
Adding witlial, how blest this land would be, 
In tills your cousin's death. 

Aum. Princes, and noble lords. 

What answer shall I make to this base man? 
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, 
On equal terms to give him chastisement? 
Either I nuist, or have mine honour soil'd 
With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. 
There is m.v gage, the manual seal of death. 
That marks tliee out for lull; 1 say, thou liest. 
And will maintain what thou hast said is false, 
In thy heart-blood, though being ail too base 
To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 

Boling. Uagot, forbear, thou slialt not take it up. 

Aiim. Excepting one, I would he were the best 
In all this preseni'e, that hath mbv'd me so. 

Fitz. If tliat thy valour stand on sympatliies, 
There is my gage, Aumerle, In gage to tliine: 
By tiiat f.air sun that shows me where thou stand'st, 
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it. 
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's deatli. 
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest; 
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart. 
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 

A\im. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see the day. 

Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were tills hour. 

Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. 

Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true, 
In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: 
And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage. 
To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st. 

Aiim. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, 
And never brandish more revengeful steel 
Over the glittering helmet of m.y foe! 

Lord. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Au- 
merle; 
And spur thee on with full as many lies 
As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear 
From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Aum, Who sets me else? by heaven, I '11 throw at 
all: 
I have a thousand spirits in one breast. 
To answer twent.v thousand such as you. 

Surrey. M.v lord Fitzwater, I do remember well 
The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 

Fitz. 'T is very true: you were in presence then; 
And you can witness with me, this is true, 

Surrey. As false, b.v heaven, as heaven Itself is 
true. 

Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 

Surrey. Dishonourable boy 

That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword. 
That it shall render vengeance and revenge, 
Till thou the liegiver, and that lie. do lie 
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. 
In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; 
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 

Fitz. How fondl.v dost thou spur a forward horse! 
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, 
And spit upon him, whilst I sa.y, he lies. 
And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith, 
To tie thee to my strong correction. 
As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal: 
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say 
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
To execute the noble duke at Calais. 

Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, 
That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this. 
If he may be repeal'd to try his honour. 

BoUng. These differences shall all rest under gage. 
Till Norfolk be repealed: repeal'd he shall be. 
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
To all ills land and seignories; when he 's return'd 
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. 
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field 
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross. 
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens; 
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself 
To Ital.v; and there, at Venice, gave 
His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
Under whose colours he had fought so long. 

Boling. Why, bishop. Is Norfolk dead? 

Car. As sure as I live, my lord. 

BoUng. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the 
bosom 
Of good old Abraham!— Lords appellants. 
Your differences shall all rest under gage. 
Till we assign you to your days of trial. 
Enter York, attended. 

York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul 
Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
To the possession of thy royal hand: 
Ascend his throne, descending now from him,— 
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! 

Boling. In God's name, I '11 ascend the regal throne. 

Car. Marry, heaven forbid!— 
Worst in this ro.val presence may I speak. 
Yet best beseeming me to speak tlie truth. 
Would God, that any in this noble presence 
Were enough noble to be upriglit Judge 
Of noble Richard; then true noblesse would 
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
What subject can give sentence on his king? 
And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? 
Thieves are not Judg'rt but they are by to hear. 
Although apparent guilt be seen in them: 
And shall the figure of God's majesty. 
His captain, steward, deputy elect. 
Anointed, crowned, planted many years. 
Be Judg'd by subject and inferior breath. 
And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, 
That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd 
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! 
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. 
My lord of Hereford here, whoiii you call king. 
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king; 
And If you crown him, let me prophesy,— 
The blood of England shall manure the ground. 
And future ages groan fur this foul act; 
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and inlldels. 
And, in this seat or peace, tiiniultuous wars 
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound; 
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny. 



Shall here Inhabit, and this land be call'd 

The field of Golgotha, and dead men's skulls. 

O, if you rear this house against this house, 

It will the woefullest division prove 

That ever fell upon this cursed earth: 

Prevent it, resist it, and let it not be so. 

Lest child, child's children, cry against you— woe' 

North. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your 
pains. 
Of capital treason we arrest you here; 
My lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
To keep him safely till his day of trial. 
May 't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit? 

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view 
He may surrender; so we shall proceed 
Without suspicion. 

yb)*. I will be his conduct. [Exit. 

Boling. Lords, you that lieie are under our arrest, 
Procure your sureties for your days of answer: 
Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle. 
And little look'd for at your lielping hands. 

He-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers 
bearing the croicn, &c. 

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 
Before I have shook off the regal thouglits 
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd 
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee:— 
Give sorrow leave a wlille to tutor me 
To this submission. Yet I well remember 
The favours of these men: Were they not mine? 
Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me? 
So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve. 
Found truth in all, but one; I in twelve thousand, 

none. 
God save the king!— Will no man say, amen? 
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. 
God save the king! although I be not he; 
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.— 
To do what service am 1 sent for hither? 

Yorh. To do that office, of thine own good will. 
Which tired majesty did make thee offer,- 
The resignation of thy state and crown 
To Henr.y Bolingbroke. 

K. Rich. Give me the crown;— Here, cousin, seize 
the crown; 
Here, cousin, on this side my hand; on that side 

thine. > 

Now is this golden crown like a deep well. 
That owes two buckets filling one another; 
The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
The other down, unseen, and full of water; 
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, 
Drinking my griefs, whilst .you mount up on high. 

Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. 

IC. Rich. My ci-own I am, but still my griefs are 
mine: 
You may my glories and my state depose. 
But not my griefs; still am I king of tnose. 

Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your 
crown. 

K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares 
down. 
My care is loss of care, by old care done; 
Your care is gain of care, by new care won; 
The cares I give I have, though given away; 
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 

Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown? 

K. Rich. Ay, no;— no, ay;— fori must nothing be; 
Therefore no, no, for I resign to thee. 
Now mark me how I will undo myself:— 
I give this heavy weight from off m.v head. 
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand. 
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; 
With mine own tears I wash away m' 'm. 
With mine own hands I give away my *vn, 
With mine own tongue deny my sacred . ate. 
With mine own breatli release all duteous oaths: 
All pomp and majesty I do forswear; 
My manors, rents, revenues; I forego; 
My acts, decrees and statutes I deny: 
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! 
God keep all vovvs unbroke are made to thee! 
Make me, that nothing have, -with nothing griev'd; 
And thou with all ple.as'd, that hast all achiev'd! 
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit. 
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit! 
God save king Henry unking'd Richard says. 
And send him many years of sunshine days! 
What more remains? 

North. No more, but that you read 

[Offering a paper. 
These accusations, and these grievous crimes. 
Committed by your person, and your followers. 
Against the state and profit of this land; 
That, b.v confessing them, the souls of men 
May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 

K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out 
My weav'd-up follies! Gentle Northumberland, 
If thy offences were upon record. 
Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop. 
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st. 
There should 'st thou find one heinous article, 
Containing the dei^osing of a king, 
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, 
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:— 
Nay, all of you, thit stand and look upon me. 
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myselt. 
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands. 
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates 
Have heredeiiver'd me to my sour cross. 
And water cannot wash away .your sin. 

North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles. 

K. Rich. Mine e.yes are full of tears, I cannot see: 
And yet salt water blinds them not so much. 
But they can see a sort of traitors here. 
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
I find myself a traitor with the rest: 
For I have given here my soul's consent. 
To undeck the pompous body of a king; 
Make glor.v base, and sovereignty a slave; 
Proud majesty a subject; state a peasant. 

North. My Lord, 

K. Rich. No lord of thine, tliou haught, insulting 
man. 
Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,— 
No, not that name was given nie at the font,— 
But 't is usurp'd:— Alack the heavy day. 
That I have worn so iiKiiiy winters out. 
And know not now what name to call myself! 
O, that I were a mockery king of snow. 
Standing before the sun of Boliugljroke, 
To melt "myself awa.v in water-drops! — 
Good king,— great king,— (and yet not gre.atly good,> 



si 



An if my word be sterling yet in England, 
Let it command a mirror hither straight, 
That it may sh6w me what a face I have, 
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 

Boling. Go, some of you, and" fetch a looking- 
glass. [Exit an Attendant. 

North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth 
come. 

K, Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come to 
hell. 

Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. 

North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 

K. Rich. The.y shall be satisfied; I '11 read enough. 
When I do see the very book indeed 
Where all ray sins are writ, and that 's myself. 

Re-enter Attendants with a glass. 
Give me that glass, and therein will I read. 
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck 
So many blows upon this face of mine. 
And made no deeper wounds?— O, flattering glass. 
Like to my followers in prosperity. 
Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face 
That ever.y da.y under Iiis household roof 
Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face 
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? 
Was this the face that fac'd so many follies, 
And was at last outfac'd by Bolingbroke? 
A brittle glory shineth in this face: 
As brittle as the glory is the face; 

[Dashes the glass against the grovnrl. 
For there it is, crack'd in an hundred shivers. 
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,— 
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. 

Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy \l 
The shadow of your face. 

K. Rich. Say that again. 

The shadow of my sorrow? Ha' let 's see:— 
'T is very true, my grief lies all within; 
And these external manners of laments 
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief. 
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; 
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king. 
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
How to lament the cause. I 'il beg one boon. 
And then be gone, and trouble you no more. 
Shall I obtain it? 

Boling. Name it, fair cousin. 

K. Rich. Fair cousin? I am greater than a king 
For, when I was a king, my flatterers 
Were then but subjects; being now a subject, 
I have a king here to my flatterer. 
Being so great, I have no need to beg. 

Boling. Yet ask. 

K. Rich. And shall I have? 

Boling. Y'ou Shall. 

K. Rich. Than give me leave to go. 

Boling. Whither? 

K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your 
sights. 

Boling. Go, some of you, conve.v him to the Tower. 

K. Rich. O, good! Convey?— Conveyers are you 
all. 
That rise thus nimbl.y by a true king's fall. 

[Exeunt K. Richard, some Lords, and a Guard. 

Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set 
down 
Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. 

[Exetmt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, 
and Aumerle. 

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 

Car. The woe 's to come; the children yet unboioi 
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? 

Abbot. Before I freely speak my mitidihereln. 
You shall not only take the sacrament 
To bury mine intents, but to effect 
Whatever I shall happen to devise:— 
I see your brows are full of discontent. 
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; 
Come home with me to supper; I will lay 
A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— London. A street leading to the 
Tower. 

Enter Queen and Ladies. 

Queen. This way the king will come; this Is the 
way 
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower. 
To whose flint bosom m.v condemned lord 
Is doom'd a prisoner b.v proud Bolingbroke: 
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth , 

Have any resting for her true king's queen. 
Enter King Richard and Guards. 
But soft, but see, or rather do not see. 
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold; 
That you in pity may dissolve to dew. 
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. 
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;' 
Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb. 
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn. 
Why should hard-favoured grief be lodg'd in thee. 
When triumph is become an ale-house guest? 

K. Rich. .Join not with grief, fair woman, do not SO, 
To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul. 
To tiiinkour former state a liappy dream; 
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are 
Shows us 'out this; I am sworn brother, sweet. 
To grim necessit.v; and lie and I 
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, 
And cloister thee in some religious house; 
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown. 
Which our profane hours here have stricken dovni. 

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and 
mind 
Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bolingbroke 
Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart? 
The Hon, dying, thrusteth forth his paw. 
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
To be o'er-power'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like. 
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod; 
And fawn on rage with base huinilit.v. 
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts? 

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; If aught but 
beasts, 
I had been still a happy king of men. 
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for 

France: 
Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st. 



Scene i.] 



KING lilCHARD II. 



129 



As from my deathbed, my last living leave. 

In winter's tedious nigjits. sit by the Are 

With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales 

Of woeful ages, long ago betid: 

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, 

Tell thou the lamentable fall of me. 

And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 

For why, the senseless brands will sympathize 

The heavy accent of thy moving tongue. 

And, In compassion, weep the fire out: 

And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, 

For the deposing of a rightful king. 

Enter Northumberland, attended. 

North. My lord, the mind of BoHngbroke is chang'd: 
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. 
.4nd, madam, there is order ta'en for you; 
With all swift speed you must away to France. 

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewith- 
al 
The mounting BoHngbroke ascends my throne, , 
The time shall not be many hours of age 
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head. 



Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. 

[Tliey kiss. 
Queen. Give me mine own again; 't were no gooil 
part. 
To take ou me to keep, and kill thy heart. 

[Kiss again. 
So, now I have mine own again, begone. 
That I may strive to kill it with a groan. 
K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond de- 
lay; 
Once more, adieu; the rest let sor)-ow say. [Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— The same. A Room in the Duke of York's 
Palace. 

Enter York and his Duchess. 

Duch. Jly lord, you told me you would tell the rest, 
When weeping made you break the story off 
Of our two cousins coming into I,ondon. 

York. Where did 1 leave? 

Duch. At that sad stop, my lord. 

Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows* tops, 
Threw dust and rubbish ou king Richard's head. 



I But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, 
.\nd, madam, you must call him Rutland now: 
' I am in parliament pledge for his truth, 
I And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 

Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets now 
] Tliat strew the gi-een lap of the new-come spring? 
' Atnn. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not; 
I God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. 

York. Well, bear you well In this new spring of 
time, 
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
What news from O.xford.' hold those justs and 
triumphs? 
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
York. You will be there, I know. 
Aum. If God prevent It not; I purpose so. 
York. What seal is that that hangs without thy 
bosom? 
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. 
Aum. My lord, 't is nothing. 

York. No matter then who sees It; 

I will be satisfied,— let me see the writing. 
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; 




\istpart of King Eervry /K] 



Fal. How! Poor? look upon his face; What call you rich? let them coin his nose, 
let them coin his cheeks. 



[act III.— scene III.] 



Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think. 
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half. 
It is too little, helping him to all: 
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way 
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again. 
Being ne'er so little urg'd another way. 
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 
The love of wicked friends converts to fear; 
That fear, to liate; and hate turns one, or both, 
. To worthy danger, and deserved death. 

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. 
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. 

K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd?— Bad men, ye violate 
A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me; 
And then betwixt me and my married wife. 
Let me unklss the oath 'twixt thee and me; 
And yet not so, for with a kiss 't was made. 
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north. 
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; 
My queen to France; from whence, set forth in 

pomp. 
She came adorned hither like sweet Mav, 
Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. 

Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? 

K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart 
from heart. 

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. 

North. That were some love, but little policy. 

Queen. Then whither he goes thither let me go. 

K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. 
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; 
Better far off, than near, be ne'er the near. 
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. 

Queen. So longest way shall nave the longest moans. 

K. Rich. Twice for one step I '11 groan, tlie way 
being short. 
And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
Come, come. In wooing sorrow let 's be brief, 
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. 
Une kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; 



York. Then, as I said, the duke, great BoHngbroke, 
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed. 
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know. 
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course. 
While all tongues cried— God save thee, BoHng- 
broke! 
You would have thought the very windows spake. 
So many greedy looks of young and old 
Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
Upon his visage; and that all the walls. 
With painted imagery, had said at once,— 
Jesu preserve thee! welcome BoHngbroke! 
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
Bespake them thus,— I thank you. countrymen: 
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 

Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the 
whHst? 

Yo7-k. As in a theatre, the eyes of men. 
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, 
-■Yre idly bent on him that enters next, 
Thinking his prattle, to be tedious: 
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save hiin; 
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: 
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; 
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off. 
His face still combating with tears and smiles. 
The badges of his grief and patience. 
That had not God, tor some strong purpose, steel'd 
The hearts of men, they must perforce liave melted. 
And bai'barism itself have pitied him. 
But heaven hath a hand in these events; 
To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
To BoHngbroke are we sworn subjects now 
Whose state and honour I for aye allow. 

Enter Aumerle. 
Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 
York. Aumerle that was; 



It is a matter of small consequence, 

Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 

Yoi-k. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. 
I fear, I fear,— 

Duch. - What should you fear? 

'T is nothing but spme bond that he is enter'd into 
For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. 

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with abend 
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a f ool.— 
Boy, let me see the writing. 

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not 
show It. 

York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. 

[Snatches it and reads. 
Treason! foul treason!— villain! traitor! slave! 
• Duch. What is the matter, my lord? 

York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Serv- 
ant.] Saddle my horse. 
Heaven for his mercy! what treachery is here! 

Ducli. Why, what is it, my lord ? 

York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse: — 
Now by my honour, by my life, my troth, 
I will appeach the villain. [E.vit Servant. 

Duch. What 's the matter? 

York. Peace, foolish woman. 

Duch. I will not peace:— What is the matter, son? 

Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more 
Than my poor life must answer. 

Duch. Thy life answer? 

Re-enter Servant, with boots. 

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. 
Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.- Poor boy, thou art 
amaz'd: 
Hence, villain: never more come in mv sight.- 

[To tlie Servant. 
York. Give me my boots, I say. 
f/uch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? 
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? 
Have we more sons? or are we Uke to have? 



J L 



130 



KING lilCHAED II. 



[Act v. 



Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? 
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, 
And rob me of a happy mother's name? 
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? 

York. Thou fond mad woman, 
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? 
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament. 
And interchangeably set down their hands, 
To kill the king at Oxford. 

Duch. He shall be none; 

We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him? 

York. Away, 
Fond woman! were he twenty times my son 
I would appeach him. 

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him 

As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. 
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect 
That I have been disloyal to thy bed. 
And that he is a bastard, not thy son; 
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind- 
He is as like thee as a man may be. 
Not like to me, or any of my Wn, 
And yet I love him. 

York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. 

Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his 
horse; 
Spur, post; and get before him to the king. 
And beg thy pardou ere he do accuse thee. 
I 'II not be long behind; though I be old: 
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York: 
And never will I rise up from the ground. 
Till BoUngbroke have pardon'd thee: Away; 
Begone. [Exeunt. 

Scene HI.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 

Enter BoUngbroke, as King; Percy, and 
other Lords. 

Baling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son! 
'T is full three months since I did see him last: 
It any plague hang over us, 't is he. 
I would to heaven, my lords, he might be found: 
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
For there, they say, he dally doth frequent, 
With unrestrained loose companions- 
Even such, they say, as stand In narrow lanes. 
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; 
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy. 
Takes on the point of honour, to support 
So dissolute a crew. 

Percy, lly lord, some two days since I saw the 
prince. 
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 

Baling. And what said the gallant? 

Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the stews. 
And from the common 'st creature pluck a glove, 
And wear it as a favour; and with that 
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 

Baling. As dissolute as desperate: yet, through 
both 
I see some sparkles of a better hope. 
Which elder days may happily bring forth. 
But who comes here? 

Enter Aumerle, hastily. 

Aum. Where is the king? 

Baling. What means 

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? 

Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your 
majesty. 
To have some conference -with your grace alone. 

Baling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
alone. [Exeunt Percy, and Lords. 

What is the matter with our cousin now? 

Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the eartli, 

[Kneels. 
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, 
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. 

Baling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? 
If on the first, how heinous ere it be. 
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. 

Aum. Then give me leave that I may tura the key. 
That no man enter till my tale be done. 

Baling. Have thy desire. 

[Aumerle lacks the door. 

York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thyself; 
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 

Baling. Villain, I '11 make thee safe. [Draiving. 

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; 
Thou hast no cause to fear. 

York, [Within.] Open the door, secure, foolhardy 
king; 
Shall I, tor love, speak treason to thy face? 
Open the door, or I will break it open. 

[BoUngbroke opens the door. 
Enter York. 

Baling. What Is the matter, uncle? speak; 
Eecover breath; tell us how near is danger. 
That we may arm us to encounter It. 

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou Shalt 
know 
The treason that my haste forbids me show. 

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise 
past: 
I do repent me; read not my name there. 
My heart is not confederate with my hand. 

York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set itdown.— 
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; 
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence: 
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. 

Baling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy ! 
O loyal father of a treacherous son ! 
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, 
From whence this stream through muddy passages 
Hath held his current, and defll'd himself! 
Thy overflow of good converts to bad; 
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; 
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame. 
As thriftless .sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies. 
Or my sham'd lite in his dishonour lies; 
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath. 
The traitor lives, the true man 's put to death. 

Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for heaven's 
sake let me in. 

Baling. What shrlU-volc'd suppliant makes this 
eager cry? 

Ditc/i. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 't is I. 
Speak with me, pity me, open the door: 
A beggar begs that never begg'd before. 



Baling. Our scene is alter'd,— from a serious thing, 
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King. 
M.y dangerous cousin, let your mother in; 
I know she 's come to pray for your foul sin. 

York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray. 
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. 
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound; 
This, let alone, will all the rest confound. 
Enter Duchess. 

Duch.. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man; 
Love, loving not itself, none other can. 

I'orA;. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make 
here? 
Shall thy old dues once more a traitor rear? 

Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle 
liege. [Kneels. 

Baling. Rise up, good aunt. 

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: 

For ever will I walk upon my knees. 
And never see day that the happy sees. 
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy. 
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 

Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. 

[Kneels. 

York. Against them both my true joints bended 
be. [Kneels. 

HI may'st thou thrive if thou grant any grace ! 

Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; 
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; 
His words come from his mouth, ours from our 

breast: 
He prays but faintly, and would be denied; 
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside: 
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; 
Our knees shall tneel till to the ground they grow: 
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; 
Ours of time zeal and deep integrity. 
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have 
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. 

Baling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. Nay, do not say — stand up; 

But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. 
An If I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 
Pardon— should be the first word of thy speech. 
I never long'd to hear a word till now; 
Say — pardon, king: let pity teach thee how: 
The word is short, but not so short as sweet; . 
No word like pardon for kings' moiUhs so meet. 

York. Speak it in French, king: say, pardonnez 
may. 

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? 
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord. 
That sett'st the word itself against the word ! 
Speak, pardon, as 't is current In our land; 
The chopping French we do not understand. 
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there: 
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; 
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce. 
Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse. 

Baling. Good aunt, stand up. 

Duch. I do not sue to stand. 

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 

Baling. I pardon him, as heaven shall pardon me. 

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! 
Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; 
Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain. 
But makes one pardon strong. 

Baling. With all my heart 

I pardon him. 

Duch. A god on earth thou art. 

Baling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the 
abbot. 
With all the rest of that consorted crew. 
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. 
Good uncle, help to order several powers 
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: 
They shall not live within this world, 1 swear. 
But I will hai'e them, if I once know where. 
Uncle, farewell,— and cousin too, adieu: 
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true, 

Dv,ch. Come, my old son;— I pray Heaven make 

thee new. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. 
Enter Exton and a Servant. 
Extan. Didst thou not mark the king, what words 
he spake? 
' Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? ' 
Was it not so? 
Sei'V. Those were his very words. 

Extan. ' Have I no friend? ' quoth he: he spake it 
twice. 
And urg'd it twice together; did he not? 
Serv. He did. 

E.vtan. And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me; 
As who should say,— I would thou wert the man 
That would divorce this terror from my heart; 
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let 's go; 
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. 

Scene V.— Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. 

Enter King Richard. 
K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 
This prison, where I live, unto the world: 
And, for because the world is populous, 
And here is not a creature but myself, 
I cannot do it;— yet I 'II hammer it out. 
My brain I '11 prove the female to my soul; 
My soul, the father, and these two beget 
A generation of still-breeding thoughts. 
And these same thoughts people this little world; 
In humours like the people of this world. 
For no thought is contented. The better sort,— 
As thoughts of things divine,— are intermlx'd 
With scruples, and do set the Word itself 
Against the Word: 

As thus,— Come, little ones; and then again,— 
It is as hard to come, as for a camel 
To thread the postern of a needle's eye. 
Thoughts tending to ambition they do plot 
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails 
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 
Of this hard world, my ragged jjrison walls; 
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves 
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves. 
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars. 
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame. 
That many have, and others must sit there: 
And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back 



Of such as have before endur'd the like. 

Thus play I, in one person many people. 

And none contented: Sometimes am I king; 

Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar. 

And so I am: Then crushing penury 

Persuades me I was better when a king; 

Then am I king'd again: and by-and-by. 

Think that I am uuking'd by BoUngbroke, 

And straight am nothing:— But, whate'er I am, 

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is. 

With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eaa'd 

With being nothing. Music do I hear? [Musio. 

Ha, ha ! keep time:— How sour sweet music is. 

When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! 

So is it in the music of men's lives. 

And here have I the daintiness of ear. 

To check time broke in a disorder'd string; 

But, for the concord of my state and time. 

Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. 

For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: 

My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar 

Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward 

watch. 
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, 
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour It Is, 
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, 
Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and groans. 
Show minutes, times, and hours:— but my time 
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, 
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. 
This music mads me, let it sound no more; 
For, though it have holp madmen to their wits. 
In me it seems It will make wise men mad. 
Yet blessing on his heart that gives It me ! 
For 't IS a sign of love; and love to Richard 
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. ] 

Enter Groom. I 

Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 

K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; 

The cheapest of us Is ten groats too dear. 
What art thou? and how comest thou hither, 
Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog 
That brings me food, to make misfortune live? 

Graam. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king. 
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards 

York, 
With much ado, at length have gotten leave 
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. 
O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld. 
In London streets that coronation day. 
When BoUngbroke rode on roan Barbary ! 
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid; 
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd I 

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? TeU me, gentle 
friend, 
How went he under him? 

Groom. So pi-oudly as if he had disdain'd the 
ground. 

K. Rich. So proud that BoUngbroke was on his 
back! 
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; 
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. 
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down, 
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck 
Of that proud man that did usurp his back? 
Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee. 
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man. 
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; 
And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd by jauncing BoUngbrokei 
Enter Keeper, xvith a dish.' 

^eep. Fellow, give place; here Is no longer stay. 

[To the Groom. 

K. Rich. If thou love me 't Is time thou wert away. 

Graam. What my tongue dares not that my heart 
shall say. [Exit. 

Keep. My lord, will 't please you to fall to? 

K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 

Keep. My lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, 
who lately came from the king, commands the con- 
trary. 

K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and 
thee! 
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 

[Beats the Keeper. 

Keep. Help, help, help ! 

Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. 

K. Rich. How now? what means death In this rude 
assault? 
VUlain, thine own hand yields thy death's instru- 
ment. 

[Snatching a tvcapan. and killing one. 
Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 

[He kills another^ then Exton strikes him dawn. 
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire. 
That staggers thus, my person. — Exton, thy fierce 

hand 
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own 

land. 
Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat Is up on high; 
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. 

[Dies. 

Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood: 
Both have I spilt; O. would the deed were good ! 
For now the devil, that told me I did well. 
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
This dead king to the living king I 'II bear. 
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI.— Windsor. A Room m the Castle. 

Flourish. Enter BoUngbroke and York, with Lords 
and Attendants. 

Baling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear 
Is, that the rebels have consum'd with Are 
Our to^vn of Cicester in Glostershire; 
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. 

Enter Northumberland. 
Welcome, my lord: what Is the news? 

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happi- 
ness. 
The next news Is,— I have to London sent 
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: 
The manner of their taking may appear 
At large discoursed in this paper here. 

[Presenting a paper. 

Baling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; 
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 



Scene vi.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



131 



Enter Fitzwater. 

FUz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London 
The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely: 
T*vo of the dangerous consorted traitors 
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 

Baling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; 
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 

Enter Percy, with the. Bishop of Carlisle. 

Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westmin- 
ster, 
With cIOR of conscience and sour melancholy, 
Hath yielded up his body to the grave; 
But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. 

BoUng. Carlisle, this is your doom:— 



Choose out some secret place, some reverend room. 
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; 
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife: 
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been. 
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. 

infer Exton, with Attendants bearing a coffin. 

Exton. Great king, within thiscofBn I present 
Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies 
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. 

Baling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast 
wrought 
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand. 
Upon my head, and all this famous land. 

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this 
deed. 



Baling. They love not poison that do poison need. 
Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, 
1 hate the murtherer, love him murthered. 
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, 
But neither my good word, nor princely favour: 
With Cain go wander through the shade of night, 
And never show thy head by day nor light. 
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe 
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow: 
Come, mourn with me for that I do lament. 
And put on sullen black, incontinent; 
I '11 make a voyage to the Holy Land, 
To wash this blood from off my guilty hand:— 
March sadly after; grace my mourning here. 
In weeping after this untimely bier. yExeunt. 



FIRST PART OF 



KING HENRY IV. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Kino Henry IV. 
Henry, Prince of "j 

P^#cf JOHN Of '"'^ <° "^ J^'°S- 

Lancaster, J 

Earl of Westmore 

LAND, 

Sir Walter Blunt, 

Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. 



Henry Percy, Earl of Northumber- 
land. 

Henry Percy, s2imamed Hotspur, his 
son. 

Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. 

Scroop, Archbishop of York. 

Sir Michael, a friend of the Arch- 
bishop. 

Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 



Owen Glendower. 
Sir Richard Vernon. 
Sir John Palstaff. 

POINS. 

Gadshill. 
Peto. 
Bardolph. 

Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sis- 
ter to Mortimer. 



Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendow- 
er, and wife to Mortimer. 

Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in 
Eastcheap. 

Lords, Officers, Sher'ff, Vintner, Cliam- 
berlain. Drawers, Two Carriers^ Trav- 
elers, and Attendants. 

SCENE.— England. 



ACXI. 

Scene I.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter 

Blunt, and others. 

K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan vrith care. 
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant. 
And breathe short-winded accents of new troOs 
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote. 
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil 
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood. 
No more shall trenching war channel her fields; 
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs 
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes. 
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 
All of one nature, of one substance bred, 
Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
And furious close of civil butchery, 
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, 
March all one way; and be no more oppos'd 
Against acQuaintance, kindi'ed, and allies: 
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife. 
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, 
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,) 
Forthwith apower of English shall we levy; 
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb 
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields. 
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet. 
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd. 
For our advantage, on the bitter cross. 
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old. 
And bootless 't is to tell you— we will go; 
Therefore we meet not now:— Then let me hear 
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
What yesternight our council did decree, 
In forwarding this dear expedience. 

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question. 
And many limits of the charge set down. 
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came 
-A post from Wales, loaden withhea^T news; 
Whose worst was,— that the noble Mortimer, 
Leading the men of Herefordshire to tight 
Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, 
And a thousand of his people butchered: 
tTpon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, 
Buch beastly, shameless transformation. 
By those Welshwomen done, as may not be, 
■ Without much shame, retold or spoken oi^. 

K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this 
broil 
Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 

West. This, match'd with other like, my gracious 
lord. 
Far more uneven and unwelcome news 
Came from the north, and thus it did report. 
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there. 
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, 
That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
At Holmedon met. 

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour; 
As by discharge of their artillery. 
And shape of likelihood, the news "was told; 
For he that brought them, in the very heat 
And pride of theircontention did take horse. 
Uncertain of the issue any way. 

K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend. 
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
Staln'd with the variation of each soil 
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; 
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news: 
The earl of Douglas is discomfited; 
Ten thohsand bold Scots, two and-twenty knights, 
Balk'din their own blood, did Sir Walter see 
On Holmedon's plains: Of prisoners. Hotspur took 
.■(lordake earl of Fife, and eldest son 
To beaten Douglas; and the earl of Athol, 
Of Murray, Angus, and Mentelth. 



And is not this an honourable spoil? 
A gallant prize!'' ha, cousin. Is it not? 

West. In faith, 

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 

K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st 
me sin 
In envy that my lord Northumberland 
Should be the father of so blest a son-. 
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue; 
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant; 
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride; 
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd. 
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd 
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay. 
And call'd mine Perc.v, his Plantagenet! 
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 
But let him from my thoughts:— What think you, 

coz'. 
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners. 
Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd. 
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word, 
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife, 

West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, 
Malevolent to you in all aspects; 
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up 
The crest of youth against your dignity. 

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this: 
And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect 
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
Will hold at Windsor; and so inform the lords; 
But come yourself with speed to us again; 
For more is to be said, and to be done, 
Than out of anger can be uttered. 

West. I will, my liege. [Exetont. 

Scene II.— London. An Apartment of the Prince's. 
Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaffi. 

Fal. Now, Hal, what time o' day is it, lad? 

P. Hen. Tiiou art so fat-witted, with drinking of 
old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and 
sleeping upon benches afternoon, that thou hast 
forgotten to demand that truly which thou would 'st 
truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the 
time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and 
minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, 
and dials the signs of leaping houses, and the blessed 
sun himself a fair hot wench in flame colour'd 
taffiata; I see no reason why thou should'st be so 
superfluous to demand the time of the day. 

Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now,lHal: for we, 
that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; 
and not by Phoebus,— he, that wandering knight so 
fair. And, I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art 
king,— as, God save thy grace, (majesty, I should 
say; for grace thou wilt have none,) 

P. Hen. What! none? 

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to 
be prologue to an egg and butter. 

P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. 

Fal. Marr.y, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, 
let not us that are squires of the night's body bo 
called thieves of the day's beauty; let us be Diana's 
foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the 
moon: And let men say, we be men of good govern- 
ment; being governed as the sea is, by our noble and 
chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance 
we steal. 

P. Hen. Ihou say'st well; and it holds well too: 
for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth 
ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is 
by the moon. As for proof. Now, a purse of gold 
most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and 
most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got 
wiih swearing— lay by; and spent with crying— 
bring in: now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the 
ladder; and, bv and by, In as high a flow as the 
ridge of the gallows. 



Fal. Thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess 
of the tavern a most sweet wench? 

P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the 
castie. And is not a buffi Jerkin a most sweet robe 
of durance? 

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what. In 
thy quips and thy quiddities? what a plague have I 
to do with a buff jerkin? 

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to [do with my 
hostess of the tavern? 

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning 
many a time and oft. 

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? 

Fal. No; ' '11 give thee thy due, thou hast paid all 
there. 

P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin 
wouid stretch; and where it would not I have used 
my credit. 

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here 
apparent that thou art heir apparent,- But I prithee, 
sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in 
England when thou art king? and resolution thus 
fobbed as It is, with the rusty curb of old father 
antick the law? Do not thou when thou art king 
hang a thief. 

P. Hen. No; thou shalt. 

Fal. Shall I? O rare! I'll be a brave judge. 

p. Hen. Thou judgest false already ; I mean, thou 
Shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so be- 
come a rare hangman. 

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort It jumps 
with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I 
can tell you. 

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? 

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hang- 
man hath no lean wardrobe. I am as melancholy as 
a gib eat, or a lugged bear. 

P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute. 

Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. 

P. Hen. What say'st thou to a hare, or the melan- 
choly of Moor-ditch? 

Fal. Thou hast tlie most unsavoury similes; and 
art, indeed, the most comparative, rascallest, sweet 
young prince. But Hal, I prithee, trouble me no 
more with vanity. I would thou and I knew where 
a commodity of good names were to be bought! An 
old lord of the council rated me the other day in 
the street above you, sir; but I marked him not: and 
yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not- 
and yet lie talked wisely, and in the street too. 

P. Hen. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out iu 
the streets, and no man regards it. 

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration: and art, in- 
deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much 
harm unto me, Hal,— God forgive thee for it! Be- 
fore I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now I 
am, if a man should speak truly, little better than 
one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I 
will give it over; an I do not, I am a vUlian; I '11 be 
damned for never a king's son in Christendom. 

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, 
Jack? 

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I 'II make one; an I do 
not, call me villain and bafile me. 

P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; 
from praying to purse-taking. 

EnterVo\n%, at a distance. 

Fal. Why, Hal, 't is my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin 
for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!— Now 
shall we know if Gadshill have set a watch. O, if 
men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell 
were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipo- 
tent villain that ever cried Stand, to a true man. 

P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. 

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. WiiP/j zciyc^ 
monsieur Remorse? What says sir John '^Jc.Qli-rnd- 
Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thco r.Tjout 
thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-i.-'rictoy !r,ot, 
for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's les.'' 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act I. 



P. IJi-n. Sir .lolm stands to liis word,— the devil 
shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a 
breaker of proverbs,— he will give tlie devil his due. 

Foins. Then art thou damn'a for keeping thy word 
with the devil. 

P. Hen. Else he had beea danin'd for cozening the 
devil. 

Poins. But, mv lads, my lad.o, to-morrow moriiinK, 
by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are pil- 
grims going to Canterbury with rich olterings, and 
traders riding to London with fat purses: I have 
visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves; 
Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke 
Slipper to-morrow in Eastcheap; we may do it as 
Sfcure as sleep' If you will go, I will stuff your 
purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home 
and be hanged. 

Fal. Hear ye, Yertward; if I tarry at home and go 
not, I '11 hang .vou for going. 

Potn.1. You will, chops? 

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make ono? 

P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief: Not I, by my faith. 

Fal. There 's neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
fellow.ship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood 
royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. 

P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days, I 'U be a 
madcap. 

F(xl. Why that 's well said. 

P. Hen. Well, come what will, I '11 tarry at home. 

Fal. I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. 

P. Hen. I care not. 

Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me 
alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this 
alventure that he shall go. 

Fill. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persua- 
sion and he the ears of profiting, that what thou 
speakest may move and what he hears may be be- 
lieved, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) 
prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time 
want countenance. Farewell: Y'ou shall find me in 
Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell 
All-hallown summer! [Exit Falstaff. 

Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with 
us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot 
manage alone. Palstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gads- 
hill, shall rob those men that we have already way- 
laid; yourself and I will not be there: and when tlte.y 
have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this 
head from my shoulders. 

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting 
forth? 

Pbms. Why, we will set forth before or after them, 
and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is 
at our pleasure to fail: and then will they adventure 
upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have 
no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. 

P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like that they will know ns by 
our horses, by our habits, and by every otlier ap- 
pointment, to be ourselves. 

Poins. Tut! our horses the.y shall not see, I '11 tie 
them In the wood; our visors we will change, after 
we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram 
for the nonce, to imraask our noted outward gar- 
ments. 

P. Hen. But, I doubt they will be too hard tor us. 

Poins. Well, for two of them, Iknow them to be as 
true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the 
third, if he fight longer than he sees reason I '11 for- 
swear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the in- 
comprehensible lies that this fat rogue will tell us, 
when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he 
fought with; what wards, what blows, what extrem- 
ities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies the 
jest. 

P. Hen. Well, I '11 go with thee; provide us all 
things necessary and meet me. To-morrow night 
in Eastcheap, there I 'U sup. Farewell. 

Poins. Farewell, my lord. lEont Poins. 

P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile uphold 
The unyok'd humour of your idleness; 
Yet herein will I imitate the sun, 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
To smother up his beauty from the world. 
That when he please again to be himself, 
Being wanted, he may be morewonder'd at. 
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing holidays, 
To sport would be as tedious as to work; 
But when they seldom come they wish'd-for come. 
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, 
And pay the debt I never promised. 
By how much better than my word I am; 
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
And like bright metal on a sullen ground. 
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault. 
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
I '11 so offend to make offence a skill; 
Redeeming time when men think least I will. [Ex. 

Scene in.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter'K.mg Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, 

Hotspur, &■'• Walter Blunt, and others. 

K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temper- 
ate, 
TTnapt to stir at these indignities. 
And you have found me; for, accordingly, 
Y'ou tread upon my patience: but, be sure, 
I will from henceforth rather be myself, 
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition; 
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, 
And therefore lost that title of respect 
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. 

Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
The scourge of greatness to be used on it; 
And that same greatness too which our own hands 
Have holp to make so portly. 

North. My lord,— 

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see 
Danger and disobedience in thine eye: 
O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory. 
And majesty might never yet endure 
The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
You have good leave to leave us; when we need 
Your use and counsel we shall send for you.— 

[Exit Worcester. 
You were about to speak. [To North. 

Nc th. Yea, my good lord. 

Those prisoners In your highness* name demanded. 
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedou took. 



Were, as he says, not with such strength denied 
."Vs is deliver'd to your majesty: 
Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Is guilt.v of this fault, and not my son. 

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
But, I remember, when tlie fight was done. 
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil. 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dress'd. 
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his cliin, new reap'd, 
Show'd like a stubble-laud at harvest-home; 
He was perfumed like a milliner; 
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 
He gave his nose, and took 't away again; 
Who, therewith angr.y, when it next came there. 
Took it in snuff: and still he smil'd and talk'd; 
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by 
He cali'd them untaught knaves, unmauerly. 
To bring a slovenl.y unhandsome corse 
Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
With many holiday and lady terms 
He question'd me; among the rest, demanded 
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 
I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold. 
To be so pester'd with a popinjay. 
Out of m.y grief and my impatience 
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what; 
He should, or should not;— for he made me mad. 
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet. 
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman 
Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save (Via 

mark!) 
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth , 
Was parmaceti for an Inward bruise; 
And tliat it was great pity, so it was. 
That villainous saltpetre should be digg'd 
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
So co\vardly; and but for these vile guns 
He would himself have been a soldier. 
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
I answer'd indirectl.y, as I said; 
And, I beseech you, let not this report 
Come current for an accusation. 
Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 

Blunt. The circumstance considerd, good my lord. 
Whatever Harry Percy then had said 
To such a person, and in such a plrtce. 
At such a time, witli all the rest re-told, 
May reasonably die, and never rise 
To do him wrong, or any way Impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. 

K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners; 
But with proviso, and exception. 
That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; 
Wlio, ill my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower; 
Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March 
Hath latel.v married. Shall our coffers then 
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home? 
Shall we buy treason? and indent with feres. 
When they have lost and forfeited themselves? 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve; 
Fori shall never hold iliat man my friend 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 

Hot. Revolted Mortimer! 
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege. 
But by the chance of war;— To prove that true 
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, 
Those mouthed woands, wliich valiantly he took. 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, 
In single opposition, hand to hand. 
He did confound the best part of an hour 
In changing hardlment with gi-eat Glendower: 
Three times they breath 'd, and three times did they 

drink, 
Upon agreement of swift Severn's flood: 
Who then, affrighted with their blood.v looks. 
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did base and rollen policy 
Colour her working with such deadly wounds; 
Nor never could the noble Mortimer 
Receive so many, and all willingly: 
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost be- 
lie him. 
He never did encounter with Glendower; 
I tell thee, 

He durst as well have met the devil alone, 
As Owen Glendower for an enemj'. 
Art thou not asham'd? But, sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not here you speak of Mortimer: 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means. 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you.— My lord Northumberland, 
We license your departure with your son: — 
Send lis yoiu- prisoners, or you '11 hear of it. 

[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train. 

Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them 
I will not send them:— I will after straight, 
And tell him so; for I will ease my heart. 
Although it be with hazard of my head. 

North. What, drunk with choler? stay, and pause 
awhile; 
Here comes your uncle. 

Re-enter Worcester. 

Hot. Speak of Mortimer? 

'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul 
Want merc5\ if I do not join with him: 
In his behalf I '11 empty all these veins, 
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust. 
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
As high i' the air as this unthankful king. 
As this ingrate and canker'd Bollngbroke. 

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew 
mad. [To Worcester. 

Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone? 

Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; 
And when I urg'd the ransom once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale; 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 

Wor. 1 cannot blame him: Was he not proclaim'd, 
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? 

North. He was: I heard the proclamation: 
And then It was, when the unhappy king 
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth 



Uijon his Irish expedition: 
From whence he, intercepted, did return 
To he depos'd, and shortly ma-thered. 
Wor. And for whose death, we In tiie world's wide 
mouth 
Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. 

Hot. But, soft, I pray you; Did king Richard then 
Proclaim my brother Mortimer 
Heir to the crown? 
North. He did : myself did hear It. 

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin kinit. 
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv 
But shall it be that vou, that set the crown 
Upon the head of this forgetful man, 
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot 
Of murd'rous subornation, shall it be, 
That you a world of curses undergo. 
Being the agents, or base second means, 
Tlie cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather> 
O, pardon, if that I descend so low, 
Tn show the line and the predicament 
Wherein you range under this subtle king. 
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, 
Or fill up chronicles in time to come. 
That men of your nobility and power 
Did 'gage them both in an unjust behalf,— 
As both of you, God pardon it' have done, — 
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose. 
And plant this thorn, this canker, Boliiigbroicf .' 
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken 
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook ofC 
By him for whom these shames ye underwent? 
No; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the world again: 
Revenge the jeering and disdain'd contempt 
Of this proud king; who studies, day and night. 
To answer all the debt he owes unto you, 
Even with the bloodj' payment of your deaths. 

Therefore, I say, 

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more 

And now I will unclasp a secret book. 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous, 
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit. 
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, • 

On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good night:— or sink or swim:— 
Send danger from the east unto the west. 
So honour cross it from the north to south. 
And let them grapple;— the blood more stirs 
To rouse a lion than to start a hare. 

North. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 

Hot. B.v heaven, methlnks, it were an easy leap 
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon; 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground. 
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; 
So he, that doth redeem her thence, miglit wear 
Without eorrival, all her dignities: 
But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship! 

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here. 
But not the form of what he should attend.— 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 
And list to me. 
Hot. 1 cry you mercy. 
TToi'. Those same noble Scots, 

That are j^our prisoners, 

Hot. I '11 keep them all; 

By heaven, he shall not ha^'e a Scot of them; 
No, if a Scot would save his soul he shall not: 
I '11 keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. Y'ou start away. 

And lend no ear unto my purposes.— 
Tlrose prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. Na.v, I will; that 's fiat:— 

He said he would not ransom Mortimer; 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer; 
But I will find him when he lies asleep. 
And in his ear I '11 holla— Mortiiner! 
Nay, 

I '11 have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him. 
To keep his anger still in motion. 

Wor. Hear you. 

Cousin; a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bollngbroke: 
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales, 
But that I think his father loves him not, 
And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I 'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 

TTor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you, 
When you are better tempcr'd to attend. 
North. Why, what a wasp-tongue and impatient 
fool 
Art thou, to break into this woman's mood; 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! 
Hot. Why look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd 
with rods. 
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when 1 hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
In Richard's time,— What do you call the place?— 
A plague upon 't!— it is in Gloucestershire;— 
'T was there the mad-cap duke his uncle kept; 
His uncle York;— where I first bowed my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
Wlien vou and he came back from Ravenspurg. 
North. At Berkley castle. 

Hot. You say true: 

Why, what a candy deal ot courtes.v 
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! 
Look, — u-hen his infant fortune came to age. 
And, — gentle Harry Percy, — and. kind cousin, — 

O, the devil take such cozeners! God forgive 

me! 

Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to 't again; 
We 'U stay your leisure. 
Hot. I have done, in sooth, 

TTor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
Deliver them up without their ransom straight. 
And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland; which, for diver? reasons. 
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd 
Will easily be granted.— You, my lord, 

[To Northumberland. 
Tour son in Scotland being thus employ'd, 
Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd. 
The archbishop. 
Hot. Of Y^ork, is 't not? 



Scene hi.] 



FIIi.'iT PART OF KIXG IIE\Sr If. 



133 



Wor. True; AvJio bears hard 
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. 
I speak not this in estimation 
As what I thiulc miglit be. but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down; 
And oniy stays but to beliold the face 
Of that occasion that shall bring It on. 

Hot. I smell it. 

Upon my life it will do wond'rous well. 

Xorth. Before the game 's afoot thou still lett'stslip. 

Hot. 'Wh.v. it eauriot choose but be a noble plot: — 
And then tlie power of Scotland and of York, — 
To .ioin with Mortimer, ha? 

Wor. And so they shall. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 

Wor. And 't is no little reason bids us speed, 
To save our heads by raising of a head: 
For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
The king will always think him in our debt; 
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
Till he hath found a time to pay us Ijome. 
And see already, how he dotn begin 
To make us strangei'S to his looks of love. 

Uot. He does, he does; we '11 be reveng'd on him. 

Wor. Cousin, fare\vell;— Xo further go in this, 
Than I by letters shall direct your course 
■\~hen time is ripe, which will be sttddenly; 
I '11 steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer; 
Where you and Douglas and our powers at once, 
(.\s I will fashion it,) shall happily meet. 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, 
■Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 

North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I 
trust. ■ 

Hot. Uncle, adieu:— O. let the hours be short. 
Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! 

[^Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I.— Rochester. An Inn Yard. 

Enter a Carrier, u-ith a lantern in his hand. 

1 Car. Heigh ho! An 't be not four by the day, I '11 
be hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney, 
and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler! 

Osi. [TS'ithin.] Anou, anon. 

1 Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few 
flocks in the point; the poor jade is 'svrung in the 
withers out oi all cess. 

Enter another Carrier. 

2 Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, 
and this is the next way to give poor jades the hots: 
this house is turned upside down since Robin ostler 
died. 

1 Car. Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of 
oats rose; it was the death of him. 

2 Car. I think this is the most villainous house In 
all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench. 

1 Car. Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne'er a 
king in Christendom could be better bit than I have 
been since the first cock. 

2 Car. Why, you will allow us ne'er a Jordan, and 
then we leak m your chimney; and your chamber-lie 
breeds fleas like a loach. 

1 Car. What, ostler! come away, and be hanged, 
come away. 

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes 
of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing Cross. 

1 Car. 'OdsboOy ! the turkies in my pannier are 
quite starved.— \That, ostler !— A plague on thee ! 
hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? 
An 't were not as good a deed as drink to break the 

Eate of thee, I am a very villain. — Come, and be 
anged:— Hast no faith in thee? 

Enter Gadshill, 
Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What 's o'clock? 
1 Car. I think it be two o'clock. 
Gads. I prithee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
gelding in the stable. 

1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth 
two of that. 

G.ids. I prithee, lend me thine. 

2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell;-'— Lend me thy lan- 
tern quoth a? — marry, I '11 see thee hanged first 

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to 
come to London? 

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed %vith a candle, 
I warrant thee. — Come, neighbour Mugs, -^'e '11 call 
up the gentlemen; they will along with company, for 
thej- have great charge. {Bxevnt Carriers. 

Gads. Wliat, ho ! chamberlain ! 

Chanu [Within.] At hand, quoth pick purse. 

GcAs. That 's even as fair as— at hand, quoth the 
chamberlain: for thou variest no more from picking 
of purses, than giving direction doth from labour- 
ing: thou lay'st the plot how. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Cliam. Good morrow, master GadshUU It holds 
current that I told you yesternight: There 's a 
franklin in the wild of Kent hath brought three hun- 
dred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to 
one of his company, last night at supper; a kind 
of auditor; one that hath abundance of charges too, 
God knows what. Tliey are up already, and call for 
eggs and butter: Tliey will away presently. 

Gads. Sirrah, it they meet not with saint Nicholas' 
clerks I '11 give thee this neck. 

Cham. No, I '11 none of it: I prithee, keep that for 
the hangman; for I know thou worshipp'st saint 
Nicholas as truly us a man of falsehood ntay. 

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? 
if I hang, I '11 make a fat pair of gallows: for if I 
hang old Sir John hangs with me: and thou know- 
est he 's no starveling. Tut ! there are other Tro- 
jans that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport 
sake, are content to do the profession some grace; 
that would, if matters should be lookedlnto, for their 
own credit sake make all whole. I am joined with 
no foot-land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers; 
none of these mad, mustachio purple-hued malt- 
worms: but with nobility and tranquillity: burgo- 
masters and great oneyers; such as can hold in; 
such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak 
sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray: And 
yet I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, 
the commonwealth; or, rather, not pray to her, but 
prey on her; for they ride up and do^vu on her, and 
make her their boots 

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? will 
she hold out water in foul way? 

Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. 



We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the re- 
ceipt of fern-seed, we walk Invisible. 

Chain. Nay, by my faith; I think rather you are 
more beholding to the night than to fern-seed, for 
your walking invisible. 

Gads. Give me thy hand: thou Shalt have a share 
In our purchase, as I am a true man. 

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a 
false thief. 

Gads. Go to; Homo is a common name to all men. 
Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. 
Farewell, ye muddy kiiave. [E.aunt. 

Scene Il.—TJie Road by Gadshill. 

Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

Polns. Come, shelter, shelter; I have removed Fal- 
stafE's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. 
P. Hen. Stand close. 

Enter FalstafE. 

Fal. Poins! Polns, and be hanged! Poins! 

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal; What a 
brawling dost thou keep. 

Fal. Where 's Poins, Hal? 

P. Hen. He Is walked up to the top of the hill; I '11 
go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poins. 

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company; 
the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I 
know not where. If I travel but four foot by the 
squire further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I 
doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 
'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have for- 
sworn his company hourly any time these t^voand- 
twenty years; and yet I am bewitched vritU the 
rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me 
medicines to make me love him, I '11 be hanged; it 
could not be else; I have drunk medicines. — Poins! 
—Hal!— A plague upon you both!— Bardolpli!— Petol— 
I '11 starve, ere I'll rob a foot further. An 't were 
not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and 
leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever 
chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground 
is threescore and ten miles afoot with me; and 
the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: A 
plague upon 't, when thieves cannot be true one to 
another! [TJieii wliisrie.] Wliew!— A plague light 
upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give 
me mv horse, and be hanged. 

P. Hen. Peace, ye fat guts! lie do%vn! lay thine ear 
close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the 
tread of travellers. 

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being 
down? 'Sblood, I '11 not bear mine own flesh so far 
afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. 
What a plague mean ye to colt me thtis? 

P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art 
uncoiled. 

Fal. I prithee, good prince Hal, help me to my 
horse, good king's son. 

P. Hen. Out, you rogue ! shall I be your ostler? 

Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent 
garters ! If I be ta'en, I '11 peach for this. An I have 
not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, 
let a cup of sack be my poison: When a jest is so 
forward, and afoot too,— I hate it. 

Enter Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. 

Gads. Stand. 

Fal. So I do, against my mil. 

Poins. O, 't is our setter: I know his voice; Bar- 
dolph, "what news? 

Gads. Case ye, case ye; on with your visors; there 
's money of the king's coming down the hill; 't is go- 
ing to the king's exchequer. 

Fal. Tou lie, you rogue; 't is going to the king's 
tavern. 

Gads. There 's enough to make us all. 

Fal. To be hanged. 

P. Hen. Tou four shall front them In the narrow 
lane; Ned and I will walk lower: If they 'scape from 
your encounter then they light on us. 

Peto. How many be there of them ? 

Gads. Some eight, or ten. 

Fal. Zounds ! will they not rob us? 

P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch? 

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gatmt, your grand- 
father: but yet no coward, Hal. 

P. Hen. We 'U leave that to the proof. 

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 
hedge; when thou need'st him, there thou shalt find 
him. Farewell, and standfast. 

Fal. No w cannot I strike him, if I should be hang- 
ed. 

P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises? 

Poins. Here, hard by; stand close. 

[£'a'eunf P. Henry and Poins. 

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, sa.v 
I; every man to his business. 

Enter Travellers. 

i Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy shall lead our 
horses down the hill: we'll walk afoot awhile, and 
ease our legs. 

Tliieves. Stand. 

Trav. Jesu bless us! 

Fal. Strike; down ■with them; cut the villains' 
throats: Ah! whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed 
knaves! they hate us youth: do^vn with them; fleece 
them. 

Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours, for 
ever. 

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves; Are ye undone? 
No, ye fat chuffs; I would your store were here! 
On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves, young men must 
live: Tou are grand-jurors are ye? We '11 jure ye, 
i' faith. [Here they roh and bind the travellers. 

[Exeuitt Falstaff, Bardolph, and the others. 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

P.Hen. The thieves have bound the true men: 
Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go 
merrily to London, it would be argument fora week, 
laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. 

Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming. 
Re-enter Thieves. 

Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to 
horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not 
two arrant cowards, there 's no equity stirring: 
there 's no more valour in that Poins than in a wild 
duck. 

P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out vpon them. 

Poins. Villains. 



[As they are shar/iig, the Prince and Poins set 
upon them: they all run away; and Falstaff, 
ajter a t/lowor two, runs away ton. leaving the 
I'ooty behind them. 
P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to 
horse: 
The thieves are seatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
So strongly, that they dare not meet each other; 
Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death. 
And lards the lean earth ,ns lie walks along; 
Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! \E.veunt. 

Scene IIL -Warkworth. A Room in tne Castle. 

Enter Hotspur, 'reading a letter. 

'But. for mine own part, my lord, I could be 

well contented to be there, in respect of the love I 
bear your house. '—He could be contented,— Why is 
he not then? In respect of the love he bears our 
house:— he shows in this, he loves his own bam bet- 
ter than he loves our house. Let me see some more. 
' The purpose you imdertake is dangerous;'— 'Why, 
that 's certain; 't is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, 
to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this net- 
tle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The pur- 
Sose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you 
ave [named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; 
and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise 
of so great an opposition.'— Say you so, say you so? 
I saj- unto you again, you are a shallow, eowardl.v 
hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this? I 
protest, our plot is as good a plot as ever was laid; 
our friends true and constant: a good plot, good 
friends, and full of expectation: an excellent plot, 
very good friends. What a frosty -spirited rogue is 
this? Why, my lord of Y'ork commends the plot and 
the general course of the action. By this hand, if I 
were now b.v this rascal I could brain him with his 
lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and 
myself? Lord Edmirad Mortimer, my lord of Y'ork, 
and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the 
Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in 
arms by the ninth of the next month? and are they 
not, some of them, set forward already? What a 
pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see 
now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he 
to the king and lay open all our proceedings. O, I 
could divide myself and go to buffets, lor moving 
such a dish of skimmed milk with so honourable an 
action! Hang him! Let him tell the king; We are 
prepared: I will set forward tonight. 

Enter Lady Percy. 
How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two 
hours. 

Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus alone? 
For what offence have I, this fortnight, been 
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? 
Tell me, sweet lord, what is t that takes from thee 
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? 
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; 
And start so often when thou sitt'st alone? 
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks; 
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee. 
To thickey'd musing and curs'd melancholy? 
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd. 
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars- 
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; 
Cry, Courage !— to the field ' And thou hast talk'd 
Of sallies and retires; of trenches, tents; 
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets; 
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin; 
Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain. 
And all the current of a heady fight. 
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war 
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep. 
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow. 
Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream: 
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd. 
Such as ^ve see when men restrain their breath 
On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are 

these? 
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
And I must know it, else he loves me not. 

Hot. What, ho ! is Gilliams with the packet gone? 
Enter Servant. 

Serv. He Is, my lord, an hour ago. 

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the 
sheriff? 

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. 

Hot. What horse? a roan, a crop-ear. Is it not':* 

Serv. It is, my lord. 

Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 

Well, I will back him straight: Esperance !— 
Bid Butler lead him forth Into the park. [Ex. Serv. 

Lady. But hear you, my lord. 

Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? 

iMdy. What is it carries you away? 

Hot. Why, my horse, my love, my horse. 

Lady. Out you mad-headed ape! 
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen 
As you are toss'd with. In sooth 
I '11 know your business, Harry, that I will. 
I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir 
About liis title: and hath sent for you. 
To line his enterprise; But If you go — 

Hot. So far afoot I shall be weary, love. 

iMdy. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
Directly to this question that I shall ask. 
In faith, I '11 break thy little finger, Harry. 
An if thou ^llt not tell me all things true. 

Hot. Away, 
Away, you trLfier!- Love?— I love thee not, 
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world 
To play -with mammets and to tilt with lips: 
We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns. 
And pass them current too.— Gods me, my horse'.— 
■What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st thou havo 
■with me? 

Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed? 
Well, do not then; for, since you love me not, 
I will not love myself. Do you not love me? 
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no. 

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? 
And when I am a horseback, I will swear 
I love thee infinitely. But har you, Kate: 
I must not have you henceforth question me 
Whither I go. nor reason whereabout: 
Whither I must, I must: and, to conclude. 
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
I know you wise: but yet no further wise 
Than Harry Percy's -svlfe: constant you are 



184 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act II, 



But yet a woman: and for secresy, 

No lady closer; for I will believe 

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; 

And so far will I trust tliee, gentle Katn! 

Lady. How! so far? 

Hoi. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate: 
Whither I go thither shall you go too; 
To-day will I set forth, tomorrow you.— 
Will this content you, Kate? 

Lady. It must of force. lExeunt. 

Scene rV.- Eastcheap. A Room in tlie Boar's Head 
Tavern. 

Fnter Prince Henry and Polns. 

P. Hen. Ned, prithee, come outof that fat room, 
and lend me thy hand to lavish a little. 

Poins. Where hast been, Hal? 

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst 
three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the 
very base string of numlllty. Sirrah, I am sworn 
brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all 
by their christian names, as— Tom, Dick, and Fran- 
els. They take it already upon their salvation, tiiat, 
though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king 
of courtesy: and tell meflatlylam no proud Jack, 
like Falstaff; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a 
good boy, and when I am king of England, I shall 
command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They 
call drinking deep, dying scarlet: and when you 
breathe iu your watering, they cry— hem! and bid 
you play it off. To conclude, I am so good a pro- 
ficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink 
with any tinker in his own language during my life. 
I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that 
thou wert not with me in this action. But, sweet 
Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee 
this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into 
my hand by an under-skinker; one that never spalie 
other English in his life, than— Eight shillings and 
sixpence, and You are ivelcome; with this shrill ad 
dltion,— ^ jion, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in 
the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive away time 
till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in some 
by-room, while I question my puny drawer to what 
end he gave ine the sugar; and do thou never leave 
calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing 
but— anon. Step aside, and I '11 show thee a pre- 
cedent. 

Poins. Francis! 

P. Hen. Thou art perfect. 

Poins. Francis; [Exit Poins. 

Enter Francis. 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.— Look down into the Pom- 
egranate, Ralph. 

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. 

Fran. My lord. 

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ? 

Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to — 

Poins. [Within.} Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. Five years! by 'r lady, a long lease for the 
clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so 
valiant as to play the coward witli thy indenture, 
and show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? 

Fran. O lord, sir, I '11 be sworn upon all the books 
in England I could find in my heart— 

Poins. [Within.'] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? 

Fran. Let me see,— About Michaelmas next I shall 
be— 

Poins. [Within."] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, sir.— Pray you stay a little, my lord. 

P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis: For the sugar 
thou gavest me, — 't was a pennyworth, was 't not? 

Fran. O lord, sir! I would it had been two. 

P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: 
ask me when thou wilt and thou shalt have it. 

Poins, [Within.] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, anon. 

P.Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but to-morrow, 
Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Fran- 
cis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,— 

Fran. My lord? 

P.Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal 
button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, cad- 
dis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,— 

Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean? 

P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard is your only 
drink: for, look you, Francis, your white canvas 
doublet will sully: in Earbary, sir, it cannot come to 
BO much. 

Fran. What, sir? 

Poins. [Within.] Francis! 

P. Hen. Away, you rogue; Dost thou not hear them 
caU? 

[Here they both call him ; the Drawer stands 
amazed, not knowing ivhich way to go. 

Enter Vintner. 

Vint. What ! standest thou still and hear'st such a 
calling? Look to the guests within. fi'.rif Fran. 

My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are at 
the door; Shall I let them in? 

P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the 
door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! 

Re-enter Poins. 

Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff, and the rest of the thieves 
are at the door. Shall we be merry? 

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; 
What cunning match have you made with this Jest 
of the drawer ? come, what 's the issue ? 

P. Hen. I am now or all humours that have showed 
themselves humours, since the old days of goodman 
Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock 
at midnight. [Re-enter Francis with wine.] What's 
o'clock, Francis? 

Fmn. Anon, anon, sir. 

P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer 
wfirds than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman ! 
His industry is— up-stairs and down-stairs; his elo- 
quence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of 
Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north; he that kills 
me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, 
washes his hands, and says to his wife,— 'Fye upon 
this quiet lifel 1 want work.' 'O, my sweet Harry,' 
says she, ' how many hast thou killed to-day? ' ' Give 
my roan horse a drench.' says he; ana answers, 
'Some fourteen '—an hour after; 'a trifle, a trifle.' 
I prithee, call in Falstaff: I '11 play Percy, and that 



damned brawn shall play dame Mortimer his wife. 
Rivo says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. 

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. 

Poins. Welcom.e, Jack. Where hast thou been? 

Fal. A plague of all cowards, I sa.v, and a venge- 
ance too! marry, and amen !— Give me a cup of sack, 
bo.v.— Ere 1 lead this life long, I '11 sew nether-stocks, 
and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all 
cowards !— Give rae a cup of sack, rogue.— is th-3re 
no virtue extant ? [He drinks. 

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of 
butter (pitiful-hearted Titan) that melted at the 
sweet tale of the sun? If thou didst, then behold 
that compound. 

Fal. You rogue, here 's lime in this sack too. There 
is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man: 
Yet a coward Is worse than a cup of sack with lime 
in it: a villainous coward.— Go thy ways, old Jack; 
die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be 
not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a 
shotten herring. There live not three good men un- 
hanged in England; and one of them is fat, and 
grows old: God help the while ! a bad world, I say ! 
I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any 
thing: A plague of all cowards, I say still. 

P. Hen. How now, woolsack? what mutter you? 

Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out of thy 
kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy sub- 
jects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I '11 never 
wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales 1 

P.Hen. Why, you whoreson round man! what's 
the matter? 

Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that; 
and Poins there? 

Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me cow- 
ard, I 'U stab thee. 

Fal. I call thee coward ! I '11 see thee damned ere I 
call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound 
I could run as fast as thou canst. Yoti are straight 
enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your 
hack: Call you that backing of your friends? A 
plague upon such backing ! give me them that will 
face me. Give me a cup of sack: — I am a rogue if I 
drunk to-day. 

P. Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since 
thou drunk'st last. 

Fal. All 's one for that. A plague on lall cowards, 
still say L [He drinks. 

P. Hen. What 's the matter? 

Fal. What 's the matter? there be four of us here 
have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. 

P. Hen. Where is it, Jack'^ where is it? 

Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred 
upon poor four us. 

P. Hen. What, a hundred, man? 

Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with 
a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped 
by miracle. I am eight times thrust thi-ough the 
doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut 
through and through; my sword hacked like a hand- 
saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was 
a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards! 
—Let them speak: if they speak more or less than 
truth they are villains, and the sons of darkness. 

P. Hen. Speak, sir; how was it? 

Gads. We four set upon some dozen, — 

Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. 

Gads. And bound them. 

Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of 
them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 

Gads,. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh 
men set upon us,— 

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the 
other. 

P. Hen. What, fought he with them all? 

Fal. All? I know not what ye call all; but if I 
fought not with fifty of them I am a bunch of radish : 
if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old 
Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. 

P. Hen. Pray Heaven you have not murdered some 
of them. 

Fal. Nay, that 's past praying for: I have pep- 
pered two of them: two, I am sure, I have paid: 
two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal. 
—if I tell thee a lie, spit in ray face, call me horse. 
Thou kuowest my old ward;— here I lay, and thus 
I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at 
me,— 

P. Hen. What, four? thou said'st but two, even now. 

Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four. 

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-f ront, and mainly thrust 
at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their 
seven points in my target, thus. 

P. Hen. Seven? why there were but four, even now. 

Fal. In buckram. 

Poins. Ay, four in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 

P. Hen. Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more 
anon. 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 

P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for It is worth the listening to. These 
nine in buckram, that I told thee of, — 

P. Hen. So, two more already. 

Fal. Their points being broken, — 

Poins. Down fell their hose. 

Fal. Began to give me gi-ound: But I followed me 
close, came in foot and hand; and with a thought 
seven of the eleven I paid. 

P. Hen. O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown 
out of two. 

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbe- 
gotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back, and 
let drive at me;— for it was so dark, Hal, that thou 
could'st not see thy hand, 

P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, 
thou clay-brained guts; thou knotty-pated fool; thou 
whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-ketch, — 

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the 
truth the truth? 

P. Hen. Why, how could'st thou know these men in 
Kendal green, when it was so dark thou could'st not 
see thy hand ? come, tell us your reason; what say- 
est thou to this? 

Poins. Come, your reason. Jack, your reason. 

Fal. What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the 
strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not 
tell .you on compulsion. Give you a reason on com- 
pulsion ! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries I 
would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. 



P. Hen. I 'U be no longer guilty of this sin; this 
sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback- 
breaker, this huge hill of flesh;— 

Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried 
neat's-tongue, bull's plzzle, you stock-flsh,— O, for 
breath to utter what is like thee!— you tailor's yard 
you sheath, you bow-ease, you vile standing tuck; ' 
P. Hen. Well, breathe a while, and then to it again- 
and when thou hast tired thyself in base compari- 
sons, hear me speak but this. 

Poins. Mark, Jack. 

P. Hen. We two saw you four set on tour, and bound 
them, and were masters of their wealth.— Mark now 
how a plain tale shall put you down.— Then did we 
two set on you four: and, with a word, outfaced you 
from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it 
you here in the house:— and, Falstaff, you carried 
your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity 
and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as 
ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou to hack 
thy sword as thou hast done; and then say, it was 
in fight! What trick, what device, what starting- 
hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this 
open and apparent shame? 

Poins. Come, let 's hear. Jack: What trick hast 
thou now? 

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that 
made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: Was It for me 
to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon the 
true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as 
Hercules: but beware instinct; the lion will not touch 
the true prince. Instinct is a gieat matter; I was a 
coward on instinct. I shall think the better of my- 
self, and thee, during my life; I for a valiant lion, 
and thou for a true prince. But, lads, 1 am glad you 

have the money.- Hostess, clap to the doors; watch 

to-night, pray to morrow.— Gallants, lads, boys, 
hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come 
to you! What, shall we be merry? shall we have a 
play extempore? 

P. Hen. Content;— and the argument shall be, thy 
running away. 

Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. 
Enter Hostess. 

Host. My lord the prince,— 

P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess? what say st 
thou to me? 

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the 
court at door, would speak with you: he says he 
comes from your father. 

P. Hen. Give him as much as ■will make him a royal 
man, and send hun back again to my mother. 

Fal. What manner of man is he? 

Host. An old man. 

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? 
— Shall I give him his answer? 

P. Hen. Prithee, do. Jack. 

Fal. 'Faith, and I '11 send him packing. [Exit. 

P. Hen. Now, sirs; by 'r lady, you fought fair;— so 
did you, Peto;— so did you, Bardolph: you are lions 
too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch 
the true prince; no,— fye! 

Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 

P. Hen. Tell me no w in earnest, how came Falstaff's 
sword so hacked? 

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger; and said 
he would swear truth out of England, but he would 
make you believe it was done in fight; and persuaded 
us to do the like. 

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass, 
to make them bleed; and then to beslubber our gar- 
ments with it, and swear it was the blood of true 
men. I did that I did not this seven years before, I 
blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 

P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen 
years ago, and wert taken with tne manner, and 
ever since thou hast blush'd extempore: "Thou hadst 
fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou rann'st; 
away; What Instinct hadst thou for it? 

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do you 
behold these exhalations? 

P. Hen. I do. 

Bard. What think you they portend? 

P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 

Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 

P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. 

Re-enter Falstaff. 
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How 
now, my sweet creature of Bombast? How long is 't 
ago. Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee? 

Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years, 
Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; 1 could 
have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: A 
plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a 
bladder. There 's villainous news abroad: here was 
sir John Bracy from your father; you must to the 
court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the 
North, Percy; ana he of Wales, that gave Amalmon 
the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore 
the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh 
hook,— What a plague, call you him? 

Poins. O, Glendower. 

Fal. Owen, Owen; the same;— and his son-in-law, 
Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that 
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a horse- 
back up a hill perpendicular. 

P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his 
pistol kills a sparrow flying. 

Fal. You have hit it. 

P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle In him: he 
will not run. 

P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise 
him so for running. 

Fal. A 'horseback, ye cuckoo! but, afoot, he will 
not budge a foot. 

P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 

Fal. I grant .ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there 
too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps 
more: Worcester is stolen away by night; thy 
father's beard is turned white with the news; you 
may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. 

P. Hvn. Then 't is like, it there come a hot June, 
and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maiden- 
heads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds. 

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou say'st true; it is like 
we shall have good trading that way.— But, tell me, 
Hal, art thou not horribly afeard, thou being heir 
apparent? Could the world pick thee out three such 
enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit 
Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not hor- 
ribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it? 



Scene iv.] 



FIRST PAliT OF KING HENRY IV. 



135 



P. Hen. Not a whit, 1' faith; I lack some of thy In 
stinct. 

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, 
when thou comest to thy father: if thou do love me, 
practise an answer. 

P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine 
me upon the particulars of my life. 

Fal. Shall I? content:— This chair shall be my state, 
this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown. 

P. Ben. Thy state is taken for a Joint-stool, tliy 
golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious 
rich crown for a pitiful bald crown! 

Fal. Well, an the Are of grace be not quite out of 
thee, now shalt thou be moved.— Give me a cup of 
sack, to make mine e.ves look red, that it ma.v be 
thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, 
and 1 will do it in king Cambyses' vein. 

jP. Hen. Well, here is my leg. 

Fal And here is my speech:— Stand aside, nobility. 

Host. This is excellent sport, i' faith. 

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for- trickling tears 
are vain. 

Host. O the father, how he holds his countenance! 

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful 
queen. 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Host. O rare! he doth It as like one of these har- 
lotry players as ever I see. 

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle- 
brain.— Harry, I do not only marvel where thou 
spendest thy time, but also liow thou art accom- 
panied: for though the camoniile, the more it is 
trodden the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it 
Is wasted the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, 
I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own 
opinion; but chieflj', a villainous triclc of thine eye, 
and a foolish hanging of tliy nether lip, that doth 
warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies 
the point;— Wily, being son to me, art thou so 
pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove 
a mlcher, and eat blackberries? a question not to 
be asljed. Shall the son of England prove a thief, 
and take purses? a question to be asiied. There is 
a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and 
it is known to many in our land by the name of 
pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth 
defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for, 
Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in 
tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words 
only, but in woes also:— And yet there is a virtuous 
man, whom I have often noted In thy company, but 
I know not his name. 

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your ma- 
jesty? 

Fal. A good portl.y man, I' faith, and a corpulent; 
of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble 
carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by 'r 
lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember 
me, his name is PalstafE: If that man should be lewd- 
ly given, he deoeiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue 
in his looks. If then tiie tree may be known by 
the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremp- 
torily I speak it, there Is virtue in that FalstafE: him 
keep with, the rest banisli. And tell me now, thou 
naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this 
month? 

P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou 
stand for me, and I '11 play ray father. 

Fal. Depose me? if thou dost It half so gravely, so 
majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up 
by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a poulter's hare. 

P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 

Fal. And here I stand:- judge, my masters. 

P. Hen. Now, Harry? wlfience come you? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. 

Fal. 'Sblood, m.y lord, they are false:— nay, I '11 
tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. 

P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? hence- 
forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried 
away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in 
the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy 
companion. Why dost thou converse with that 
trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastli- 
ness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bom- 
bard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that 
roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his 
belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that 
father ruffian, that vanity In yeai's ! Wherein is he 
good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat 
and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein 
cunning, but In craft? wherein crafty, but in vil- 
lainy? wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein 
Tvorthy, but in nothing? 

Fal. I would your grace would take me with you. 
Whom means your grace? 

P. Hen. That villainous abominable misleader of 
youth, FalstafE, that old white-bearded Satan. 

Fal. My lord, the man I know. 

P. Hen. I know, thou dost. 

Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in 
myself, were to say more than I know. That he is 
old, (the more the pity,) his white hairs do witness 
it: but that he is (saving your reverence,) a whore- 
master, that I utterl.y deny. If sack and sugar be a 
fault, heaven help the wicked ! If to be old and 
merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know 
is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then Plia- 
raoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord; 
banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but 
for sweet Jack FalstafE, kind Jack FalstafE, true Jack 
FalstafE, valiant Jack FalstafE, and therefore more 
valiant, being as he is, old Jack FalstafE, banish not 
him thy Harry's company; banish plump Jack, and 
banish all the world. 

P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. 

[E.veunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. 
Re-enter Bardolph, runnh^g. 

Bard. O, my lord, my lord ! the sheriff, with a most 
monstrous watch, is at the door. 

Fal. Out, you rogue ! play out the play: I have 
much to say in the behalf of that FalstafE. 
Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 

Host. O, my lord, my lord ! 

Fal. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon a fiddle- 
stick: What 's the matter? 

Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the 
door: they are come to search the house; Shall I let 
them in? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece 
of gold a counterfeit; thou art essentially madj 
without seeming so. 



P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without in- 
stinct. 

Fal. I deny your major: if you will deny the 
slierift, so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a 
cart as well as another man, a plague on my bring- 
ing up ! I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a 
halter as another. 

P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras;— the rest 
walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, 
and good conscience. 

Fal. Both which I have had: but their date is out, 
and tlierefore I '11 hide me. 

[Exeunt all but the Prince and Peto. 

P. Hen. Call in the sheriff.— 

Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 
Now, master slieriff; what 's your will with me? 

Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
Hath followed certain men unto this house. 

P. Hen. What men? 

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord; 
A gross fat man. 

Car. As fat as butter. 

P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here; 
For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee. 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time. 
Send him to answer tiiee, or any man. 
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal. 
And so let me entreat you leave the house. 

Sher. I will, my lord: There are two gentlemen 
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 

P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb'd these men 
He shall be answerable; and, so, farewell. 

Sher. Good ni^ht, my noble lord. 

P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; Is it not? 

Slier. Indeed, my lord, I think' itbe two o'clock. 

(Ex^eunt Sheriff and Carrier. 

P. Hen. This oily rascal is 'known as well as Paul's. 
Go. call him forth. 

Peto. FalstafE !— fast asleep behind the arras, and 
snorting like a horse. 

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: Search 
his pockets. [Peto searches.} What hast thou found? 

Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. 

P. Hen. Let 's see what be they: read them. 

Peto. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. 
Item, Sauce, 4d. 
Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. 
Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 23. 6d. 
Item, Bread, a half-penny. Ob. 

P. Hen. O monstrous ! but one half -penny-worth 
of bread to this intolerable deal of sack !— What 
there is else, keep close; we '11 read it at more ad- 
vantage: there let him sleep till day. I '11 to the 
court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and 
thy place shall be honourable. I '11 procure this fat 
rogue a charge of foot; and, I know, his death will 
be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid 
back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in 
the morning; and so good morrow, Peto. 

Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

A Room in the Archdeacon's 
House. 



Scene I.— Bangor. 



Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and Glen- 
dower. 

Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure. 
And our induction full of prosperous hope. 

Hot. Lord Mortimer,— and cousin Glendower,— 

Will you sit down? 

And, uncle Worcester:— A plague upon it ! 
I have forget the map. 

Glend. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur: 
For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and, with 
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 

Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen 
Glendower spoken of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity, 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
Of burning cressets; and, at my birtli. 
The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shak'd like a coward. 

Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same sea- 
son, if your mother's eat had but kitten'd, though 
yourself had ne'er been born. 

Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 

Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind, 
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. 

Glend. The heavens were all on flre, the earth did 
tremble. 

Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on 
flre. 
And not in fear of your nativity. 
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth 
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
Within her womb: which, for enlargement striving, 
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down 
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth. 
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature. 
In passion shook. 

Glend. Coitsin, of many men 

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
To tell you once again, — that at m.y birth, 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes; 
The goats lan from the mountains, and the herds 
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary; 
And all the courses of my life do show 
I am not in the roll of common men. 
Whei'e is he living,— clipp'd in with the sea 
Ihat chides the banks of England, Scotland, 

Wales, 

Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? 
And bring him out, that is but woman's son. 
Can ti'ace me in the tedious ways of art. 
And hold me pace in deep experiments. 

Hot. I think there 's no man speaks better Welsh: 
I '11 to dinner. 

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy: you will make him 
mad. 

Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 

Hot. Why, so can I: or so can any man: 
But will they come, when you do call for them? 

Glend. Why, I can teach thee, cousin, to com- 
mand 
The devil. 



Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil 
B.y teiling truth; Tell truth and shame the devil. — 
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither. 
And I '11 be sworn I have power to shame him hence. 
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. 

Mort. Come, come. 
No more of tliis unprofitable chat. 

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made 
head 
Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye 
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him. 
Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. 

Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too? 
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name? 

Glend. Come, here 's tlie map; shall we divide our 
right, 
According to our three-fold order ta'en? 

Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
Into three limits, very equally: 
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto. 
By south and east, is to my part assign'd: 
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore. 
And all the fertile land within that bound. 
To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you 
The remnant northward, lying off from "Trent. 
And our indentures tripartite are drawn: 
Which being sealed interchangeably, 
(A business that this night may execute,) 
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, 
And my good lord of Worcester, •will set forth, 
To meet your father, and the Scottish power. 
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
My father Glendower is not ready yet, ' 
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days: — 
Within that space, [to Glend.] you may have drawn 

together 
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. 

Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords, 
And in my conduct shall your ladies come: 
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave; 
For there will be a world of water shed. 
Upon the parting of your wives and you. 

Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton 
here. 
In quantity equals not one of j'ours; 
See now this river comes me cranking in. 
And cuts me, from the best of all my land, 
A huge half -moon, a monstrous cantle out. 
I '11 have the current in this place damn'd up; 
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run 
In a new channel, fair and evenl.y: 
It shall not wind with such a deep indent. 
To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 

Glend. Not wind? it shall, it must; you see it doth 

Mort. Yea, 
But mark how he bears his course, and runs me up 
With like advantage on the other side; 
Gelding the opposed continent as much. 
As on the other side it takes from .vou. 

Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here' 
And on this north side win this cape of land; 
And then he runs straight and even. 

Hot. I '11 have it so; a little charge wiU do it. 

Glend. I will not have it alter'd. 

Hot. WUl not you? 

Glend. No, nor you shall not. 

Hot. Who shall say me nav? 

Glend. Why, that will L 

Hot. Let me not understand you then. 

Speak it in Welsh. 

Glend. lean speak English, lord, as well as you: 
For I was train'd up in the English court: 
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty, lovely well. 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of 't with all my heart: 
I had rather be a kitten and cry mew. 
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers; 
I had rather hear a brazen candlestick turn'd. 
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge. 
Nothing so much as mincing poetr,v; 
'T is like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 

Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 

Hot. I do not cai'e: I '11 give thrice so much land 
To any well-deservmg friend: 
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
I '11 cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? 

Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by 
night: 
I '11 haste the writer, and, withal. 
Break with your wives of your departure hence: 
I am afraid my daughter will run mad. 
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. 

Mort. Fye, cousin Percy! how you cross my 
father! 

Hot. I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me. 
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant. 
Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies; 
And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, 
A couching lion, and a ramping cat. 
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,— 
He held me, last night, at least nine hours. 
In reckoning up the several devils' names 
That were his lackeys: I cried, hum,— and well,— go 

to,— 
But mark'd him not a word. O, he 's as tedious 
As is a tired horse, a railing wife; 
Worse than a smoky house: — I had rather live 
With cheese and garlick in a windmill, far. 
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, 
In any summer-house In Christendom. 

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; 
Exceedingly well read, and pronted 
In strange concealments; valiant as a lion. 
And wond'rous affable; and as bountiful 
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? 
He holds your temper in a high respect. 
And curbs himself even of his natural scope. 
When you do cross his humour; 'faith, he does: 
I warrant you that man is not alive 
Might so have tempted him as you have done. 
Without the taste of danger arid reproof; 
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 

TTor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; 
And since your coming hither, have done enough 
To put him quite beside his patience. 
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault. 



136 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act ni. 



Though sometimes it show ^veatness, co\irage, 

blood,— 
And that 's the dearest grrace it renders you,— 
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 
Defect of manners, want of government, 
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain: 
The least of which, iiaunting a nobleman, 
Loseth men's hearts; and leaves behind a stain 
Upon the beauty of all parts besides. 
Beguiling them of commendation. 

Hot. Well, I am sehool'd; good manners be your 
speed! 
Here come our wives, and let us talce our leave. 
Reenter Glendower, with the Ladies. 

Mart. This is the deadly spite that angers me,— 
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 

Qlend. My daughter weeps; slie Avlll not part with 
you. 
She '11 be a soldier too, she '11 to the wars. 

Mart. Good father, tell her, — that she, and my aunt 
Percy, 
Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 
LGlendower speaks to his danf/hter in Welsh, and 
site ansivers him in the same. 

Olend. She 's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd 
harlotry. 
One that no persuasion can do good upon. 

[Lady M. speaks fo Mortimer in Welsh. 

Mort. I understand thy looks: tliat pretty Welsh 
Which thou pourest down from these swelling hea- 
vens, 
I am too perfect In; and, but for shame, 
In such a parley should I answer thee. 

fLady M. sjJeaks. 
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, 
And that 's a feeling disputation: 
But I will never be a truant, love. 
Till I have learn'd thy language; for thy tongue 
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd. 
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 
With ravishing division, to her lute. 

Glend. Nay, if thou melt, then will she run mad. 
[Lady M. speaks again. 

Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this. 

Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you 
down. 
And rest your gentle head upon her lap, 
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, 
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep. 
Charming .vour blood with pleasing lieaviness; 
Making such difference betwixt wake and sleep. 
As is the difference betwixt day and night. 
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
Begins his golden progress in the east. 

Mort. With all my heart I '11 sit and hear her sing: 
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 

Glend. Do so; 
And those musicians that shall play to you. 
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence; 
And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. 

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: 
Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy 
lap. 

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. 
[Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and then the 
Music plays. 

Hot. Now I perceive, the devil undei-stands Welsh; 
And, 't is no marvel, he 's so humorous. 
By 'r lady, he 's a good musician. 

Lady P. Then would you be nothing but musical; 
for you are altogether governed by humours. Lie 
still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. 

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in 
Irish. 

Lady P. Would'st have thy head broken? 

Hot. No. 

Lady P. Then be still. 

Hot. Neither; 't is a woman's fault. 

Lady P. Now God help thee' 

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 

Lady P. What 's that? 

Hot. Peace! she sings. 

A Welsh Song sung by Lady M. 

Hot. Come, Kate, I '11 have your song too. 

Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear 
like a comflt-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth; 
and, As true as I live; and. As God shall mend me; 
and, As sure as day: 

And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, 
As if thou never -.valk'dst further than Flnsbury 
Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, 
A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth, 
And such protest of pepper-gingei-bread, 
To velvet-guards, and Sunday-citizens. 
Come, sing. 

Lady P. I will not sing. 

Hot. 'T is the next way to turn tailor, or be red- 
breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I '11 
away within these two hours; and so come in when 
ye will. [&vit. 

Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer; you are as 
slow. 
As hot lord Percy Is on flre to go. 
By this our book 's drawn; we '11 but seal, and then 
To horse immediately. 

Mort. With all my heart. [E.veunt. 

Scene II.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords. 

K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the prince of Wales 
and I 
Must have some private conference: But be near at 

hand. 
For we shall presently have need of you.— 

[Exeunt Lords. 
I know not whether God will have it so. 
For some displeasing service I have done, 
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
He '11 breed revengement and a scourge for me; 
But thou dost, in thy passages of life. 
Make me believe, that thou art only mark'd 
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven, 
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else, 
Could such Inordinate and low desires. 
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean at- 
tempts. 
Such barren pleasures, rude society. 
As thou art mutch'd withal and grafted to, 
Accompany the greatness of thy blood, 
And hold tVieir level with thy princely heart? 
P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would I could 



Quit all offences with as clear excuse. 

As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 

Myself of many I am charg'd withal: 

Yet such extenuation let me beg. 

As, in reproof of many tales devls'd,— 

Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,— 

By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers, 

I may, forsome things true, wherein my youth 

Hath faulty wander'd and irregular. 

Find pardon on my true submission. 

K. Hen. God pardon theel— yet let me wonder, 
Harry, 
At thy affections, which do hold a wing 
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Thy place in council thou has rudely lost. 
Which by thy younger brother is supplied; 
And art almost an alien to the hearts 
Of all the court and princes of my blood: 
The hope and expectation of thy time 
Is ruin'd; and the soul of every man 
Prophetically does forethink thy fall. 
Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
So common-hackney'd In the eyes of men. 
So stale and cheap to vulgar company. 
Opinion, that did help me to the crown. 
Had still kept loyal to possession; 
And left me in reputeless banishment, 
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
By being seldom seen, I could not stir 
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at: 
That men would tell their children,— This is he; 
Others would say,— Where? which is Bolingbroke? 
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven. 
And dress'd myself in such humility. 
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts. 
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths. 
Even in thepresence of the crowned king. 
Thus I did keep my person fresh and new; 
My presence, like a robe pontifical. 
Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at: and so my state. 
Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; 
And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 
The skipping king, he ambled up and down 
With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits. 
Soon kindled and soon burn'd: carded his state; 
Mingled his royalty with carping fools. 
Had his great name profaned with their scorns: 
And gave )iis countenance, against his name. 
To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 
Of every beardless vain comparative: 
Grew a companion to the common streets, 
EnfeofC'd himself to popularity: 
That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 
They surfeited with honey, and began 
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 
More than a little Is by much too much. 
So, when he had occasion to be seen. 
He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes. 
As, sick and blunted with community. 
Afford no extraordinary gaze. 
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: 
But rather drows'd, and hung their eyelids down. 
Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect 
As cloudy men use to their adversaries; 
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. 
And in that very line, Harry, standest thou: 
For thou hast lost thy princely privilege 
With vile participation; not an eye 
But Is a-vveary of thy common sight. 
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; 
VPhich now doth that I would not have it do, 
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness, 

P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, 
Be more myself. 

K. Hen. For all the world, 

As thou art to this hour, was Richard then 
When I from Prance set foot at Ravenspurg; 
And even as I was then is Percy now. 
Now b.v my sceptre, and my soul to boot. 
He hath more worthy Inteiest to the state. 
Than thou, the shadow of succession: 
For, of no right, nor colour like to right. 
He doth fill fields with harness in the realms: 
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws; 
And, being no more in debt to years than thou. 
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on, 
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 
What never-dying honour hath he got 
Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds. 
Whose hot Incursions, and great name In arms. 
Holds from all soldiers chief majoi-ity, 
And milita'.'y title capital, 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ! 
Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes. 
This Infant warrior in his enterprises 
Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once. 
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, 
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, 
And shake the peace and safety of oiu- throne. 
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, 
The archbishop's grace ot York, Douglas, Mortimer, 
Capitulate against us, and are up. 
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? 
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes. 
Which art m.v near'st and dearest enemy? 
That thou art like enough,— through vassal fear. 
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,— 
To fight against me, under Percy's pay. 
To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns, 
To show how mucli thou art degenerate. 

P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so; 
And God forgive them that so much have sway'd 
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head. 
And, in the closing of some glorious day. 
Be bold to tell you that I am your son; 
When I will wear a garment all of blood. 
And stain my favours in a bloody mask. 
Which, wash'd away, .shall scour my shame with it. 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
That this same child of honour and renown. 
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight. 
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet; 
For every honour sitting on his heUn, 
'Would they were multitudes; and on my head 
My shames redoubled! for the time will come. 
That I shall make this northern youth exchange 
His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord, 
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
And I will call him to so strict account. 



That he shall render every glory up. 

Yea, even the slightest worship of his time. 

Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 

This, in the name of God, I promise here: 

The which if He be pleas'd 1 shall perform, 

I do beseech your majesty, may salve 

The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: 

If not, the end of life cancels all bands; 

And I will die a hundred thousand deaths. 

Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 

K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die In this — 
Thou Shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. 

Enter Blunt. 

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. 
Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak 
of. 
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,— 
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met. 
The eleventh of this montli, at Shrewsbury: 
A mighty and a fearful head they are. 
If promises be kept on every hand. 
As ever offer'd foul play in a state. 
K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to- 
day; 
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; 
For this advertisement is five days old:— 
On Wednesday next, Harry, thou shalt set forward; 
On Thursday, we ourselves will march: 
Our meeting is Bridgnorth: and, Harry, you 
Shall march through Glostershire; by which ac- 
count, 
Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. 
Our hands are full of busine.ss: let 's awav; 
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exe. 

Scene III.— Eastcheap. A Room in the 

Boar's Head Tavern. 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 
this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle' 
Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's 
loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. 
Well, I '11 repent, and that suddenly, while I am in 
some liking; I shall be out of heart shortlv, and then 
I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not 
forgotten what the inside of a church Is made of, I 
am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a 
church ! Company, villainous company, hath been 
the spoil of me. 

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live 
long. 

Fal. Why, there is it:— come, sing me a bawdy 
song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given as 
a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore lit- 
tle; diced, not above seven times a week; went to a 
bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter — of an 
hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four 
times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I 
live out of all order, out of all compass. 

Bard. Why you are so fat, sir Jolin, that you must 
needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable 
compass, sir John. 

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I '11 amend my 
life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern 
iji the poop,— hut 't is in the nose of thee; thou art 
the knight of the burning lamp. 

Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no-harm. 

Fal. No, I 'II be sworn; I make as good use of it as 
many a man doth of a death's head, or a -memento 
mort: I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire, 
and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in 
his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way 
give* to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath 
should be, By this flre: but thou art altogether giv- 
en over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy 
face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ranns't 
up Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I did 
not think thouhadst been an ignis fatiius, or a ball 
of wildfire, there 's no purchase in money. O, thou 
art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light ! 
Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and 
torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tav- 
ern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk 
me would have bought me lights as good cheap, 
at the dearest chandler's In Europe. I have main- 
tained that salamander of yours with flre, any time 
this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it! 

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! 

Fal. Good-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to be heart- 
burned. 

Enter Hostess. 

How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you inquired 
yet who picked my pocket? 

Host. Why, sir John! what do you think, sir John' 
do you think I keep thieves In my house? I have 
searched, I have inquued, so has my husband, man 
b.v man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe 
of a hair was never lost in n)y house before. 

Fal. You He, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and 
lost many a hair: and I '11 be sworn my pocket was 
picked: Go to, you are a woman, go. 

Host. Who, I? I defy thee: 1 was never called so 
in mine own house before. 

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 

Host. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: 
I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John, 
and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I 
bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. 

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them 
away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters 
of them. 

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, hoUand of eight 
shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir 
John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money 
lent you, four and twenty pound. 

Fat. He had his part ot it; let him pay. 

Host. He? alas, he -is poor! he hath nothing. 

Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; What call you 
rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks; 
I '11 not pay a denier. What, will you make a younk- 
er of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but 
I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal- 
ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. 

Host. 1 have heard the prince tell him, I know not 
how oft. that that ring was copper. 

Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and, 
if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he 
would say so. 



Scene in.] 



FIRST PAUT OF KIXG IIFXRY IV. 



137 



Enter Prince Henry and Peto, marchinQ. Falstaff 

meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon, like a 

fife. 

Fal How noiv, lad? is the wind in tliat door, i' 
faitli? must we all march? 

Bard, Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. 

Host. M.v lord, I pray you, liear me. 

P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How 
does thy husband? I love him well, lie is an honest 
man. 

Host. Good m,y lord, liear me. 

Fal. Prithee, let her alone and list to me. 

P. Hen. What sayest thou, Jack? 

Fal, The other night I fell asleep here behind the 
arras, ami had my pocket picked; this house is turn- 
ed bawdv-tunise, tliey pick pooketA. 

P. Hen. Wliat didst thou lose, Jack? 

Fal. Wilt Ihou believe, Hal? three or four bonds of 
fort.v pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my grand- 
father's. 

P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 

Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard 
your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most 



Fal. Why, Hal, tliou knowest as thou art but a 
man, I dare; but as tliou art a prince, I fear thee, as 
I fear the roaring of the lion's vnelp. 

P. Hen. And why not as the lion? 

Fat. The king himself is to be feared as the lion: 
Dost thou think I '11 fear thee as I fear thy father? 
nay, an t do, let my girdle break! 

P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall 
about thy knees! But, sirrah, there 's no room for 
faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of tiiine; it 
is all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an 
honest woman with picking th.y pocket! Why, thou 
whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were 
anything in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, me- 
morandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny 
worth of sugar-candy, to make thee long-winded; if 
thy pocket were enriched witli any other injuries 
but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to 
it, you will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not 
ashamed? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the 
state of innocenc.v, Adam fell; and what should poor 
Jack falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest 



The land is burning; Perc.y stands on high; 
And eitliei' they, or we, must lower lie. 

[Exeunt Prince, Peto, and Bardolph. 
Fal. Rare words ! brave world ! Hostess, my break- 
fast; come:— 
O, I could wish this tavern were my drum. {Exit. 

ACT IV. 

SCEXE I. — Tlie Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 

Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. 

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking truth, 
In this fine age, were not thought flattery, 
Such attribution should the Douglas have. 
As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
Should go so general current through the world. 
By Heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy 
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place 
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself; 
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord. 

Doug. Thou art the king of honour: 




{2d Fart King Henry IV.\ Boll. I will have you soundly swinged for this, you blue-bottle rogue! you filthy famished correctionerl [act v.— scene iv.l 



vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and 

said he would cudgel you. 
P. Hen. What! he did not? 

Host. There 's neltherfaith, truth, nor womanhood 
in me else 

Fal. There 's no more faith in thee than in a stew- 
ed prune; nor no more truth in thee than In a drawn 
fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the 
deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, 

SO. 

Host. Say, what thing? what thing? 

Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank Heaven 
on. 

Host. I am no thing to thank Heaven on, I would 
thou shoidd'st know it; I am an honest man's wife: 
and setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave 
to call me so. 

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a 
beast to say otherwise. 

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou? 

Fal. W^hat beast? why an otter. 

P. Hen. An otter, sir John! why an otter? 

Fal. Why? she 's neither fish nor flesh; a man 
knows not where to have her. 

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or 
any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou! 

P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders 
thee most grossly. 

Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other 
day, you ought him a thousand pound. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? 

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: tliy love is 
worth a million; thou owest me thy love. 

Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said 
he would cudgel vou. 

Fal. Did I, Bardolph? 

Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. 

Fal. Yea; if he said my ring was copper. 

P. Hen. I say, 't is copper; Darest thou be as good 
as thy word now? 



I have more flesh than another man; and therefore 
more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my 
pocket? 

P. Hen. It appears so b.y the story. 

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make read.y 
breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, 
cherish thy guests; thou shalt find me tractable to 
any honest reason; thou seest I am pacified.— Still?— 
Nay, prithee, be gone. \Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to 
the news at court; For the robbery, lad,— How is 
that answered? 

P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel 
to thee: — The money is paid back again. 

Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 't is a double 
labour. 

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may 
do anything. 

Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou do- 
est, and do It with unwashed hands too. 

Bard. Do, my lord. 

P. Hen. I have procured thee. Jack, a charge of 
foot. 

Fal. I would It had been of horse. Where shall I 
find one that can steal well? O, for a fine thief, of 
the age of two and twenty, or thereabouts ! I am 
heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for 
these rebels, they offend none but ttie virtuou-,; I 
laud them, I praise them. 

P. Hen. Bardolph. 

Bard. My lord. 

P. Hen. Go bear this" letter to lord John of Lancas- 
ter, 
To my brother John; this to my lord of Westmore- 
land.— 
Go, Peto, to horse, to horse; for thou and I 
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner-time. 
Jack, meet me to-morrow i' the Temple-hall: 
At two o'clock 1' the afternoon: 

There shale thou know thy charge; and there receive 
Money, and order for their furniture. 



No man so potent breathes upon the ground, 
But I will beard him. 
Hot. Do so, and 't Is well; — 

Enter a Messenger, with letters. 

What letters hast thou there?— I can but thank you. 

Mess. These letters come from your father, — 

Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not himself? 

Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he 's grievous sick. 

Hot. 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick 
In such a justling time? Who leads his power? 
Under whose government come they along? 

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. 

TFor. I prithee tell me, doth he keep his bed? 

Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth: 
And at the time of my departure thence. 
He was much tear'd by his physicians. 

Wor. I would the state of time had first been whole, 
Ere he by sickness had been visited: 
His health was never better worth than now. 

Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth In- 
fect 
The very life-blood of our enterprise: 
'T is catching hither, even to our camp. 
He writes me here,— that inward sickness— 
And that his friends by deputation could not 
So soon be drawn; nor did he think it meet 
To Ia.y so dangerous and dear a trust 
On any soul remov'd, but on his own. 
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,— 
That with our small conjunction we should on, 
To see how fortune is dispos'd to us; 
For, as he wi'ltes, there is no quailing now; 
Because the king is certainly possess'd 
Of all our purposes. What saj' you to it? 

Wor. Your leather's sickness i.s a maim to us. 

Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: — 
And yet, in faith, 't is not; his present want 
Seems more tlian we shall find it:— Were it good 
To set the exact wealth of all our states 



138 



FIRST PART OF KINO HENRY IV. 



LACT V. 



All at one cast? to set so rich a main 

On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 

It were not good: for therein should we read 

The very bottom and the soul of hope; 

The very list, the very utmost bound 

Of all our fortunes. 

Doug. 'Faith, and so we should; 

Where now remains a sweet reversion: 
We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 
Is to come in; 
A comfort of retirement lives in this.— 

Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, 
If that the devil and mischance look big 
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 

Wor. But yet I would your father had been here. 
The qualit.v and air of our attempt 
Brooks no division: It will be thought 
B,v some, that know not why he Is away. 
That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
Of our proceedings kept the earl from hence; 
And think, how such an apprehension 
Ma.v turn the tide of fearful faction, 
And breed a kind of question in our cause. 
For, well you know, we of the offering side 
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement; 
And stop all sightholes, every loop, from whence 
The eye of reason may pry in upon us: 
This absence of .your father draws a curtain. 
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
Before not dreamt of. 

Hot. You strain too far. 

I, rather, of his absence make this use;— 
It lends a lustre and more great opinion, 
A larger dare to our great enterprise. 
Than if the earl were here: for men must think 
If we, without his help, can make a head 
To push against the kingdom, with his help 
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. 
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 

Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a word 
Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear. 
Enter Sir Richard Vernon. 
Hot. My cousin Vernon I welcome, by my soul. 
Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. 
The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong. 
Is marching hltherwards; with him, prince John. 
Sot. No harm: What more? 

Ver. And further, I have learn 'd. 

The king himself in person hath set forth. 
Or hltherwards intended speedily, 
With strong and mighty preparation. 

Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, 
The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, 
And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside. 
And bid it pass? 

Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms: 

All plumed, like estridges that with the wind 
Bated,— like eagles having lately bath'd; 
Glittering in golden coats, like images; 
As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, 
Hiscuisseson his thighs, gallantly arm'd. 
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat 
As If an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, 
To turn and wind a flery Pegasus, 
And witch the world witli noble horsemanship. 
Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in 
March, 
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; 
They come like sacrifices in their trim. 
And to the flre-ey'd maid of smoky war. 
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them: 
The mailed Mars shall on hl3 altar sit, 
Up to the ears in blood. I am on flre, 
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh. 
And yet not ours:— Come, let me take ray horse. 
Who Is to bear me, like a thunderbolt. 
Against the bosom of the prince of Wales: 
Harry to Harry shall, hot norse to horse. 
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse.— 
O, that Glendower were come! 

Ver. There is more news: 

I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along. 
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 
Doug. That 's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. 
Wor. Ay, b.v my faith, that bears a frost.v sound. 
Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto? 
Ver. To thirty thousand. 
Hot. Forty let it be; 

My father and Glendower being both away, 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Come, let us take a muster speedily: 
Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. 

Doug. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear 
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene U.—A public Road near Coventry. 
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me 
a bottle of sack; our soldiers shall march through: 
we '11 to Sutton-Cop-hill to night. 
Bard. Will you give me money, captain? 
Fal. Lay out, lay out. 
Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 
Fal. An If it do take it for thy labour; and if it make 
twenty take them all, I '11 answer the coinage. Bid 
my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. 
Bard. I will, captain: farewell. \Exit. 

Fal. It I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a 
souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press 
damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred 
and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. 
I press me none but good householders, yeoman's 
sons: inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as 
had been asked twice on the bans; such a com- 
modity of warm slaves as had as lief hear the devil 
as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver worse 
than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed 
me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts in 
their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and they 
have bought out their services; and now my whole 
charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, 
gentlemen of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus 
In the painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked 
his sores: and such as, indeed, were never soldiers; 
but discarded unjust serving-men, .younger sons to 
younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers 
trade-fallen; the cankers of a cafrn world and a long 
peace: ten times more dishonourable ragged than 



an old faced ancient; and such have I, to fill up the 
rooms of them that have bought out their services, 
that you would think that I had a hundred and fifty 
tattered prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, 
from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me 
on the way, and told me I had unloaded all the 
gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath 
seen such scarecrows. I '11 not march through 
Coventry with them, that 's flat;— Nav, and tlie 
villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had 
gyves on; for, indeed, I had the mo.st of them out of 
prison. There 's but a shirt and a half in all my 
company; and the half-shirt is two napkins tacked 
together, and thrown over the shoulders like a 
herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say 
the truth, stolen from my host at saint Alban's, or 
the red-nose inn-keeper of Daventry: But that's all 
one; they '11 find linen enougli on every hedge. 
Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland. 

P. Hen. How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt? 

Fal. What, Hal? how now, mad wag? what a devil 
dost thou in Warwickshire?— My good lord of West- 
moreland, I cry you mercy; I thought your honour 
had already been at Shrewsbury. 

West. 'Faith, sir John, 't Is more than time that I 
were there, and you too; but my powers are there 
already: The king, I can tell you, looks for us all; we 
must away all to-night. 

Fal. Tut, never fear me; I am as vigilant as a cat 
to steal cream. 

P. Hen, I think to steal cream indeed; for thy theft 
hath already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack; 
Whose fellows are these that come after? 

Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. 

P. Hen. 1 did never see such pitiful rascals. 

Fal. Tut, tut; good enough to toss: food for 

gowder, food for powder; they 'II fill a pit as well as 
etter; tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 

West. Ay, but, sir John, methinks they are exceed- 
ing poor and bare; too beggarly. 

Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, I know not where 
they had that: and for their bareness, I am sure they 
never learned that of me. 

P. Hen. No, I 'II be sworn; unless you call three 
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste: 
Percy is already in the field. 

Fal. What, is the king encamped? 

West. He Is, sir John; I fear we shall stay too long. 

Fal. Well, 
To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a 

feast. 
Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Eiceunt. 

ScEiTE III.— The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and Vernon. 

Hot. We '11 fight with him to-night. 

Wor. It may not be. 

Doug. ITou give him then advantage. 

Wor. Not a whit. 

Hot. Why say you so? looks he not for supply? 

Ver. So do we. 

Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 

Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd; stir not to-night. 

Ver. Do not, my lord. 

Doug. You do not counsel well; 

You speak It out of fear and cold heart. 

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas: by my life, 
fAnd I dare well maintain it with my life,) 
If well-respected honour bid me on, 
I hold as little counsel with weak fear 
As you my lord, or any Scot that this day lives:— 
Let It be seen to-morrow in the battle 
Which of us fears. 

Doug. Yea, or to-night. 

Ver. Content. 

Hot. To-night, say I. 

Ver. Come, come, it may not be. 

I wonder much, being men of such great leading as 

you are. 
That you foresee not what Impediments 
Drag back our expedition: Certain horse 
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: 
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day; 
And now their pride and mettle is asleep, 
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull. 
That not a horse is half the half of himself. 

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy 
In general, journey-bated, and brought low: 
The better part of ours are full of rest. 

Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours: 
For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come In. 

[The trumpet sounds a parley. 
Enter Sir Walter Blunt. 

Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king. 
If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. 

Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; And 'would to 
God 
You were of our determination! 
Some of us love you well: and even those some 
Envy your great deservings and good name, 
Because you are not of our quality. 
But stand against us like an enemy. 

Blunt. And heaven defend but still I should stand 
so. 
So long as, out of limit and true rule, 
You stand against anointed majesty! 
But to my charge.— The king hath sent to know 
The nature of your griefs; and whereupon 
You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 
Audacious cruelty: If that the king 
Have any way your good deserts forgot. 
Which he confesseth to be manifold. 
He bids you name your griefs; and, with all speed. 
You shall have your desires, with interest; 
And pardon absolute for yourself, and these, 
Herein misled by your suggestion. 

Hot. The king is kind; and, well we know, the 
king 
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
My father, and my uncle, and myself. 
Did give him that same royalty he wears: 
And,— when he was not six and twenty strong, 
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,— 
My father gave him \velcome to the shore: 
And,— when he heard him swear and vow to God, 
He came but to be dulje of Lancaster, 
To sue his livery, and beg his peace; 
With tears of Innocencv, and terms of zeal, — 
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd. 
Swore hlra assistance, and perform'd it too. 



Now, when the lords and barons of the realm 

Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him. 

The more and less came in with cap and knee; 

Met him In boroughs, cities, villages; 

Attended him on bridges, stood In lanes. 

Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths. 

Gave him their heirs; as pages follow'd him. 

Even at the heels. In golden multitudes. 

He presently,— as greatness knows Itself,— 

Steps me a little higher than his vow 

Made to my father, while his blood was poor. 

Upon the naked shore, at Ravenspurg; 

And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 

Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees. 

That lay too heavy on the commonwealth: 

Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 

Over his country's wrongs; and, by this face, 

This seeming brow of justice, did he win 

The hearts of all that he did angle for. 

Proceeded further; cut me off the heads 

Of all the favorites, that the absent king 

In deputation left behind him here. 

When he was personal in the Irish war. 

Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 
, JJot. Then, to the point. 

In short time after, he depos'd the king; 
Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life; 
And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state: 
To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman March 
(Who is, if every owner were well plac'd, 
Indeed his king,)to be engag'd in Wales, 
There without ransom to lie forfeited: 
Disgrac'd me in m.v happy victories; 
Sought to entrap me by intelligence; 
Rated my uncle Irom the council-board; 
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court; 
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong: 
And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
This head of safety; and. withal, to pry 
Into his title, the which we find 
Too indirect for long continuance. 

Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king' 

Hot. Not so, sir Walter; we '11 withdraw awhile. 
Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd 
Some surety for a safe return again. 
And in the morning early shall my uncle 
Bring him our purposes: and so, farewell. 

Blunt. I would you would accept of grace and love. 

Hot. An 't maybe, so we shall. 

Blunt. 'Pray heaven you do! [Exe. 

Scene IV.— York. .4 Room in the Archbishop's 
House. 

Enter the Archishop of York, and a Gentleman. 

Arch. Fie, good sir Michael; bear this sealed brief. 
With winged haste, to the lord marshal; 
This to my cousin Scroop; and all the rest 
To whom they are directed; if you knew 
How much they do import, you would make haste. 

Gent. My good lord, 
I guess their tenor. 

Arch. Like enough you do. 

Tomorrow, good sir Michael, is a day 
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
Must 'bide the touch: For, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
As I am trul.y given to understand. 
The king, with mighty and quick-raised power, 
Meets with lord Harry: and I fear, sir Michael,— 
What with the sickness of Northumberland, 
(Whose power was in the first proportion,) 
And what with Owen Glendoft'er's absence thence, 
(Who with them was a rated sinew too. 
And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies,) — 
I fear the power of Percy Is too weak 
To wage an instant trial with the king. 

Gent. Why, my good lord, you need not fear; 
there 's Douglas, 
And lord Mortimer. 

Arch. No, Mortimer Is not there. 

Gent. But there Is Mordake, Vernon, lord Harry 
Percy, 
And there 's my lord of Worcester; and a head 
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 

Arch. And so there is: but yet the king hath drawn 
The special head of all the land together; — 
The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, 
The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt; 
And many more corrlvals, and dear men 
Of estimation and command in arms. 

Gent. Doubt not, m.v lord, he shall be well oppos'd. 

Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 't Is to fear; 
And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed: 
For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, 
For he hath heard of our confederacy, 
And 't is but wisdom to make strong against him, 
"Therefore, make haste: I must go write again 
To other friends; and so farewell, sir MlchaeL 

[Exeunt severally. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— The King's Camp near Shrewsbury. 

Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Prince John of 
Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir Sohn Falstaff. 

K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
Above yon busky hill! the day looks pale 
At his distemperature. 

P. Hen. The southern wind 

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; 
And, b.y his hollow whistling in the leaves. 
Foretells a tempest and a blustering da.v. 

K. Hen. Then with the losers let It sj'mpathlze; 
For nothing can seem foul to those that win. 

Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
How now, my lord of Worcester? 't is not well. 
That you and I should meet upon such terms 
As now we meet: You have deceiv'd our trust; 
And made us doff our easy robes of peace, 
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel: 
This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
What say you to it? will you again unkuit 
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war? 
And move in that obedient orb again, 
Where you did give a fair and natural light; 
And be no more an exhal'd meteor, 
A prodigy of fear, and a portent 
Of broached mischief to the unborn times? 

Wor. Hear me, my liege; 
For mine own part, I could be well content 
To entertain the lag-end of my life 
With quiet hours; for. I do protest, 
I have not sought the day or this dislike. 



'f 



SCBNK I.] 



Fin ST FAliT OF KING HENRY IV. 



139 



K. Hen. You have not sought it I how comes it 
then? 

Fal. Rebellion lay in his way and he found It. 

K. Hen. Peace, chewet, peace. 

Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks 
Of favor from myself, and all our house; 
And yet I must remember you, my lord, 
We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
For you, my staff of oftice did I break 
In Richard's time; aud posted day and night 
To meet you on the way, and kiss your liand, 
When yet you were in place and in account 
Nothing so" strong and fortunate as I. 
It was myself, my brother, and his son. 
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
The danger of the time: You swore to us,— 
And you did sware that oath at Doncaster,— 
That vou did nothing purpose 'gainst the stater 
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right, 
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: 
To this we sware our aid. But, in short space. 
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head; 
And such a flood of greatness fell on you,— 
What with our help; what with the absent king; 
What with the injuries of a wanton time; 
The seeming sufferances that you had borne; 
And the contrarious winds, that held the king 
So long in his unlucky Irish wars. 
That all in England did repute him dead,— 
And, from this swarm of fair advantages. 
You took occasion to he quickly woo'd 
To gripe the general sway into your hand: 
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; 
And, being fed by us, you used us so 
As that ungentle gull the cuckoo's bird 
Useth the sparrow: did oppress our nest: 
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk. 
That even our love durst not come near your sight, 
For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing 
We were enforc'd, for safety sake, to fly 
Out of vour sight, and raise this present head: 
Whereby we stand opposed by such means 
As you yourself have forg'd against yourself; 
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 
And violation of all faith and troth 
Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. 

K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articulated, 
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches, 
To face the garment of rebellion 
With some fine colour, that may please the eye 
Of tickle changelings and poor discontents. 
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news 
Of hurlyburlv innovation: 
And never yet did insurrection want 
Such water-colours to impaint his cause; 
Nor mooiiy beggars, starving for a time 
Of pellmell havock aud confusion. 

P. Hen. In both our armies there is many a soul 
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter. 
If once they .Join in trial. Tell your nephew. 
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world 
In praise of Henry Percy: By my hopes,— 
This present enterprise set ofE his head,— 
I do not think a braver gentleman. 
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young, 
More daring, or more bold, is now alive. 
To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
I have a truant been to chivalry; 
And so, I hear, he doth account me too: 
Yet this before my father's majesty,— 
I am content that he shall take the odds 
Of his great name and estimation; 
And will, to save the blood on either side, 
Try fortune with him in a single fight. 

K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture 
thee, 
Albeit, considerations infinite 
Do make against it:— No, good Worcester, no, 
We love our people well; even those we love. 
That are misled upon your cousin's part: 
And, will they take the offer of our grace, 
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man. 
Shall be my friend again, and I '11 be his: 
So tell your cousin, aud bring me word 
What he will do:— But if he will not yield. 
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us. 
And they shall do their oflSce. So, be gone; 
We will not now be troubled with reply: 
We offer fair, take it advisedly. 

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon. 

P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life: 
The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
Are confident against the world in arms. 

K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his 
charge; 
For, on their answer, will we set on them: 
And God befriend us, as our cause is just! 

[Exeunt King Blunt, ana Prince John. 

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, 
and bestride me, so; 't is a point of friendship. 

P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 

FaJ. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 

P. Hen. Why, thou owest heaven a death. [Exit. 

Fal. 'T is not due yet; I would be loath to pay 
him before his day. What need I be so forward 
with him that calls not on me? Well, 't is no mat- 
ter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour 
prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour 
set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away 
the grief of a wound' No. Honour hath no skill in 
surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What 
is that word, honour? Air. A trim reckoning!— Who 
hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel 
it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible then? 
Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? 
No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it:— therefore, 
I '11 none of it: Honour is a mere scutcheon, and so 
ends my catechism. \Eooit. 

Scene II.- The Rebel Camp. 
Enter Worcester and Vernon. 

Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir Rich- 
ard, 
The liberal kind offer of the king. 

Ver. 'T were best he did. 

Wor. Then are we all undone. 
It is not possible, it cannot be, 
The king would keep his word in loving us: 
He will suspect us still, and find a time 
To punish this offence in other faults: 



Suspicion, all our lives, shall be stuck full of eyes: 

For treason is but trusted lilce the fo.x; 

Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up. 

Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 

Look how we can, or sad, or merrily. 

Interpretation will misquote our looks; 

And we shall feed like oxen at a stall. 

The better cherish'd still the nearer death. 

My nephew's trespass may be well forgot. 

It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood; 

And an adopted name of privilege,— 

A hair-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen: 

All his offences live upon my head. 

And on his father's;— we did train him on; 

And, his corruption being ta'en from us, 

We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 

Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know. 

In any case, the offer of the king. 

Ver. Deliver what you will, I '11 say 't is so. 
Here come your cousin. 

Enter Hotspur and Douglas; and Officers and 
Soldiers, behind. 

Hot. My uncle is return'd:— Deliver up ■ 
M.y lord of Westmoreland.— Uncle, what news? 

Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. 

Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. 

Hot. Lord Douglas, go yon and tell him so. 

Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Exit. 

Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 

Hot. Did you beg any? God forbid! 

Wor. I told him gently of our grievances. 
Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus, — 
By now forswearing that he is forsworn: 
He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge 
With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 
Re-enter Douglas. 

Doug. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! fori have thrown 
A brave defiance in king Henry's teeth. 
And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it; 
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 

Wor. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the 
king. 
And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. 

Hot. Oj 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads; 
And that no man might draw short breath to day, 
But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me. 
How show'd his tasking? seem'd it in comtempt? 

Ver. No, by my soul; I never in my life 
Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly. 
Unless a brother should a brother dare 
To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
He gave you all the duties of a man; 
Tiimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue; 
Spoke your deservmgs like a chronicle; 
Making you ever better than his praise. 
By still dispraising praise, valued with you: 
And, which became him like a prince indeed. 
He made a blushing cital of himself; 
And chid his truant youth with such a grace 
As if he master'd there a double spirit. 
Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. 
There did he pause. But let me tell the world,— 
If he outlive the envy of this day, 
England did never owe so sweet a hope. 
So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 

Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured 
Upon his follies; never did I hear 
Of any prince so wild at liberty: 
But, be he as he will, yet once ere night 
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm. 
That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 
Arm, arm, with speed: And, fellows, soldiers, 

friends. 
Better consider what you have to do. 
Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue. 
Can lift your blood up with persuasion. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 

Hot. I cannot read them now.— 

gentlemen, the time of life is short; 

"To spend that shortness basely were too long. 
If life did ride upon a dial's point, 
Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
And if we live, we live to tread on kings; 
If die, brave death, when princes die with us! 
Now for our consciences,— the arms are fair. 
When the Intent for bearing them is just. 
Enter another Messenger. 

Jlfess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apace. 

Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale. 
For I profess not talking; only this,— 
Let each man do his best: and here I draw a sword. 
Whose worthy temper I intend to stain 
With the best blood that I can meet withal 
In the adventure of this perilous day. 
Now,— Esperance!— Percy!— and set oh.— 
Sound all the lofty instruments of war. 
And by that music let us all embrace: 
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
A second time do such a courtesy. 
[The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt. 

Scene III.— Pfam near Shrewsbury. 
Excursions, and parties fighting. Alarum, to the 

battle. Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting. 

Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus 
Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek 
Upon my head? 

Dong. Know then, my name is Douglas; 

And I do haunt thee in the battle thus. 
Because some tell me that thou art a king. 

Blunt. They tell thee true. 

Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought 
Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, king Harry, 
This sword hath ended him: so shall it thee. 
Unless thou yield thee as a prisoner. 

Blunt. I was not born to yield, thou haughty Scot; 
And thou shalt find a king that %vlll revenge 
Lord Stafford's death. 

[They fight, and Blunt is slain. 
Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon 
thus, 

1 never had triumph'd upon a Scot. 

Doug. All 's done, all 's won; here beathless lies 
the king. 

Hot. Where? 

Doug. Here. 

Hot. This, Douglas? no, I know this face full well; 
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt; 
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 



Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes! 
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. 
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? 

Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. 

Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; 
I '11 murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece. 
Until I meet the king. 

Hot. Up and away; 

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt. 
Other Alarums. Enter FalstafC. 

Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, 
I fear the shot here: here 's no scoring, but upon 
the pate.— Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt;— 
there 's honour for you: Here 's no vanity! lamas 
hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: Heaven keep 
lead out of me' I need no more weight than mine 
own bowels.— I have led my raggamufdns where 
they are pepper'd: there 's not three of my hundred 
and fifty leit alive; and they are for the town's end, 
to beg during life. But who comes here? 
Enter Prince Henry. 

P. Hen. What stand'st thou idle here? lend me 
thy sword: 
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff 
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies. 
Whose deaths are unreveng'd: Prithee, lend me thy 
sword. 

Fal. O Hal, I prithee, give me leave to breathe 
awhile.— Turk Gregory never did such deeds in 
arms as I have done this day. I have paid Percy. 
I have made him sure. 

P. Hen. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. I 
prithee, lend me thy sword. 

Fal. Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive thou gett'st not 
my sword; but take my pistol, if thou wilt. 

P. Hen. Give it me: What, is it in the case? 

Fal. Ay, Hal; 't is hot, 't is hot; there 's that will 
sack a city. [The Prince draws out a bottle of sack. 

P. Hen. What, is 't a time to jest and dally now? 
[Throws it at hivi, and exit, 

Fal. If Percy be alive I 'U pierce him, if he do 
come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his 
willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I like 
not such grinning honour as sir Walter hath: Give 
me life: which if I can save, so; if not, honour 
comes unlocked for, and there 's an end. [Exit. 

Scene TV .—Another part of the Field. 

Alarums, Excursioyxs. Enter the King, Prince Henry, 
Prince John, and Westmoreland. 

K. Hen. I prthee, 
Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much; 
—Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 

P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 

P. Hen. I beseech your majesty, make up. 
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 

K. Hen. I will do so:— 
My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. 

West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. 

P. Hen. Lead me, my lord? I do not need your 
help: 
And Heaven forbid a shallow scratch should drive 
The prince of Wales from such a field as this; 
Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on. 
And rebels' arms trivimph in massacres ! 

P. John. We breathe too long:— Come, cousin 
Westmoreland, 
Our duty this ^vay lies; for God's sake come. 

[JSxeunt Prince John and Westmoreland. 

P. Hen. By Heaven, tiiou hast deceiv'd me, Lan- 
caster; 
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit: 
Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John; 
But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 

K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point. 
With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
Of such an ungrown warrior. 

P. Hen. O, this boy 

Lends metal to us all. [Exit. 

Alarums. Enter Douglas. 

Doug. Another king ! they grow like Hydras' 
heads: 
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
That wear those colours on them. — What art thou 
'That counterfeit'st tiie person of a king? 

K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves at 
heart, 
So many of his shadows thou hast met 
And not the very king. I have two boys 
Seek Percy, and thyself, about the field: 
But seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
I will assay thee; so defend thyself. 

Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit; 
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: 
But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be. 
And thus I win thee. 

[They fight; the King being in danger, enter 
Prince Henry. 

P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like 
Never to hold it up again I the spirits 
Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms: 
It is the prince of Wales that threatens thee; 
Who never promiseth but he means to pay. 

[They fight; Douglas^i'es. 
Cheerly, my lord; How fares your grace?— 
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent. 
And so hath Clifton; I '11 to Clifton straight. 

K. Hen. Stay, and breathe awhile: 
Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion; 
And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life. 
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 

P. Hen. O, Heaven ! they did me too much injury 
That ever said I hearken 'd for your death. 
If it were so, I might have let alone 
The insulting hand of Douglas over you; 
Which would have been as speedy in your end. 
As all the poisonous potions in the world. 
And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. 

K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I '11 to sir Nicholas 
Gawsey. [Exit King Henry. 

Enter Hotspur. 

Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 

P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. 

Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 

P. Hen. Why, then I see 

A very valiant rebel of that name. 
I am the prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, 
To share with me in glory any more: 
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere; 
Nor can one England brook a double reign, 



140 



SECOND PAJIT OF KING SENRY IV. 



LACT I. 



Of Harrv Percy and the prince of Wales. 

Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
To end the one of us; And woidd to Heaven, 
Thy name in arms were now as prreat as mine ! 

P. Hen. I 'H make it greater, ere I part from thee; 
And all the buddins honours on thy crest 
I '11 crop, to make a garland for my head. 

Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. 

[Theyfight. 
Enter Falstaft. 

Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal !— Nay, you shall 
find no boy's play here, I can tell yon. 
Enter Doufrlas; he fights loith Falstaff, ivho falls 

doivn as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hot- 
spur ts tvounded, and falls. 

Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb.'d me of my youth: 
I better brook the loss of brittle life 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; 
They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my 

flesh:— 
But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world. 
Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy. 
But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
Lies on my tongue;— No, Percy, thou art dust, 
And food for [Dies. 

P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy: Fare thee well, 
great heart!— 
lU-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk! 
When that this body did contain a spirit, ' 

A kingdom for it was too small a bound; 
But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
Is room enough:— This earth, that bears thee dead. 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
If thou wert sensible of courtes.v, 
I should not make so great a show of zeal:— 
But let my favours hide thy mangled face: 
And, even in thy behalf, I '11 thank myself 
For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! 
Thy ignonuny sleep with thee in the grave, 
But not remember'd in thy epitaph!— 

[He sees Falstaff on the ground. 
What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh 
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell' 
I could have better spar'd a better man. 
O, I should heavy miss of thee, 
If I were much in love with vanity. 
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray:— 
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by: 
Till then, in blood my noble Percy lie. [Exit. 

Fal. [Rising slowly.] Embowelled! if thou em- 
bowel me to-day, I 'II give .vou leave to powder me 
and eat me to-morrow. 'Sblood, 't was time to 
counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me 
scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no coun- 



terfeit: To die is to be a counterfeit; for he is bitt 
the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a 
man: but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby 
liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and per- 
fect image of life indeed. The better part of valour 
is discretion: in the which better part I have saved 
m.v life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder 
Percy, though he be dead: How, if lie should coun- 
terfeit too, and rise'' I am afraid he would prove 
the better counterfeit. Therefore I '11 make him 
sure; yea, and I 'II swear I killed him. Why may 
not he rise, as well as I? Nothing confutes me but 
eyes, and nobod.v sees me. Therefore, sirrah, 
[stabbing him} with a new wound in your thigh, 
come you along with me. [Takes Hotspur on AiS back. 
Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John. 

P. Hen. Come, brother John, lull bravely hast 
thou flesh'd 
Thy maiden sword. 

P. John. But, soft! who have we here? 

Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? 

P. Hen. I did; I saw him dead, breathless and 
bleeding. 
On the ground. 

Art thou alive? or is it phantasy 
That plays upon our eyesight'? I prithee, speak; 
We will not trust our eyes without our ears:— 
Thou art not what thou seem'st. 

Fal. No, that 's certain; I am not a double man: 
but if I be not Jack Falstaff their am I a Jack. 
There is Percy: [throwing the body down] if your 
father will do me any honour, so; If not, let him kill 
the next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or 
duke, I can assure you. 

P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee 
dead. 

Fal. Didst thou?— Lord, lord, how the world is 
given to lying!— I grant .vou I was down, and out of 
breath; and so was he: but we rose both at an in- 
stant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. 
It I may be believed, so; if not, let them that 'should 
reward valour bear the sin upon their own heads. 
I 'U take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in 
the thigh: if the man were alive, and would deny it, 
I would make him eat a piece of my sword. 

P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'erl heard. 

P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. 
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back: 
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
I '11 gild it with the happiest terms I have. 

[A retreat is sounded. 
The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. 
Come, brother, let 's to the highest of the field, 
■To see jvhat friends are living, who are dead. 

[Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John. 

Fal. I 'U follow, as they say, for reward. He that 
rewards me. Heaven reward him! If I do grow 



great, I '11 grow less: for I 'U purge, and leave sack, 
and live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. 

[Exit, bearing off the body. 

Scene Y.— Another part of the Field. 
The trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince 
Henry, Prince John, Westmoreland, and others, 
with Worcester and Vernon, prisoners. 

K. Hen.' Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. 
Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace, 
Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? 
And would'st thou turn our offers contrary? 
Jlisuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust'^ 
Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
A noble earl, and many a creature else, 
Had been alive this hour. 
If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne 
Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 

Wor. What I have done my safety urg'dme to: 
And I embrace this fortune patiently. 
Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 

K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon 
too: 
Other offenders we will pause upon.— 

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded. 
How goes the field? 

P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw 
The fortune of the da.y quite turn'd from him. 
The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest; 
And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd 
That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
The Douglas is; and I beseech your gi'ace 
I may dispose of him. 

K. Hen. With all my heart. 

P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you 
This honourable bounty shall belong: 
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
Up to his pleasure, ransomless, and free: 
His valour, shown upon our crests to-day, 
Hath taught us how to cherish .such high deeds. 
Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 

K. Hen. Then this remains,— that we divide our 
power. 
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 
Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest 

speed. 
To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop, 
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms: 
Myself, and .you son Harr.v, will towards Wales, 
To fight with Glendower and the earl of March. 
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 
Meeting the check of such another day: 
And since this business so fair is done, 
Let us not leave till all our owa be won. [Exeunt, 



SECOND PART OF 



KING HENRY IV. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



King Henry IV. 

Henry. Prince of Wales, 
afterwards King Hen- 
ry V., 

Thomas, Duke of . Clar- 
ence, 

PRINC15 John of Lancas- 
ter, afterwards created 'fhis sons. 
(2 Henry V.) Duke of 
Bedford, 

Prince Humfhrey of 
Gloster, afterwards 
created (2 Henry V.) 
Ihike of Gloster, J 



of the King's 
party. 



Eael of War'wiok, 
Earl op Westmore- 
land, 
Gower, 
Harcourt, 



Lord Chief Justice of the King's 
Bench. 

A gentleman attending on the Chief 
Justice. 

Earl of Noethum- ) enemy to the 
BERLAMD, J King. 



Scroop, Archbishop ") 
of York, 

Lord Mowbray, I enemies to the 

Lord Hastings, ( King. 

Lord Bardolph, 

Sir John Coleville, J 

Travers and Morton, domestics of 
Northumberland. 

Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and 
Page. 

PoiNS and Peto, attendants on Prince 
Henry. 

Shallow and Silence, country jus- 
tices. 



Davt, servant to Shallow. 

Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and 

Bull-calf, recruits. 
Fang and Snaee, sheriff's off.cers. 

Rumour. 
A Porter. 

A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue- 
Lady NORTHtTMBERLAND. 
Lady Percy. 
Hostess QuicKjLY. 
Doll Tear sheet. 



INDUCTION. 

Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle. 

Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 

Rum. Open your ears: For which of you will stop 
The vent of hearing when loud Rumoiir speaks'? 
I, from the orient to the drooping west. 
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
The acts commenced on this ball of earth: 
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride; 
The which in every language I pronounce. 
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
I speak of peace, while covert enmity. 
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world: 
And who but Rumour, who but only I, 
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence, 
Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other griefs, 
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war. 
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe 
Blown b.v surmises, jealousies, conjectures; 
And of so easy and so plain a stop 
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
The still-discordant wavering multitude. 
Can play upon it. But what need I thus 
M.v well-known body to anatomize 
Among my household? Why is Rumour here? 
I run before king Harry's victory; 
Who. in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, 
Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, 
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
Even with the rebels' blood. But what mean I 
To speak so true at first? my office is 
To noise abroad,— that Harry Monmouth fell 
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword; 



And that the king before the Douglas' rage 

Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 

This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns 

Between the royal field of Shrewsbury 

And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone. 

Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, 

Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on. 

And not a man of them brings other news 

Than they liave learn'd of me: from Rumour's 

tongues 
They bring smootli comforts false, worse than true 

wrongs. [Exit. 

ACT I. 

Scene T.—The same. 

Tlie Porter before the Gate; Enter Lord Bardolph. 

L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho? — 
Where is the earl? 

Port. What shall I say you are? 

L. Bard. Tell thou the earl. 

That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 

Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard. 
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate. 
And he himself will answer. 

Enter Northumberland. 

Port. Here comes the earl. 

North. What news, lord Bardolph? every minute 
now 
Should be the father of some stratagem: 
The times are wild; contention, like a horse 
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, 
And bears down all before him. 



L. Bard. Noble earl, 

I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 

North. Good, an heaven will ! 

Z. Bard. As good as heart can wish: 

The king is almost wounded to the death; 
And, in the fortune of my lord, your son. 
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts 
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas: young prince John, 
And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field; 
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John, 
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day. 
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won. 
Came not, till now, to dignify the times. 
Since Gsesar's fortunes ! 

North. How is this derlv'd? 

Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury? 

L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came 
from thence; 
A gentlemin well bred, and of good name. 
That freely render'd me these news for true. 

North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I 
sent • 
On Tuesday last to listen after news. 

L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way; 
And he is furnish'd with no certainties. 
More than he haply may retail from me. 
Enter Travers. 

North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with 
you? 

Trav. My lord, sir John Umfrevlle turn'd me back 
With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd. 
Out-rode me. After him came, spurring hard, 
A gentleman almost forspent with speed. 
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse: 



Scene i.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



141 



He asked the way to Chester; and of Iiim 
I did demand what news from Slirewsbury. 
He told me, that rebellion had ill-luck, 
And that youn}; Harry Percy's spur was cold: 
With that, he Rave his able horse the head, 
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
Against the panting sides of his poor Jade 
XJp to the rowel-head; and starting so. 
He seem'd in running to devour the way. 
Staying no longer Question. 

North. Ha ! Again. 

Said he. young Harry Percy's sp\ir was cold? 
Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion 
Had met ill-luck? 

L. Bard. My lord, I 'II tell yoii what; 

If my young lord your son have not the day, 
Upon mine honour, for a silken point 
I '11 give my barony: never talk of it. 

North. Why should the gentleman that rode by 
Travers, 
Give then such instances of loss? 

L. Bard. Who, he? 

He was some hilding fellow, that had stolen 
The horse he rode on; and, upon my life. 
Spake at adventure. Look, here comes more news. 

Enter JilOTton. 

North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf. 
Foretells the natui-e of a tragic volume: 
So looks the strond wliereon the imperious flood 
Hath left a witness'd usurpation. 
Sa.v, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? 

Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, m.v noble lord; 
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask. 
To fright our party.- 

North. How doth my son, and brother? 

Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless. 
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone. 
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. 
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd: 
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue. 
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report's! it. 
This thou would'st say,— Your son did thus and thus: 
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas: 
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds: 
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed. 
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise. 
Ending with— brother, son, and all are dead. 

Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet: 
But, for my lord your son, 

North. Why, he is dead. 

See, what a ready tongue suspicion hathl 
He that but fears the thing he would not know. 
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes. 
That what he fear'd Is chanced. Yet speak, Mor- 
ton; 
Tell thou thy earl his divination lies; 
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace. 
And make thee rich for doing me such verong. 

Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid: 
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 

North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. 
I see a strange confession in thine ej'e: 
Thou shak'st thy head; and hold'st It fear, or sin. 
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so; 
The tongue offends not that reports his death: 
And he Soth sin that doth belle the dead; 
Not he. which says the dead is not alive. 
Yet the first bririger of uuwelcome news 
Hath but a losing ofBce; and his tongue 
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
Eemember'd knolling a departing friend. 

L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. 

3Ior. 1 am sorry I should force you to believe 
That which I would to heaven I had not seen: 
But these mine eyes saw him In bloody state, 
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and outbreath'd. 
To Henry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat do%vn 
The never-daunted Percy to the earth. 
From whence with life he never more sprung up. 
In few, his death (whose spirit lent afire 
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) 
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
From the best-temper'd courage ip his troops: 
For, from his metal was his party steel'd; 
Which once in him abated, all the rest 
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. 
And as the thing that 's heavy In itself, 
Upou enforcement, flies with greatest speed; 
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss. 
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, 
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, 
Than did our soldiers, aiming at tueir safety. 
Fly from the field: Then was that noble Worcester 
Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, 
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword 
Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 
'Gan vail his stomacli, and did grace the shame 
Of those that turn'd their tacks; and, in his flight, 
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
Is, that the king hath won; and hath sent out 
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord. 
Under the conduct of young Lancaster, 
' And Westmoreland: this is the news at full. 

North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. 
In poison there is physic; and these news. 
Having been well that would have made me sick. 
Being sick, have in some measure made we well: 
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, 
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life. 
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
Out of his keeper's arms: even so my limbs, 
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief. 
Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou nice 

crutch; 
A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, 
Must glove this hand- and hence, thou sickly qnoif ; 
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head 
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
Kow bind my brows with iron: And approach 
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring. 
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland! 
Let heav'n kiss earthl Now let not nature's hand 
Keep the wild flood confin'dl let order die! 
And let the world no longer be a stage 
To feed contention in a lingering act; 
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
And darkness be the burier of the dead! 
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my 
lord. 



L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from 
your honour. 

ilfoj'. The lives of all your loving complices 
Lean on your health; the which, if you give o'er 
To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
You cast the event of war, my noble lord, 
And summ'd the account of chance, before you said, 
Let us make head. It was your presurmlse, 
That in the dole of blows your son might drop: 
You knew he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, 
More likely to fall in than to get o'er: 
You were advis'd his flesh was capable 
Of wounds, and scars; and that his forward spirit 
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd: 
Yet did you say,— Go forth; and none of this. 
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
The stiff -born action: What hath then befallen. 
Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth. 
More than that being which was like to be? 

L. Bard. We all that are engaged to this loss 
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, 
That if we wrought out life 't was ten to one: 
And yet we ventur'd for the gain propos'd, 
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd; 
And, since we are o'erset, venture again. 
Come, we will all put forth; body, and goods. 

Mor. 'T Is more than time: And, my most noble 
lord, 
I hear for certain, and do speak the truth: 
The gentle archbishop of York is up. 
With well-appointed powers; he is a man 
Who wltli a double surety binds his followers. 
My lord your son had only but the corpse. 
But shadows and the shows of men, to flght: 
For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
The action of their bodies from their souls: 
And they did flght with queaslness, constrain'd, 
As men drink potions; that their weapons only 
Seem'd on our sltle, but, for their spirits and souls, 
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up, 
As flsh are in a pond: But now the bishop 
Turns insurrection to religion: 
Suppos'd sincei-e and holy in his thoughts. 
He 's followed both with body and with mind; 
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 
Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones, 
Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; 
Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land, 
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; 
And more and less do flock to follow him. 

North. I knew of this before, but to speak truth. 
This present grief had wip'd it from my mind. 
Go in with me; and counsel every man 
The aptest way for safety and revenge: 
Get posts and letters, and make friends \vith speed: 
Never so few, nor never yet more need. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— London. A Street. 

Enter Sir John Falstafif, with his Page bearing his 
sword and buckler 

Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my 
water? 

Page. He said, sir, the water Itself was a good 
healthy water; but for the party that owed it he 
might have more diseases than he knew for. 

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. 
The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is 
not able to invent anything that tends to laughter, 
more than I invent, or is Invented on me: I am not 
only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in 
other men. I do here walk before thee, like a sow 
that hath o'erwhelmed all her litter but one. If the 
prince put thee into my service for any other reason 
than to set me off, why then I have no judgment. 
■Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn 
in my cap, than to wait at my heels. I was never 
manned with an agate till now; but I will set you 
neither in gold nor silver, hut in vile apparel, and 
send you back again to your master, tor a jewel; 
the Juvenal, the prince your master, whose chin Is 
not yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard grow in 
the palm of my hand, than he shall get one on his 
cheek; yet he will not stick to say, his face Is a 
face-royal: Heaven may finish it when he will, it is 
not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still at a face- 
royal, for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of 
it; and yet he will be crowing, as If he had writ man 
ever since his father was a bachelor. He may keep 
his own grace, but he is almost out of mind, I can 
assure him. What said master Dombledou about 
the satin for my short cloak and slops? 

Page. He sa id, sir, you should procure him better 
assurance than Eardolph: he would not take his 
bond and yours; he liked not the security. 

Fal. Let him be damned like the glutton ! may his 
tongue be hotter !— A whoreson Achitophel ! a ras- 
cally yea-forsooth knave ! to bear a gentleman in 
hand, and then stand upon security ! The whore- 
son smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high 
shoes, and bimches of keys at their girdles; and if 
a man is thorough with them in honest taking up, 
then they must stand upon security. I had as lief 
they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to 
stop it with security. I looked he should have sent 
me two and twenty yards of satin, as I am true 
knight, and he sends me security. Well, he may 
sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance, 
and the lightness of his wife shines through it: and 
yet cannot he see, though he have his own lantern to 
light him. Where 's Bardolph? 

Page. He 's gone into Smithfield, to buy your 
worship a horse. 

Fal. 1 bought him in Paul's, and he '11 buy me a 
horse in Smithfield: if I could get me a wife in the 
stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. 

Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an Attendant. 

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that com- 
mitted the prince for striking him about Bardolph. 

Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. 

Ch. Just. What 'sjfe that goes there? 

Atten. Falstaff, all 't please your lordship. 

Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery? 

Atten. He, my lord: but he hath since done good 
service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now going 
with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster. 

Ch. Just. What, to York? Call him back again. 

Atten. Sir John Falstaff ! 

Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. 

Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. 

Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any- 
thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must 
speak with him. 



Atten. Sir John, 

Fal. What ! a young knave, and beg ! Is there 
not wars? is there not employment? Doth not the 
king lack subjects? do not the rebels want soldiers? 
Though it be a shame to be on any side but one. It 
is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side, 
were it worse than the name of rebellion can teli 
how to make it. 

Atten. You mistake me, sii*. 

Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? 
setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I 
had lied in my throat if I had said so. 

Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood 
and your soldiership aside; and give me leave to 
tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any 
other than an honest man. 

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside 
that which grows to me! If thou gett'st any leave of 
me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better 
be hanged: You hunt counter, hence! avaunt! 

Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 

Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 

Fal. My good lord!— Give your lordship good time 
of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad: I 
heard say your lordship was sick: I hope your lord- 
ship goes abroad by advice. Your lord.ship, though 
not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of 
age in you, some relish of the saltness of time; and I 
most humbly beseech your lordship to have a 
reverend care of your health. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your ex- 
pedition to Shrewsbury. 

Fal. If it please your lordship, I hear his majesty 
Is returned with some discomfort from Wales. 

Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty:— You would not 
come when I sent for you. 

Fal. And I hear, moreover, liis highness is fallen 
into the some whoreson apoplexy. 

Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him! I pray, let me 
speak with you. 

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of leth- 
argy; a sleeping of the blood, a whoreson tingling. 

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. 

Fal. It hath Its original from much grief; from 
study, and perturbation of the brain; I have read 
the cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of deaf- 
ness. 

Ch. Just. I think you are fallen Into the disease: 
for you hear not what I say to you. 

Fal. Ver.y well, my lord, very well: rather, 
an 't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the 
malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. 

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would amend 
the attention of your ears; and I care not if I be your 
physician. 

Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so pa- 
tient; your lordship may minister the potion of im- 
prisonment to me. In respect of poverty; but how T 
should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, 
the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, in- 
deed, a scruple Itself. 

Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters 
against you for your life, to come speak with me. 

Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel 
in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. 

Ch. Jxtst. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live m 
gi'eat infamy. 

Fal. He that buckles him In my belt cannot live In 
less. 

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your 
waste great. 

Fal. I would it were otherwise: I would my means 
were greater and my waist slenderer. 

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 

Fal. The young priuce hath misled me: I am the 
fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. 

Ch. Just. Well, I am loth to gall a new-healed 
wound; your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a 
little gilded over your night's exploit on Gadshill: 
you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er- 
postlng that action. 

Fal. My lord? 

Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so; wake 
not a sleeping wolf. 

Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. 

Ch. Just. What! you are as a candle, the better 
part burnt out. 

Fal. A wassel candle, my lord; all tallow: If I did 
say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. 

Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face- 
but should have his effect of gravity. 

Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 

Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and down 
like his evil angel. 

Fal. Not so, my lord; your 111 angel is light; but I 
hope, he that looks upon me will take me without 
weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I can- 
not go, I cannot tell: Virtue is of so little regard in 
these coster-monger times, that true valour is turned 
bear-herd: Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath 
his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings: all the 
other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of 
this age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. 
You, that are old, consider not the capacities of us 
that are young: you measure the heat of our livers 
with the 'bitterness of your galls: and we that are in 
the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags, 
too. 

. Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll 
of youth, that are written down old with all the 
characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a 
dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a de- 
creasing leg? an Increasing belly? Is not your voice 
broken? vour wind short? your chin double? your 
wit single? and every part about you blasted with 
antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young'^ 
Fye, fye, fye, sir John! 

Fal. Mv lord, I was born about three of the clock 
in the afternoon, with a white head, and something 
a round belly. For my voice, I have lost it with 
hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my 
youth farther, I will not: the truth is, I am only old 
in judgment and understanding; and he that will 
caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend 
me the money, and have at him. For the box o' 
the ear that the prince gave you, he gave it like a 
rude prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I 
have checked him for It; and the young lion repents: 
marry, not in ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk 
and old sack. 

CT(. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better 
companion! 



142 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 



[Act II. 



Fnl. Heaven send the companion a better prince! 
I cannot rid niv hands of him. 

Ch. jKst. Well, the king hath severed you and 
prince Harrv: I hear, you are going with lord John 
of Lancaster, against the archbishop and the earl of 
Northumberland. 

Fal. Yes; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. 
But look you pray, all you tliat kiss my lady Peace 
at home, that our armies Join not in a hot day; for 
I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not 
to sweat extraordinarily; If it be a hot day, and 
I brandish anything but mv bottle, I would I might 
never spit wlilte again. There is not a dangerous 
action can peop out his head, but I am thrust upon 
it: Well, I cannot last ever: But it was always yet 
the trick of our English nation. It they have a good 
thing to make It too common. It you will need say 
I am an old man, you should give me rest. I would 
to God my name were not so terrible to the enemy 
as It is. I were better to be eaten to death with ru.st, 
than to be seo\ired to nothing with perpetual motion. 

Ch. Jiist. Well, be honest, be lionest; And Heaven 
bless >'oui' expedition ! 

Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound, 
to furnish me forth? 

Ch. Jti.it. Not a penny, not a penny; you are too 
impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: Commend 
me to my cousin Westmoreland. 

lExetint Chief Justice and Attendant. 

Fal. If I do, flUip me with a three-man beetle. A 
man can no more separate age and covetousness, 
than he can part young limbs and lecher.v: but the 
gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other; 
and so both the degrees prevent my curses.— Boy ' 

Page. Sir? 

Fal. What money Is In my purse? 

Page. Seven groats and two-pence. 

Fni. I can get no remedy against this consumption 
of the purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers It 
out, but the disease is incurable. Go bear this letter 
to my lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; this to 
the earl of Westmoreland; and this to old mistress 
tTrsula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I 
perceived the flr.st white hair on my chin: About it, 
you know where to find me. lExit Page.J A pox of 
this gout ! or, a gout of this pox ! for the one, or the 
other, plays the rogue with my great toe. It is no 
matter. If I do halt; I have the wars for my colour, 
and my pension shall seem the more reasonable: A 
good wit will make use of anything; I will turn dis- 
eases to commodity. [Exit. 

Scene III.— York. A Room in the Archbishop's 
Palace. 

Enter the Archbishop of York, the Lord Hastings, 
Mowbray, and liOrd Bardolph. 

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and know 
our means; 
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes: 
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? 

Mowh. I well allow the occasion of our arms; 
But gladly would be better satisfied 
How, in our means, we should advance ourselves 
To look with forehead bold and big enough 
Upon the power and puissance of the king. 

Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 
To five and twenty thousand men of choice; 
And our supplies jive largely in the hope 
Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
With an incensed fire of injuries. 

L. Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, stand- 
eth thus; 
Whether our present five and twenty thousand 
May hold up head without Northumberland. 

Hast. With him, we may. 

L. Bard. Ay, marry, there 's tlie point; 

But if without him we be thought too feeble, 
My judgment is, we should not step too far 
Till we had his assistance by the hand: 
For, in a theme so bloody -fac'd as this, 
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 
Of aids incertaln, should noD be admitted. 

Arch. 'T Is vei-y true, lord Bardolph; for. Indeed, 
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 

L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lin'd himself with 
hope. 
Eating the air on promise of supply. 
Flattering himself with project of a power 
Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts: 
And so, witii great imagination. 
Proper to madmen, led his power to death, 
And, winking, leap'd Into destruction. 

Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt. 
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. 

L. Bard. Yes;— If this present quality of war,— 
(Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot,) 
Lives so In hope, as In an early spring 
We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, 
Hope gives not so much warrant as despair 
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build. 
We first survey the plot, then draw the model; 
And when we see the figure of the house, 
Then must we rate the cost of the erection: 
Which If we find outweighs ability. 
What do we then, but draw anew the model 
In fewer offices; or, at least, desist 
To build at ail? Much more, in this great work, 
(Wlilch Is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down 
And set another up,) should we survey 
The plot of situation, and the model; 
Consent upon a sure foundation; 
Question surveyors; know our own estate. 
How able such a work to undei-go. 
To weigh against his opposite; or else. 
We fortify in paper, and in figures. 
Using the names of men instead of men: 
Like one that draws the model of a house 
Beyond his power to build It; who, half through, 
Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost 
A naked subject to the weeping clouds. 
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 

Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth,) 
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd 
The utmost man of expectation; 
I think we are a body strong enough. 
Even as we are, to equal with the king. 

L. Bard. What ! is the king but five and twenty 
thousand? 

Hast. To us no more; nay, not so much, lord Bar- 
dolph. 
For his divisions, as the times do brawl, 
Are In three heads; one power against the French, 



And one against Glendower; perforce, a third 
Must take up us: So Is the unfirm king 
In three divided; and his coffers sound 
With iiollow poverty and emptiness. 

A7-ch. That lie should draw his several strengths 
together. 
And come against us In full puissance. 
Need not be dreaded. 

Ha'<t. If he sliould do so, 

He leaves his back imarm'd, the French and Welsh 
Baj'ing him at the heels: never fear that. 

L. Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces 
hither? 

Hast. The duke of Lancaster, and Westmoreland: 
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Monmouth: 
But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
I have no certain notice. 

Arch. Let us on; 

And publish the occasion of our arms. 
The commonwealth Is sick of their own choice. 
Their over-greody love hath surfeited: 
An habitation giddy and unsure 
Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
O thou fond many! with what loud applause 
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 
Before he was what thou would'st have him be? 
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires. 
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, , 
That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard; 
And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up; 
And howl'st to find it? What trust is in these times? 
They that when Richard llv'd would have him die. 
Are now become enamour'd on his grave: 
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head. 
When through proud London he came sighing on 
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
CiT'st now, ' O earth, yield us that king again. 
And take thou this!' O thoughts of men accurst! 
Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst. 

Slowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? 

Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be 
gone. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

Scene I.— London. A Street. 

Enter Hostess; Fang, and his Boy, with her; and 
Snare following. 

Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action? 

Fang. It is entered. 

Host. Where 's your yeoman? Is it a lusty yeoman? 
will he stand to 't? 

Fang. Sirrah, where 's Snare? 

Host. Ay, ay; good master Snare? 

Snare. Here, here. 

Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff. 

Host. Ay, good master Snare; I have entered him 
and all. 

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives: he 
will stab. 

Host. Alas the day! take heed of him; he stabbed 
me in mine own house, and that most beastly: in 
good faith, he cares not what mischief he doth, if his 
weapon be out: he will foin like any devil; he will 
spare neither man, woman, nor child. 

Fang. If I can close with him I care not for his 
thi-ust. 

Host. No, nor I neither: I '11 be at your elbow. 

Fang. If I but fist him once; if he come but within 
mv vice;— 

Host. I am undone with his going; I warrant he Is 
an Infinitive thing upon my score:— Good master 
Fang, hold him sure;— Good master Snare, let him 
not 'scape. He comes continuantly to Piecorner, 
(saving your manhoods.) to buy a saddle; and he Is 
Indited to dinner to the lubbar's head in Lumbert- 
street, to master Smooth's the silkman: I pray ye, 
since my exion Is entered, and my case so openly 
known to the world, let him be brought In to his 
answer. A hundred mark is a long one for a poor 
lone woman to bear: and I have borne, and borne, 
and borne; and have been fubbed off, and fubbed 
off, from this day to that day, that It Is a shame to 
bethoughton. "There is no honesty In such dealing; 
unless a woman should be made an ass, and a beast, 
to bear every knave's wrong. 

Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph. 

Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose 
Bardolph with him. Do your offices, do your offices, 
master Fang, and master Snare; do me, do me, do 
nie your offices. 

Fal. How now? whose mare 's dead? what 's the 
matter? 

Fang. Sir John, 1 arrest you at the suit of mistress 
Quickly. 

Fal. Away, varletsl--Draw, Bardolph; cut me off 
the villain's head; throw the quean in the channel. 

Host. Throw me in the channel? I '11 throw thee 
there. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue! 
—Murder, murder! O thou honey-suckle villain! wilt 
thou kill God's officers, and the king's? O thou 
honey-seed rogue! thou art a honey-seed; a man 
queller, and a woman queller. 

Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 

Fang. A rescue! a rescue! 

Host. Good people, bring a rescue. Thou wilt not? 
tliou wilt not? do, do, thou roguo! do, thou hemp- 
seed! 

Fal. Away, you scullion! you rampalllan! you fus- 
tilarian! I '11 tickle your catastrophe. 

Enter tlie Lord Chief Justice, attended. 
Ch. Just. What 's the matter? keep the peace 
here, ho! 

Host. Good my lord, be good to me! I beseech you, 
stand to me! 
Cli. Just. How now, sir John? wiat, are you brawl- 
ing here? W 
Doth this become your pla^e, your time, and busi- 
ness? 
You should have been well on your way to York.— 
Stand from him, fellow. Wherefore hang'st upon 
him? 
Host. O, my most wor.shlpf ul lord, an 't please your 
grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is 
arrested at my suit. 
Ch. Just. For what sum? 

Host. It is more than for some, my lord; it is for 
all, all I have: he hath eaten me out of house and 
home; he hath put all my substance Into that fat 



belly of his:— but I will have some of it out again, or 
I '11 ride thee o' nights, like the mare. 

Fal. I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I 
have any vantage of ground to get >ip. 

Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John? Fye! what 
man of good temper would endure this tempest of 
exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor 
widow to so rough a course to come by her own? 

Fal. What Is the gross sum that I owe thee? 

Host. M^irry, If thou Wert an honest man, thyself 
and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a 
parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin chamber, at 
the round table, by a sea-coal fire, on Wednesday in 
Whitsun-week, when the prince broke thy head for 
liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor; thou 
didst swear to me then, as I waswashing thy wound, 
to marry me. and make me mv lady thy wife. Canst 
thou deny it? Did not good wife Keech, "the butcher's 
wife, come in then, and call me gossip Quickly? 
coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us, 
she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst 
desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were 
ill for a green wound? And didst not thou, when she 
was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so 
familiarity with such poor people; saying, that ere 
long they should call me madam? And didst thou not 
kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put 
thee now to thy book-oath; deny It, if thou canst. 

Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul: and she says, 
up and down the town, that her eldsest son is like 
you: she hath been in good case, and, the truth Is, 
poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish 
officers, I beseech you, I may have redress against 
them. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted 
with your manner of wrenching the true cause the 
false way It Is not a confident brow, nor the 
throng of words that come with such more than 
impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a 
level consideration. I know you have practised 
upon the easy-yielding spirit of this woman. 
Host. Yes, in troth, my lord. 

Ch.Just. Prithee, peace:— Pay her the debt you 
owe her, and unpay the villainy you have done her; 
the one you may do with sterling money, and the 
other with current repentance. 

Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap without 
repl.v. Yon call honourable boldness, impudent 
sauciness: if a man will court'sy and say nothing, 
he is virtuous: No, my lord, my humble duty remem- 
bered, I will not be your suitor. ■ I say to you, I do 
desire deliverance from these officers, being upon 
hasty employment In the king's affairs. 

Ch. Just. You speak as havmg power to do wrong: 
but answer in the effect of your reputation, and sat- 
isfy the poor woman. 

Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Talcing her aside. 

Enter Gower. 
Cli. Just. Now, master Gower: What news? 
Gow. The king, my lord, and Henry prince of 
Wales 
Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman: 

Host. Nay, you said so before. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman; Come, no more 

words of it. 

Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must 
be fain to pawn both my plate and the tapestry of 
my dining-chambers. 

Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and for 
thy walls,— a pretty slight drollery, or the story of 
the prodigal, or the German hunting in waterwork, 
is worth a thousand of these bed hangings, and rhese 
fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound if thou 
canst. Come, If it were not for thy humours, there 
Is not a better wench in England. (Jo, wash thy face, 
and draw thine action: Come, thou must not be in 
this humour with me. Come, I know thou wast set 
on to this. 

Host. Prithee, sir John, let It be but twenty nobles. 
I loath to pawn my plate, in good earnest, la. 

Fal. Let it alone; I '11 make other shift: you '11 be 
a fool still. 

Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my 
gown. I hope you"ll come to supper: You '11 pay 
me nil together? 

Fal. Will I live?— Go, with her, with her; [to Bar- 
dolph! hook on. hook on. 

Fal. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at 
supper? 

Fal. No more words, let 's have her. 

[Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers, and Page. 

Ch. Just. I have heard better news, 

Fnl. What 's the news, my good lord? 

CJi. Just. Where lay the king last night? 

Goiv. At Basingstoke, my lord. ' 

' Fal. I hope, my lord, all 's well: What is the news, 
my lord? 

Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? 

Ooiv. No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundi-ed horse, 
Are march'd iip to my lord of Lancaster, 
Against Northumberland and the archbishop. 

Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble 
lord? 

Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently; 
Come, go along with me, good master Gower. 

Fal. My lord ! 

Ch. .Tust. What 's the matter? 

Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to 
dinner? 

(?0!(t.. I must wait upon ray good lord here; I thank 
you, good sir John. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being 
you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. 

Fal. Will you sup with me, master (Jower? 

Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you these 
manners, sir John? 

Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he 
was a fool that taught them me.— This is the right 
fencing grace, "my lord; tap for tap, and so part 
fair. 

Cli. Just. Now the lord lighten thee ! thou art a 
great fool. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — The same. Another Street. 
Enter Prince Henry and Polns. 
P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. 
Poins. Is It come to that? I had thought wear! 
ness durst not have attached one of so high blood. 

P. Hen. 'Faith it doth me; though It discolours the 
complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth 
It not show vilely in me to desire small beer? 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PAliT OF JCING HENRY IV. 



143 



Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
studied as to remember so weak a composition. 

P. Ben. Belike then my appetite was not princely 
got; for, in troth, I do now remember the poor 
creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble 
considerations make me out of love with my great- 
ness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember 
thy name? or to know thy face to-morrow? or to 
take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast: 
VIZ. these, and those that were thy peaeh-colour'd 
ones? or to bear the inventory of thy shirts; as, one 
for superfluity, and one other for use?— but that, 
the tennis court-keeper knows better than I; for it 
is a low ebb of linen with thee, when thou keep'st 
not racket there; as thou hast not done a great 
while, because the rest of thy low-countries nave 
made a shift to eat up thy holland. 

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboured 
so hard you should talk so idly? Tell me, how many 
good young princes would do so, their fathers lying 
so sick as vours is? 

P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing. Pains? 

Poins. Yes; and let it be an excellent good thing. 

P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
breeding than thine. 

Poins. Go to; I stand the push of your one tiling 
that you will tell. 

P. Hen. Why, I tell thee,— it is not meet that I 
should be sad, now ray father is sick: albeit I could 
tell to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a 
better, to call my friend,) I could be sad, and sad 
indeed too. 

Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 

P. Hen. By this hand, thou thlnk'st me as far in the 
devil's book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and 
persistency: Let the end try the man. But I tell 
thee, my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is so 
sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art 
hath in reason taken from me ali ostentation of sor- 
sow. 

Poins. The reason? 

P. Hen. What would'st thou think of me if I should 
weep? 

Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypo- 
crite. 

P. Hen. It would be every man's thought: and thou 
art a blessed fellow to think as every man thinks; 
never a man's thought in the world keeps the road- 
way better than thine: every man would think me 
an hypocrite indeed. And what acoites your most 
worshipful thought to think so? 

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, and 
so much engrafted to Falstaff. 

P. Hen. And to thee. 

Poins. Nay, I am well spoken of; I can hear it with 
my own ears: the worst that they can say of me is, 
that I am a second brother, and that I am a proper 
fellow of my hands; and those two things, I confess, 
I cannot help. Look, look, here comes Bardolph. 

P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Talstaff: he had 
bim from me christian: and see if the fat villain have 
pot transformed him ape. 

Enter Bardolph and Page. 

Bard. Save your grace ! 

P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph ! 

Bard. Come, you pernicious ass, \to the Page] you 
bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush 
you now? What a maidenly man at arms are you 
become ! Is it such a matter to get a pottle-pot's 
maidenhead? 

Page. He called me even now, my lord, through a 
red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face 
from the \vindow: at last, I spied his eyes; and, 
methought, he had made two holes in the ale-wife's 
new petticoat, and peeped through. 

P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited.' 

Bard. Away, you whoreson, upright rabbit, away! 

Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away ! 

P. Hen. Instruct us, boy: What dream, boy? 

Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was 
delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him 
her dream. 

P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation.— 
There it is, boy. [Gives him money. 

Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept 
from cankers !— Well, there is sixpence to preserve 
thee. 

Bard. If you do no' make him be hanged among 
you, the gallows sliall be wronged. 

P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? 

Bard. Well, my good lord. He heard of your 
grace's coming to town; there 's a'letter for you. 

Poins. Delivered with good respect. And how 
doth the martlemas, your master? 

Bard. In bodily health, sir? 

Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a phvsi- 
Olan: but that moves not him; though that be sick. 
It dies not. 

P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with 
me as my dog: and he holds his place; for, look 
you, how he writes. 

Poins. [Reads.'] John Falstaff, knight, Every 

man must know that, as oft as he has occasion to 
name himself. Even like those that are kin to the 
king; for tiiey never prick their finger, but they 
say, 'There is some of the king's blood spilt:' 
'How comes that?' says he that takes upon him 
not to conceive: the answer is as ready as a bor- 
rower's cap; 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.' 

P. Hen. Nay, they will be km to us, but they wiU 
fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter:— 

Poins. ' Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the 
king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales, 
greeting.'— Why, this is a certificate. 

P. Hen. Peace' 

Pouis. 'I will imitate the honourable Roman in 
brevity:'— sure he means brevity in breath; short- 
winded.—' I commend me to thee, I commend thee, 
and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for 
he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears thou 
art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as 
thou raay'st, and so farewell. 

Thine, by yea and no, (which is as 
much as to say, as thou usest him,) 
Jack Falstaff, with my familiars; 
John, with my brothers and sis- 
ters; and sir John with ail Europe.' 

My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make 
hlra eat it. 

P. lien. That 's to make him eat twenty of his 
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry 
your sister? 



Foins. May the wench have no worse fortune! but 
I never said so. 

P. Hen. Well, thus we plav the fools with the 
time; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds 
and mock us. Is your master here in London? 

Bard. Yes, my lord. 

P. Hen. Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in 
the old frank? 

Bard. At the old place, my lord; in Eastcheap. 

P. Hen. What company? 

Page. Ephesians, my lord; of the old church. 

P. Hen. Sup any women with him? 

Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and 
mistress Doll Tear-sheet. 

P. Hen. What pagan may that be? 

Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman 
of my masters. 

P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to 
the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at 
supper? 

Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I '11 follow you. 

P. Hen. Sirrah, you bov,— and Bardolph;— no word 
to your master that I am yet in town: There 's for 
your silence. 

Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 

Pane. And for mine, sir,— I will govern it. 

P. Hen. Fare ye well: go. [Exeunt Bardolph and 
Page.]- This Doll Tear-slieet sliould be some road. 

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way be- 
tween Saint Alban's and London. 

P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himsf-lf 
to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be 
seen? 

Poins. Put on two leather ierkins and aprons, and 
wait upon him at his table like drawers. 

P. Hen. From a god to a bull? a heavy declension! 
it was Jove's case. From a prince to a prentice? a 
low transformation! that shall be mine: for, in every 
thing, tile purpose must weigh with the foll.v. Fol- 
low me, Ned. [Jixeunt. 

Scene III.— Warkworth. Before the Castle. 

Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland, and 

Lady Percy, 

North. I prithee, loving wife, and gentle daughter. 
Give even way unto my rough affairs: 
Put not you on the visage of the times. 
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. 

Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more: 
Do what you will; your wisdom be your guide. 

North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; 
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 

Lady P. O, yet, for Heaven's sake go not to these 
wars! 
The time was, father, that you broke your word, 
Wiien you were more endeared to it than now; 
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, 
Threw many a northward look, to see his father 
Bring up his powers; but he did long in vain. 
Who then persuaded you to stay at home? 
There were two honours lost; yours, and your son's. 
For yours, may heavenly glory brighten It! 
For his, it stuck upon him, as the sun 
In the gray vault of heaven: and, by his light, 
Did all the chivalry of England move 
■To do brave acts; he was, indeed, the glass 
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. 
He had no legs that practis'd not his gait: 
And speaking thick, which Nature made his blemish, 
Became the accents of the valiant; 
For those that could speak low, and tardily. 
Would turn their own perfection to abuse. 
To seem like him: So that, in speech, in gait. 
In diet, in affections of delight. 
In military rules, humours of blood. 
He was the mark and glass, copy and book. 
That fashion'd others. And him,— O wondrous him! 

miracle of men!— him did you leave, 
(Second to none, unseconded by you,) 
To look upon the hideous god of war 
In disadvantage; to abide a field. 

Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name 
Did seem defensible:— so you left him: 
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong. 
To hold your honour more precise and nice 
With others, than with him; let them alone; 
The marshal and the archbishop are strong: 
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers. 
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 

North. Beshrew your heart. 

Fair daugliter! you do draw my spirits from me, 
With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
But I must go, and meet with danger there; 
Or it will seek me in another place. 
And find me worse provided. 

Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 

Till that the nobles, and the armed commons. 
Have of their puissance made a little taste. 

Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the 
king, 
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel. 
To make strength stronger; but for all our loves, 
First let them try themselves: So did your son; 
He was so sufter'd; so came I a widow; 
And never shall have length of life enough. 
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes. 
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
For recordation to my noble husband. 

North. Come, come, go in with me: 't is with my 
mind, 
As with the tide swell'd up unto his height. 
That makes a still-stand, running neither way. 
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop. 
But many thousand reasons hold me back: 

1 will resolve for Scotland; there am I, 

Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— London. A Room in the Boar's 
Head Tavern, in Eastcheap. 

Enter Two Drawers. 

1 Draiv. What hast thou brought there? apple- 
Johns? thou know'st sir John cannot endure an 
apple-John. 

2 Draiv. Thou sayest true: The prince once set a 
dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him there 
were five more sir Johns: and, putting oft his hat, 
said, ' I will now take my leave of these six dry, 
round, old, withered knights.' It angered him to tlie 
heart; but he hath forgot that. 

1 Drato. Why then, cover, and set them down; 



And see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; mis- 
tress Tear-sheet would fain have some music. Dis- 
patch:— The room where they supped is too hot; 
they '11 come in straight. 

2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and mas- 
ter Poins anon: and they will put on two of our jer- 
kins and aprons; and sir John must not know of it: 
Bardolph hath brought word. 

1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utls: It will 
be an excellent stratagem. 

2 Draw. I '11 see if I can flnd out Sneak. [Exit. 

Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet. 

Host. V faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are 
In an excellent good temperallty: your pulsldge 
beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and 
your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose: 
But you have drunk too much canaries; and that 's 
a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the 
blood ere we can say,— What 's this? How do you 
now? 

Doll. Better than I was. Hem. 

Host. Why, that was well said; a good heart 's 
worth gold. Look, here comes sir John. 



Fal. 



Enter Falstaff, singing. 



When Arthur first in court- 
Empty the Jordan.— 

And was a worthy king: 
[Exit Drawer.] How now, mistress Doll? 

Host. Sick of a calm; yen, good sooth. 

Fal. So is all her sect; if they be once in a' calm, 
they are sick. 

Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you 
give me? 

Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. 

Doll. I make them ! gluttony and diseases make 
them; I make them not. 

Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you 
help to make the diseases, Doll; we catch of .you, 
Doll, we catch of you; grant that, iny poor virtue, 
grant that. 

Doll. Ay, marry; our chains and our jewels. 

Fal. 

Your brooches, pearls, and owches 
—for to serve bravely is to come halting off, you 
know: To come off the breech with his pike bent 
bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon 
the charged chambers bravel.v:— 

Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang 
yourself. 

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two 
never meet, but you fall to some discord: you are 
both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; 
you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. 
What the good-year ! one must bear, and that must 
be you: [to Doll] you are the weaker vessel, as they 
say, the emptier vessel. 

Doll. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
full hogshead? there 's a whole merchant's venture 
of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a 
hulk better stuffed in the hold.— Come, I '11 be 
friends with thee. Jack — thou art going to the wars: 
and whether I shall ever see thee again, or no, there 
is nobody cares. 

Re-enter Drawer. 

Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol 's below, and would 
speak with you. 

Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him not 
come hither; it is the foul mouth'dst rogue in Eng- 
land. 

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by 
my faith; I must live amongst my neighbours; I 'U 
no swaggerers: I am in good name and fame with 
the veryoest:- Shut the door;— there comes no swag- 
gerers here; I have not lived all this while, to have 
swaggering now:— shut the door, I pray you. 

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess? 

Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John; there 
comes no swaggerers here. 

Fal. Dost thou hear? It is mine ancient. 

Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me; your 
ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was 
before master Tisiek, the deputy, the other day; and, 
as he said to me,— it was no longer ago than Wednes- 
day last,— 'Neighbour Quickly,' says he;— master 
Dumb, our minister, was by then;—' Neighbour 
Quickly,' says he, ' receive those that are civil; for,' 
saith he, 'you are in an ill name;'— now he said so, 
I can tell whereupon; ' for,' says he, ' you are an 
honest wom.an, and well thought on; therefore take 
heed what guests you receive: Receive,' says he, 

'no swaggering companions.' There comes none 

here;— you would bless you to hear what he said:— 
no, I 'II no swaggerers. 

Fal. He 's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, 
he; you may stroke nim as gently as a puppy grey- 
hound: he will not swagger with a Barbary hen. If 
her feathers turn back in any show of resistance. — 
Call him up, drawer. 

Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest 
man my house, nor no cheater: But I do not love 
swaggering; by my troth, I am the worse when 
one says— swagger; feel, masters, how I shake; look 
you, I warrant you. 

Doll. So you do, hostess. 

Host. Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 't were an 
aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. 

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 

Pist. Save you, sir John ! 

Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, 1 
charge you with a cup of sack: do you discharge up- 
on mine hostess. 

Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two 
bullets. 

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly of- 
fend her. 

Host. Come, I '11 drink no proofs, nor no bullets: 
I '11 drink no more than will do me good, for no 
man's pleasure, I. 

Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy; I will charge 
you. 

Doll. Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy companion. 
What ! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen 
mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, away ' I am meat 
for yout master. 

Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. 

Doll. Away, you cut-purse rascal ! you filthy bung, 
away! by this wine, I 'II thrust my knife in your 
mouldy chaps, if you play the saucy cuttle with me. 
Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! you basket-hilt stale 



l4» 



SECOND PART OF KING HENEY IV. 



LACT III, 



juRKler, ymi !— SInoo when, I pray yovi, sir?— What, 
with two jioints on your shouHery inuch I 
Fist. I will murder your ruff for tliis. 
Fal. No more, Pistol; I woiilrt not liave you po off 
here: disoharffe yourself of our company, Pistol. 

Host. No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet cap- 
tain. 

Doll. Captain ! thoii abominable damned cheater, 
art thou not ashamed to lie called captain? If cap- 
tains were of m.v mind, they would trunelieon you 
out, for taking their names upon you before you 
hove earned them. You a cai>tain, .you slave! for 
what'^ for teartns a poor whore's riitt in a bawdy- 
house?— He a captain ! Hang him, rogue r He lives 
upon mouldy stewed prunes and dried cakes. A 
captain ! these villains will make the word captain 
as odious as the \\'ord occup.v; which was an excel- 
lent good word before it was ill sorted: therefore 
captains had need look to it. 
Bard. Pra.v thee, go down, good ancient. 
Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. 
Fist. Not I: tell thee what, corporal Bardolph;— I 
could tear her:— I 'II be revenged on her. 
Fage. Pray thee, go down. 

Fist. I '11 see her da'uned first; — to Pluto's damned 
lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures 
Tile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down ! down, 
dogs ! down faitors ! Have we not Hiren herev 

Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it Is very late. 
I b"seek you now, aggravate your choler. 
Fist^ These be good humours, indeed ! Shall pack- 
horses. 
And hollow painper'd lades of Asia, 
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day. 
Compare with Caesars and with Cannibals, 
And Trojan Greeks? iia.v, rather damn them with 
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar. 
Shall we fall foul for toys? 
Host. By my troth, captain, these are vei-y bitter 

w'ords. 
Bard. Be gone, good ancient; this will grow to a 

brawl anon. 
Fist. Die men, like dogs; give crovvTis like pins; 
Have we not Hiren here? 

Host. On my word, captain; there 's none such 
here. AVhat the good-year! do you think I would 
deny her? I pray be quiet. 

Fist. Then, feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis: 
Come, give ine some sack. 

Si/ortuna me tovmrnta , spernto me contenfa. — 
Pear we broadsides? no. let the fiend give fire: 
Give me some sack;— and, sweetheart, lie thou there. 
[Lnying down his srrord. 
Come we to full points here; arid are et ceteras no- 
thing? 
Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 

Fist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: What ! we have 
seen the seven stars. 

Boll. Thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure such 
a fustian rascal. 

Fist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we not Gallo- 
way nags? 

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat 
shilling: nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he 
shall be nothing here. 
Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 
Fist. What! shall we have incision? shall we im- 
brue? [Snatching vp his S7Vord. 

Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days! 
Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say! 
Host. Here's goodly stuff toward! 
Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 
Doll. I prithee. Jack, I prithee, do not draw. 
Fal. Get you down stairs. 

IBraimng, and driving Pistol out. 
Host. Here 's a goodly tumult! I '11 forswear keep- 
ing house, afore I '11 be in these tirrits and frights. 
So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up your 
naked weapons, put up your naked weapons. 

[Kveit»t Pistol and Bardolph. 
Doll. I prithee. Jack, be quiet; the rascal is gone. 
Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you. 

Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought, he 
made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 
Re-enter Bardolph. 
Fnl. Have you turned him out of doors? 
Bardolph. Yes, sir. The rascal 's drunk: you have 
hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. 
Fal. A rascal! to brave me! 

Doll. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor 
ape, how thou sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face; 
come on, you whoreson chops: — Ah, rogue! I love 
thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth 
Ave of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the 
nine worthies. Ah, villain! 

Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a 
blanket. 

Doll. Do, if thou darest for thy heart: if thou dost, 
I '11 canvass thee between a pair of sheets. 
Enter Music. 
Fage. The music is come, sir. 

Fal. Let them play;— Play, sirs.— Sit on my knee, 
Doll. A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from 
me like quicksilver. 

Doll. And thou foUowedst him like a church. Thou 
whoreson little tidy Bartholmew boar-pig, when wilt 
thou leave fighting o'days, and foiningo' nights, and 
begin to patch up thine old body for heaven? 
Enter behind, Prince Henry and Poins, disguised 
like Drawers. 
Fal. Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's 
head: do not bid me remember mine end. 
Doll. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? 
Fal. A good shallow young fellow: he would have 
made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread 
well. 
Doll. They say Poins hath a good wit. 
Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit is as 
thick as Tewksbur.v mustard; there is no more con- 
ceit in him than is in a mallet. 
Doll. Why doth the prince love him so then? 
Fal. Because their legs arc both of a bigness: and 
he plays at qjioits well; and eats conger and fennel; 
and drinks off candles' ends for flapdragons; and 
rides the wild mare with the boys; and Jumps upon 
joint-stools; and swears with a good grace; and 
wears his boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the 
leg; and breeds no bate with telling of discreet 
stories; and such other gambol faculties he hath, 
that show a weak mind and an able body, for the 
which the prince admits him: for the prince himself 



is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the 
scales between their avoirdupois. 

P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his 
ears cut off? 
Poin^. Let us beat him before his whore. 
F. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his 
poll clawed like a parrot. 

Poins. Is it not strange that desire should so many 
years outlive performance? 
Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 

P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc- 
tion; what says the almanac to that? 

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his 
man, be not lisping to his master's old tables; his 
note-book, his counsel-keeper. 
Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 
Doll. Na.v, truly; I kiss thee with a most constant 
heart. 
Fal. I am old, I am old. 

Doll. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy 
young boy of them all. 

Fal. What stufC wilt thou have a kirtle of? I shall 
receive money on Thursda.v; thou shalt have a cap 
to-morrow. A merry song, come; It grows late, we 
will to bed. ThoTi will forget me, when I am gone. 

Doll. By my troth tliou 'It set me a weeping, if 
thou sayest so: prove that I ever dress myself hand- 
some till thy return. Well, hearken the end. 
Fal. Some sack, Francis. 

P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. 

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's?— And are not 
thou Poins his brother? 

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
what a life dost thou lead? 

Fal. A better than thou; I am a gentleman, thou 
art a drawer. 

P. Hen. Very true, sir: and I come to draw you oat 
by file ears. 

Host. O, the lord preserve thy good grace! by 
my troth, "welcome to London — No'w Heaven bless 
that sweet face of thine! What, are j'ou come from 
Wales? 

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, — 
by this light flesh and cori'upt blood, thou art wel- 
come. [Leaning his hand tipon Doll. 
Doll. How! you fat fool, I scorn you. 
Poins. Jly lord, he will drive you out of your re- 
venge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not 
the heat. 

P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how 
vilely did you speak of me even now, before this 
honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman! 

Host. Blessing on your good heart! andi so she is,' 
by my troth. 
Fal. Didst thou hear me? 

F. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when 
you ran away by Gadshill: you knew I was at your 
back; and spoke it on purpose, to try my patience. 

Fal. No, no, no, not so; I did not think thou wast 
wirhin hearing. 

P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful 
abuse; and then I know how to handle you. 
Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse. 
P. Hen. Not to dispraise me; and call me pantler, 
and bread-chipper, and I know not what? 
Fal. No abuse, Hal. 
Poins. No abuse! 

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, 
none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the 
wicked might not fall in love with him:— in which 
doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and 
a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks 
for it. No abuse, Hal;— none, Ned, none;— no, boys, 
none. 

P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire 
cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous 
gentlewoman to close with us? Is she of the wicked? 
Is thine hostess here of the wicked? or is the boy of 
the wicked? Or honest Bardolph. whose zeal burns 
in his nose, of the wicked? 
Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 
Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph, irre- 
coverable; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, 
where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For 
the boy,— there is a good angel about him; but the 
devU outbids him too. 
P. Hen. For the women, — 

Fal. For one of them, she Is in hell already, and 
burns, poor soul! For the other,—! owe her money; 
and whether she be damned for that, I know not. 
Host. No, I warrant you. 

Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think, thou art quit 
for that: Marry, there is another indictment upon 
thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, 
contrary to the law; for the which, I think, thou wilt 
howl. 

Host. All victuallers do so; what is a joint of mut- 
ton or two in a whole Lent? 
P. Hen. You, gentlewoman,— 
Doll. What says your grace? 

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
against. 

Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the 
door, there, Francis. 

Enter Peto. 
F. Hen. Peto, how now? what news? 
Peto. The king .vour father is at Westminster; 
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts 
Come from the north: and, as I came along, 
I met, and overtook^ a dozen captains. 
Bare-headed, sweatmg, knocking at the taverns. 
And asking every one for sir .John FalstafC. 

P. Hen. By Heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame. 
So idly to profane the precious tijue; 
When tempest of commotion, like the south. 
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt. 
And drop upon our bare tmarmed heads. 
Give me my sword, and cloak:— Falstaff, good night. 
[Exeunt Prince Henry, Poins, Peto, and Bard. 
Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the 
night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. 
[Knocking heard.] More knocking at the door ! 

Re-enter Bardolph. 
How now? what 's the matter? 

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently: A 
dozi'U captains stay at door for you. 

Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.]— 
Farewell, hostess;— farewell, Doll. — You see, my good 
wenches, how men of merit are sought after: the un- 
deserver may sleep, when the man of action is called 
on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be not sent away 
post I will see you again ere I go. 



Doll. I cannot speak;— If my heart be not ready to 
burst:— well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself 

Fal. Farewell, farewell. [Kxe. Fal.'onrt Bard 

Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known theethe.<ie 
twenty-nine years, come peascod time; but an hon- 
ester and truer hearted man,— Well, fare thee well 

Bard. [^Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet. 

Host. Wliat 's the matter? 

Bard. [Within.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to 
my master. 

Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. [Exeunt. 

ACT IIL 

Scene I.— A Room in the Palace. 

EnterKing Henrj', with a Page. 

K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of War- 
wick; 
But. ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters. 
And well consider of them: Make good speed. 
„ , [Exit Page. 

How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep. 
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee. 
That thou no more wilt weigh mv eyelids down. 
And steep my senses in forgettulness? 
Why rather, sleep, llest thou in smoky cribs. 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; 
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great. 
Under the canopies of costly state. 
And luli'd with sounds of sweetest melodv? 
O thou dull god, why best thou with the vile. 
In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch, 
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell? 
Wilt thou upon the high and giddv mast 
Seal up the ship boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
In cradle of the rude imperious surge, 
And in the visitation of the winds. 
Who take the ruffian billows by the top. 
Curling their monstrous heads', and hanging them 
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds. 
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes? 
Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude; 
And. in the calmest and most stillest night. 
With all appliances and means to boot. 
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low-IIe-down! 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
Enter Warwick and Surrey, 

War. Many good morrows to your majesty! 

K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords? 

War. 'T is one o'clock, and past. 

K. Hen. Why, then, good morrow to you all, my 
lords. 
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? 

War. We have, my liege. 

K. Hen. Then you perceive, the body of our king- 
dom 
How foul it is; what rank diseases grow. 
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 

War. It is but as a body yet distemper'd. 
Which to his former strength may be restor'd 
With good advice and little medicine: 
My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 

K. Hen. O heaven ! that one might read the book of 
fate; 
And see the revolution of the times 
Make mountains level, and the continent 
(Weary of solid firmness,) melt itself 
Into the sea ! and, other times, to see 
The beac'iy girdle of the ocean 
Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock. 
And changes flU the cup of alteration 
With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen. 
The happiest youth, viewing his progress through. 
What perils past, what crosses to ensue. 
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
'T is not ten years gone. 

Since Richard and Northumberland, great friends. 
Did feast together, and, in two years after. 
Were they at wars: It is but eight years, since 
This Percy was the man nearest my soul; 
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs. 
And laid his love and life under my foot; 
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
Gave him deflance. But which of you was by, 
(You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,) (To War. 
When Richard,— with his eye brimful of tears. 
Then cheek'd and rated by Northumberland, — 
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy? 
'Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which 
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne; ' — 
Though then, heaven knows, I had no such intent. 
But that necessity so bow'd the state, 
That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss:— 
'The time shall come,' thus did he follow It, 
'The time will come, that foul sin, gathering head. 
Shall break into corruption; '—so went on, 
Foretelling this same time's condition, 
And the divlson of our amity. , 

War. There is a history in all men's lives, 
Figuring the natui'e of the times deceas'd: 
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy. 
With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
As yet not come to life; which in their seeds. 
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. 
Such things become the hatch and brood of time; 
And, by the necessar.v form of this. 
King Richard might create a perfect guess. 
That great Northumberland, then false to him. 
Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness; 
Which should not flnd a ground to root upon, 
Unless on you. 

K. Hen. Are these things then necessities? 

Then let us meet them like necessities: 
And that Same word even now cries out on us; 
The.v say, the bishop and Northumberland 
Are fifty thousand strong. 

War. It cannot be, my iord; 

Rumour doth doulile, like the voice and echo. 
The numbers of the fear'd: Please it your grace 
To go to bed; upon my life, my lord. 
The powers that .vou already have sent forth, 
Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
To comfort you the more, I have reeeiv'd • 
A certain instance that Glendower is dea^. 
Y^our majesty hath been Mils fortnight III; 
And these unseason'd hours, perforce must add 
Unto your sickue.ss. 

K. Hen. I will take your counsel; 

And, were these inward wars once out of hand, 
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. [Exe 



Scene iv.] 



KING JIENEY V. 



VHt 



That shall he swallowed in this controversy. 
This is his claim, his threat" iiinR, and my message; 
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, 
To whom expressly I l.ring greeting too. 

Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this further: 
ToniorroV shall you bear our full intent 
Back to our brother of England. 

Dau. For the Dauphin, 

1 stand here for him: What to him from England? 

Exe. Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt. 
And anything that may not misbecome 
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
Thus says my king: and if your father's highness 
Do not, 'in grant of all demands at large, 
Snepten the bitter mock you sent his majesty. 
He Ml call von to so liot an answer of it. 
That caves and womby vaultages of France 
Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock 
In second accent of his ordinance. 

Dau. Sav, if my father render fair return. 
It is against mv will: for I desire 
Nothing but odds with England; to that end. 
As matching to his youth and vanity, 
1 did present him with the Paris balls. 

E^e. He '11 make your Paris Louvre shake for it, 
"Were it the mistress court of inighty Europe; 
And, be assur'd, you '11 find a difference, 
(As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) 
Between the promise of his greener d.ays. 
And these he masters now; now he weighs time, 
Even to the utmost grain; that you shall read 
lu your own losses, if he sta.v in France. 

Fr. King. To-morrow you shall know our mind at 
full. 

Exe. Despatch ns with all speed, lest that our king 
Come here himself to question our delay; 
For he is footed in this land already. 

Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd, with fair 
conditions: 
A night is but small breath, and little pause. 
To answer matters of this consequence. [Exeunt. 



Chorus. 
Thus with Imagin'd wing our swift scene flies. 
In motion of no less celerity 

Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen 
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet 
^Vith silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. 
Play with your fancies; and in them behold, 
Upon the hempen tackle .ship-boys climbing: 
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give 
To sounds confus'd. behold the threaden sails. 
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind. 
Draw the hugh bottoms through the furrow'd sea. 
Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think ' 
You stand upon the rivage, and behold 
A city on the inconstant billows dancing; 
For so appears this fleet majestical. 
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! 
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy; 
And leave your England, as dead midnight still. 
Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, 
Either past, or not arrived to, pith and puissance: 
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
These cuU'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? 
Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege. 
Behold the ordnance on their carriages, 
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. 
Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes 

back; 
Tells Harry, that the king doth offer him 
Katharine, his daughter; and with her, to dowry, 
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
■The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner 
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, 

\ Alarum; and chambers (small cannon) go off. 
And down goes all before them. Still be kind. 
And eke out our performance with your mind. 

ACT III. 

Scene l.—The .•same. Before Harfleur. 

Alarums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, 
Gloster, and Soldiers, ivith scaling ladders. 

K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, 
once more; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
In peace, there 's nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility: 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger; 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood. 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; 
Let it prv through the portage of the head. 
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erv^helra it, 
As feai-fuUy as doth a galled rock 
O'erhang .and jutty his" confounded base, 
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide; 
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
To his full height !— On, on, you nobless English, 
Whose blood is fet from fathers of wearproof ! 
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders. 
Have in these parts from morn till even fought. 
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. 
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest 
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you I 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood. 
And teach them how to war !— And you, good yeo- 
men. 
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear 
That you are worth you)' breeding: which I doubt 

not; 
For there is none of you so mean and base 
That hath not noble lu.stre in your eyes. 
1 see you stand like greyhounds in the slips. 
Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot; 
Follow your spirit. ,and, upon this charge. 
Cry— God for Harry : England 1 and Saint George ! 

\_E.ceunt. Alarum, and chambers go off. 

Scene l\.— The same. 

Forces pass over: then enter Nym, Bardolph, 
Pistol, and Boy. 

Bard. On on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the 
bleach. 



A'/znt. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are 
too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case 
of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very 
plain song of it. 

I'ist. The plain-song is most just; for humours do 
abound; 
Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; 
And sword and shield. 
In bloody field. 
Doth win immortal fame. 

Soy. 'Would I were in an alehouse in London ! 
I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. 

Pist. And I: 

If wishes would prevail witli me. 
My purpose should not fail with me. 
But thither would I hie. 

Boy. As duly, but not as truly. 

As bird doth sing on bough. 
Enter Fluellen. 

Flit. TTp to the preach, you dogs ! avaunt, you eul- 
lions. [Driving them forward. 

Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould ! 
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage ! 
Abate thy rage, great duke ! 

Good ba'wcock, bate thy ragel use lenity, sweet 
chuck ! 

Nym. These be good humoursi— your honour wins 
bad humours. 

[Exeunt Nym, Pistol, and Bardolph, fol- 
lowed b.v Ifluellen. 

Boy. As young as , I am. I have observed these 
tliree swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all 
they three, though they would serve me, could not 
be man to me; for, indeed, three such antics do not 
amount to a man. For Bardolph,— he is whiteliver'd, 
and red-faced; bv the means whereof '>a faces it out, 
but fights not. iFor Pistol,— he hath a killing tongue 
and a quiet sword; by the means whereof 'a breaks 
words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym,— he 
hath heard that men of few words are the best men; 
and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a 
should.be thought a coward: but his few bad words 
are match'd with as few good deeds; for 'a never 
broke any man's head but his own, and that was 
against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal 
any thing, and call it— purchase. Bardolph stole a 
lute-case; hore it twelve leagues, and sold it for 
three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn 
brothers in filching; and in Calais they stole a fire- 
shovel: I knew, by that piece of service, the men 
would cari'y coals. They would have me as familiar 
with men's pockets, as their gloves or their handker- 
chers: whicli makes much against my manhood, if I 
should take from another's pocket, to put into mine; 
for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave 
them, and seek some better service: their villainy 
goes against my weak stomach, and tlierefore I must 
cast it up. [Exit Boy. 

Re-enter Fluellen, Go wer folloioing. 

Gov). Captain Fluellen, you must come presently 
to the mines; the duke of Gloster would speak with 
you. 

Flu. To the mines! tell yoit the duke it is not so, 
good to come to the mines: For, look you, the mines 
is not according to the disciplines of the war; the 
concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, th' 
athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look 
you,) is digged himself four yards under the coun- 
termines; by Cheshu, I think 'a will plow up all, if 
there is not better directions. 

Goiv. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of 
the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irish- 
man; a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. 

Flu. Ii is captain Macmorris, is it not? 

Gov;. I think it be. 

Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass as in the 'orld: T will 
verity as much in his peard: he has no more direc- 
tions in the true disciplines of the wars, look j'ou, of 
the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy -dog. 

Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance. 

Gow. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, captain 
Jamy, with him. 

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gen- 
tleman, that is certain; and of great expedition, and 
knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my particular 
Icnowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will 
maintain his argument as well as any military man 
in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of 
the Romans. 

Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. 

Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy. 

Gov. How now. captain Macmorris? have you quit 
'■he mines? have the pioneers given o'er? 

Mac. By Chrlsh la, tish ill done, the work ish give 
over, the trumpet sound the -retreat. By my hand 
I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; 
it ish give over; I would have blowed up the town, 
so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O, tish ill done, 
tish ill done; by my hand, tish 111 done! 

Flu Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will 
you vouchsafe me, look you, a few disputations 
"with you, as partly touching or concerning the dis- 
ciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of 
argument, look you, and friendly communication; 
partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the 
satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the 
direction of the military discipline: that is the 
point. 

Jamy. It sail be very gud, gudfeith, gud captains 
bath; and I sail quit you with gud leve, as I may 
pick occasion, that sail I, marry. 

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me; 
the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and 
the king, and the dukes, it is no time to discourse. 
Thetown is beseethed, and the trumpet call us to 
the breach; and we talk, and, by Chrish, do nothing; 
*t is shame for us all' so God sa' me, 't is shame to 
stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is 
throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there 
ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la. 

Jamy. By the mess, ere these eyes of mine take 
themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile 
ligge i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and aile 
pay It as valorously as I may, that sail I surely do, 
that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain 
heard some question 'tween you 'tway. 

Fbi. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under 
your correction, there is not many of your nation 

ilffic. Of my nation: What ish my nation? What 
ish my nation? Who talks of my nation, ish a vil 
lain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. 

i'7». Lookyou, if you take the matter otherwise 



than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure I 
shall think you do not use me with that affability as 
in fiiscretion you ought to use me, look you; being as 
goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of 
wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other 
particularities. 

Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myseli; 
so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. 

Gov: Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. 

Jamy. Au! that 's a foul fault. 

[A parley sounded. 

Gnw. The town sounds a parley. 

Fin. Capt.aiu Macmorris, ^vhen there is more better 
opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so 
bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of war; 
and there is an end. [Exeunt. 

Scene IIL— IVic same. Before the gates of Harfleur. 

The Governor and soine Citizens on the walls; the 

English Forces lieloiv. Enter King Henry and his 

Train. 

K. Ben. How yet resolves the governor of the 
town? 
This is the latest parle we will admit: 
Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves; 
Or like to men proud of destruction. 
Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, 
(A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,) 
If I begin the battery once again, 
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur 
Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; 
And the flesh 'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, 
In liberty of bloody hand shall range 
With conscience wide as hell; mowing like grass 
Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. 
What is it then to me, if impious war, 
Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends. 
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats 
En link 'd to waste and desolation? 
What is 't to me, when you yourselves are cause, 
If your pure maidens fall into the hand 
Of hot and forcing violation? 
What rein can hold licentious wickedness 
^Vhen down the hill he holds his tierce career? 
\\'e may as bootless spend our vain command 
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil. 
As send precepts to the Leviathan 
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, 
Take pity of your town, and o- your people. 
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; 
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace 
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
Of headly murther, spoil, and villainy. 
If not, why, in a moment, look to see 
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; 
Your fathers taken by the silver beards. 
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; 
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes; 
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd 
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid? 
Or, guilty "in defence, be thus destroy'd? 

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end: 
The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated. 
Returns us— that his powers are yet not ready 
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king. 
We yield our town and lives to thy soft niercy: 
Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; 
For we no longer are defensible. 

K. Sen. Open your gates.— Come, uncle Exeter, 
Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain. 
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: i 
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, — 
The winter coming on, and sickness growing 
Upon our soldiers,— we will retire to Calais. 
To-night in Harfleur will we be j'our guest; 
To-raorrow for the march are we addrest. 

[Flourish. The King, <£-o., enter the town. 

Scene IV.— Rouen. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Katharine and Alice. 

Kath. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre, et tu paries 
hien le language. 

Alice. Un peu, madame. 

Kath. Je teprie, m' enseignez; ilfaut qxMj'appremne 
a parler. Comment appellez vous la main^ en 
Anglais? 

Alice. La main? elle est appellee, de hand. 

JCath. De hand, Et les doiqts? 

Alice. Les doigts? ma foy, je oiihlie lesdoigts;mais 
je me sofivtendray. Les doigts? je p>ense, g^uUls sont 
apix'lles de fingres; ouy, de fingres. 

Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je 
pcnse gue je snis le hon escolier. J"' ay gagne deux 
mots d" Anglois vistement. Comment appellez vous 
les angles? 

Alice. Les angles? les appellons, de nails. 

Kath. De nails. Escoutez; dites moy, si je parle 
hien; de hand, de fingres, de nails. 

AHce. C est bien dit, madame; Jl est fort ban 
Aii.glois. 

Kath. Dites moy V Anglois pour le bras. 

Alice. De arm, madame, 

Kath. Et le coude. 

Alice. De elbow. 

Kath. De elbow. Je m' en faitz la repetition de 
tous les mots que vous m*avez appris dos a present. 

Alice. II est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. 

Kath. Excusez moy, Alice; escoutez; De hand, de 
flngre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. 

Alice. De elbow, madame. 

Kath. O Seigneur Dieu! je m'enoublie; De elbow. 
Comment appellez vous les col? 

Alice. De nick, madame. 

Kath. De nick. Et le menton? 

Alice. De chin. 

Kath. De sin. Le col, de nick: le menton, de sin. 

Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur; en verite volts 
prononcez les mots aussi droict que les natifs 
d\Angleterre. 

Kath. Je ne doute point d' avprendre par la gruce 
de Dieu; et en peu de temjjs. 

Alice. N' avez voitz pas deja oubliece que je vojts 
ay enseignee? 

Kath. Non, je reciteray a vous promptement. Do 
hand, de fingre, de mails,— 

Alice. De nails, viada,me. 

Kath. De nails, de arme, de il\)ow. 

Alice. Sauf vostre honneur de elbo'.v. i ^ 



i 



^im 



154 



KING HENRY V. 



LACT IIJ. 



Kath. Ainsi tlis je; de elbow, de Tiirk, ft de sin: 
Comment ni>i>ellez voiiz le pied ct la rube' 

Alice. De foot, madame; et de conn. 

K:ilh. De foot, et de coun? O Seiyneur Dieu! Vs 
font mots de son mniivais, corruptihle, grosse, et 
imiiiidiqiie, et non pour les dames d'honneur d.* user: 
Je ne roiidrois prononcer ces mots di.'i'ant les 
Seiiineiirs de France, imur tout le inonde. II faut 
de foot, it de coun, neant-niois. Je reeitcrai tnie 
uiilre/ois ma lecoa etisemble: De hand, de flnRi-e, 
de nails, de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, detoot, 
de coun. 

Alice. Excellent, madame! 

Kath. C'est assez pour une fois; allons 7ious a 
disner. [Exeunt. 

ScE.NE Y.—Tlie same. Another Room in the same. 

Enter the French Kinp, the Dauphin, Dnlce of 
Bourbon, the Constable o/Fi*ance, and others. 

Fr. King. 'T is certain he hath pass'd the river 
Sonime. 

Con. And if he be not fouorht withal, my lord, 
Let us not live in France; let us quit all. 
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 

Dau. O Dieu r/ran/.' shall a tew sprays of us,— 
The emptyin;,' of our father's luxui'y. 
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock. 
Spurt up so sudili'ulv into the clouds. 
And overlook their Lrrafters.-' 

Sour. Noi-inans. but bastard Normans, Norman 
bastards.' 
Mort de ma vie! if they march along 
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, 
To buy a slohberv and a dirtv farm 
In that Uddk slioiten isle of Albion. 

Con. Dieu htittoiles! where have they this mettle? 
Is not their climate foggy, raw. and dull? 
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, 
A drench tor surrein'd Jades, their barley broth, 
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? 
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, 
Seem frosty? O. for honour of our land. 
Let us not hang like I'oping icicles 
Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty peo- 
ple 
Sweat droi)s of gallant youth in our rich fields; 
Poor, we may call them in their native lords. 

Dau, By faith and honoiu', 
Our madams mock at us; and plainly say 
Our mettle is bred out; and they will give 
Their bodies to the lust of English youth. 
To new-store France with bastard warriors. 

Bour. They bid us— to the English dancing-schools, 
And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos; 
Saying, our grace is only in our heels, 
And that we are most lofty runavvay.s. 

Fr. Kind. Where is Montjoy, the herald?speed him 
hence; 
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. 
Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd, 
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: 
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; 
You dukes of Orleans, Bourl:)on, and of Berry, 
Alengon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; 
Jacques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, 
Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi. and Fauconberg, 
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt. and Charolois; 
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and 

knights, 
For your gn^at seats, now quit you of great shames, 
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land 
With pennons painted in tlie nlood of Harfleur: 
Rush on his host, as doth tlie melted snow 
Upon the vallies; whose low vassal seat 
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: 
(Jo down upon him,— you have power enough,— 
And in a captive chariot into Rouen 
Bring him our prisoner. 

Con. This becomes tlie great. 

Sorry am I his numbers are so few. 
His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march; 
For, I ara sure, when he shall see our army. 
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear. 
And, for achievement, offer us his ransom. 

Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on Mont- 
joy; 
And let him say to England, that \ve send 
To know what willing ransom lie will give. 
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. 

I)au. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 

Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall rerrialn with us. 
Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all; 
And quickly bring us worrl of England's fall. [E.ve. 

Scene Vl.—The English Camp m Pi card y. 

Enter Gower and Fluellen. 

Oow. How now, captain Fluellen? come you from 
the bridge? 

Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent services 
committed at the pridge. 

Gow. Is the duke of E.xeter safe? 

Flu. The duke of TSxeter is as magnanimous as 
Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honotir 
with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, anil my 
life, and my living, and my uttermost power he is 
not (God be praised and ple.ssed:) any hurt in the 
'orld; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with ex- 
cellent tlisciplmes. There is an ancient there at 
the pridge, —I think, in my very conscience, he is 
as valiant a man as Mark Antony: and iie is a man 
of no estimation in the 'orld: but I did see hiin do 
as gallant service. 

Jow. What do you call him? 

Flu. He is called ancient Pistol. 

Goiv. I know him not. 

Enter Pistol. 

Flu. Here is the man. 

Fist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: 
The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 

Flu. Ay, I pi-aise Got; and I have .merited some 
love at Ills hands. 

Fist. Bardolph, a .soldier firm and sound of heart 
Of buxom valour, hatii,— by cruel fate, 
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel. 
That godtiess blind, 
That stands upon the rollmg restless stone,— 

Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is 
painted piind, with a muffler before her eyes, to 
signify to you that fortune is plind: An<l she is 

f)ainted also with a wheel; to signify to vou, which 
Bthe moral of it, that she is turning, and Inconstant, 



and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look 
you, is fixed upon a spherical .stone, which rolls, and 
rolLs, and rolls;— In good truth, the poet makes a 
most e.vcellent description of it: fortune is an ex- 
cellent moral. 

Fist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; 
For he liatli stol'n a pax, and hanged must 'a be. 
A d.anined ileath I 

Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free. 
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate: 
But E.xeter hatli given the doom of death. 
For pax of little price. 

Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice; 
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach: 
Speak, cai'tain, for his life, and I will thee requite. 

Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand ypur 
meaning. 

P'St. Why, then rejoice therefore. 

Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice 
at: for if. look you, he were my brother, I would de- 
sire the dulie to use his goot pleasure, and put him to 
e.xecutions; for disciplines ought to be used. 

Pise. Die and be damn'd; and Jigo for thy friend- 
ship. 

Flu. It is well. 

Pist. The fig of Spain ! iEoait Pistol. 

Flu. Very good. 

Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; I 
remember him now; a bajWd; a cutpurse. 

Flu. I '11 assure you, 'alitter'd as prave 'ords at the 
pridge, as you sliali see in a summer's day: But it is 
very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well, I 
warrant you, when time is serve. 

Gow. Why, 't is a gull, a fool, a rogue; that now 
and tlieu goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his 
return into London, under tlie form of a soldier. 
And such fellows are perfect in great commantlers* 
names: and they will learn you by rote where serv- 
ices were done;- at such and such a sconce, at such a 
breach, at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who 
was shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood 
on; and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, 
which the.v trick up with new-tuned oaths: And 
what a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit 
of the camp, will do among foaming bottles and ale- 
waslied wits, is wonderful to be thought on ! But 
you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or 
else you may be marvellously mistook. 

Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower,— I do perceive 
he is not tlie man that he would gladly make show 
to the 'orld he is; if I find a hole in his coat, I will 
tell him my mind. [Urum heard.i Hark jvou, the 
king is coming; and I must speak with him from 
the pridge. 

Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Soldiers. 

Flu. Got pless your majesty ! 

K. Hen. How now, Fluellen? camest thou from the 
bridge? 

Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of 
Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge: 
the French is gone off, look you; and there is gal- 
lant and most prave passages: Marry, th' athver- 
sary was have possession of the pridge; but he is 
enforced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is mas- 
ter of the pridge: lean tell your majesty, the duke 
is a prave man. 

K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen? 

Flu. The perditiim of tli' atiiversary hath been 
very great, reasonable great; marry, for my part, I 
think the duke hatli lost never a man, but one that 
is like to be executed for robbing a church, one 
Bardolph, if your majesty know the man: his face 
is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames 
of fire; and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a 
coa.l of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red; but 
his nose is executed, and his fire 's out. 

K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut 
ofi:— and we give express charge, that, in our 
marches througli the country there be nothing com- 
pelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid for. 
none of the French upbraided or abused in disdain- 
ful language; For when lenity and cruelty pla.y tor 
a kingdom, tlie gentler gamester is the soonest 
winner. 

Tucket sounds. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. You know me by my habit. 

K. Hen. Well tlien, I know thee: What shall I 
know of thee? 

Mont. My master's mind. 

K. Hen. Unfold it. 

Mont. Thus says my king;— Sa.v thou to Harry of 
England, Though we seemed dead, we did but 
sleep: Advantage is a better soldier than rashness. 
■Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur; 
but tliat we thought not good to bruise an injury till 
it were full ripe —now we speak upon our cue, and 
our voice is imperial: England shall repent his folly, 
see his weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid 
him, therefore, consider of his ransom, which must 
proDOrtion the losses we have borne, the subjects 
we have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which, 
in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow un- 
der. For our losses, his exchequer is too poor; tor 
the effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom 
too faint a number; and tor our disgrace, his own 
person, kneeling at our feet, but a weak and worth- 
less satLstactioh. To this add— defiance: and tell 
him, for conclusion, he hath betra.ved his followers, 
whose eondemnaciouis pronounced. So far my king 
and master, so much my office. 

K. Hen. What is thy name? 1 know thy quality. 

Mont. Montjoy 

K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee 
back. 
And tell thy king,— I do not seek him now; 
But <:ouId be willing to marcli on to Cahiiis 
Wituout impeaehment. for. to say the sooth, 
(Though 't is no wisdom to confess so much 
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,) 
My people are with sickness much enfeebled; 
My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have 
Almost no better than so many French, 
Who when they were in health. 1 tell thee, herald, 
I thought upon one pair of Englisli legs 
Did march three Frenchmen.— Yet, forgive me, God, 
That I do brag thus'— this your air of France 
Hath blown that vice m mo: I must repent. 
Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am: 
My ransom is this trail an<t worthless trunk; 
My army but a weak and sickly guard; 
Yet, God before, tell hini'.we will come on. 



Though France himself, and such another neigh- 
bom-. 
Stand in our way. There 's for thy labour, Montjoy. 
Go bid thy master well advise himself: 
If we may pass, we will; If we be hinder'd. 
We shall your tawny ground with vour red blood 
Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
The sum of all our aiisweris but this: 
We would not seek a battle as we are: 
Nor as we are, we say we will not shun It; 
So tell your master. 

Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness. 
iExit Montjoy. 

Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now. 

K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in 
theirs. 
March to the bridge: it now draws toward night,— 
Beyond the river we "11 encamp ourselves; 
And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII.— Tfie French Camp, near Agincourt. 

Enter the Constable o/ Franco, the Lord Rambures, 

the Duke of Orleans, Dauphin, and others. 

Con. Tut! I have the best armour of the world.— 
'Would it were day! 

Orl. You have an excellent armour; but let my 
horse have his due. 

Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 

Orl. Will it never bemoining? 

Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high con 
stable, you t.alk of horse and armour. 

Orl. "f ou are as well provided of both as any prince 
in the world. 

£>ai«. What a long night is this!— I will not charge 
my horse with any that treads but on tour pasterns. 
Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth as if his entrails 
were hairs; le chevnl volant, the Pegasus, gui a les 
narines de fue! When I bestride him I soar, I am a 
hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he 
touches it; the basest horn of his hoot is more mu- 
sical than the pipe of Hermes. 

Orl. He 's of the colour of the nutmeg. 

Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast 
for Perseus; he is pure air and fire; and the dull 
elements of earth and water never appear in him, 
butonlyln patient stillness, while his rider mounts 
him he i.s, indeed, ahorse; and all other jades you 
may call beasts. 

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and 
excellent horse. 

Dau. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like 
the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance en- 
forces homage. 

Orl. No more, cousin. 

Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from 
the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, 
vary deserved praise on my palfrey it is a theme as 
fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent 
tongues, and my hor.se is argument for them all. 't is a 
subject tor a sovereign to reason on, and for a sove- 
reign's sovereign to ride on: and for the world 
(familiar to us, and unknown,) to lay apart their 
particular functions, and wonder at him. I once 
writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus:—' Won 
der of nature,'— 

Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mis- 
tress. 

Dau. Then did they Imitate that which I compos- 
ed to my courser; for my horse is my mistress. 

Orl. Your mistress bears well. 

Dau. Me well; which is the prescript praise and 
perfection of a good and particular mistress. 

Con. Nay, for methought, yesterday, your mistress 
shrewdLv shook your back. 

Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. 

Con. -Mine was not bridled. 

Dau. O! then, belike, she was old and gentle; and 
you rode, like a kerne of Ireland, your French hose 
off. and in your straight trossers. 

Con. Yoivhave good judgment in horsemanship. 

Dau. Be warned bv me then' they that ride so, 
and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather 
have my horse to riiy mistress. 

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 

Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears her 
own hair. 

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, it I had 
a sow to my mistress. 

Dau. Le chien est ':etourne a son propre vomisSe 
ment, et la truie lavee au liourbier: thou makest 
use of anything. 

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress: 
or any stich proverb, so little kin to the purpose. 

Pam. My lord constable the armour that I saw in 
vour tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon 
it? 

Con. Stars, my lord. 

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 

Con.. And yet my sky shall not want. 

Dau. That may be, for you bear a many superflu- 
ously; and 't were more honour some were away. 

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises, who 
would 'trot as well were some ot .your brags dis- 
mounted. 

Dau. 'Would I were able to load him with his de- 
sert! Will it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a 
mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. 

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced 
out of my way: But I would it were morning, for 1 
would fain be about the ears of the English. 

Ram. Who will go to hazard with me tor twenty 
prisoners? 

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you 
have them. 

Dau. 'T is midnight, I '11 go arm myself. [Exit. 

Orl. The Dauphin longs tor morning. 

Ram. He longs to eat the English. 

Con. I think he will eat all he kills. 

Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he 's a gallant 
prince. 

Con. Swear by her toot, that she may tread out the 
oath . 

Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentleman in 
France. 

Con. Doing is activity; and he will still be doing. 

Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. 

Con. Nor will do none to-morrow; he will keep 
that good name still. 

Orl. I know him to be valiant. 

Con. I was told that, by one that knows him better 
than vou. 

Orl. What 's he? 

Con. Marry, he told me so himself: and he said, h.© 
cared not who knew it. 



Scene vii.l 



KING HENRY V. 



155 



Orl. He needs not, it is no liidden virtue in liim. 

Con. By my faitli, sir, but it is; never anybody saw 
it, but liis lackey: 'i is a hooded valour; and, when it 
appears, it will bate. 

Orl. Ill will never said well. 

Con. I will cap that proverb with— There is flattery 
In friendship. 

Orl. And I will take up that with— Give the devil 
his due. 

Con. Well placed; there stands your friend for the 
devil: have at the very eye of that proverb, with— A 
pox of the devil. 

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how much 
—A fool's bolt is soon shot. 

Con. You have shot over. 

Orl. 'T is not the first time you were overshot. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie with- 
in fifteen hundred paces of your tents. 

Con. Who hath measured the ground? 

Mess. The lord Grandpre. 

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman.— 
Would it were day,'— Alas, poor Harry of England' 
he longs not for the dawning, as we do. 

Orl. What a wretched and i)eevish fellow is this 
king of England, to mope with his fat-brained fol- 
lowers so far out of his knowledge! 

Con. If the English had any apprehension they 
would run away. 

Orl. That they lack; for If their heads had any in- 
tellectual armour they could never wear such heavy 
head-pieces. 

Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant 
creatures; their mastilts are of unmatchable cour- 
age. 

Orl. Foolish curs! that run winking into the mouth 
of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like 
rotten apples: You may as well say,— that 's a valiant 
flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. 

Con. Just', just; and the men do s.vmpathize with 
the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming-on, 
leaving their wits with their wives; and then aive 
them great meals of beef, and iron, and steel, they 
will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. 

Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of 
beef. 

Con. Then shall we find to-morrow, they have only 
stomachs to eat and none to fight. Now is it time to 
arm; Come, shall we about it? 

Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see,— by 
ten. 
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exe. 

CHOR0S. 

Now entertain conjecture of a time, 

Wlien creeping murmur, and the poring dark. 

Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of 

night. 
The hum of either army stilly sounds. 
That the fixed .sentinels almost receive 
The secret whispers of each other's watch: 
Fire answers fire: and through their paly flames 
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face; 
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
Piercing the night's dull ear; and fron\ the tents. 
The armourers, accomplishing the knights, 
With busy hammers closing rivets up, 
Give dreadful note of preparation. 
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll. 
And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, 
Tlie confident and over-lusty French 
Do the low-rated English play at dice; 
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night. 
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
Sit patiently, and Inly ruminate 
The morning's danger; and their gesture sad 
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold 
The royal captain of this ruin'd band. 
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent. 
Let him cry— Praise and glory on his head! 
For forth he goes, and visits all his host; 
Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile: 
And calls them— brothers, friends, and countrymen. 
Upon his royal face there is no note 
How dread an army hath enroimded him; 
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
Unto the weary and all-watched night: 
But freshly looks, and overbears attaint 
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; 
That every wretch, pining and pale before, 
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: 
A largess universal, like the sun. 
His liberal eye doth give to every one. 
Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all 
Behold (as may nnworthiness define) 
A little touch of Harry in the night: 
And so our scene must to the battle fly: 
Where, (O for pity!) we shall much di.sgrace— 
With four or five most vile and raged foils, 
Eight ill-dispos'd in brawl ridiculous, — 
The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see; 
Minding true things by what their mockeries be. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I.— The English Camp at Agincourt. 
Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloster. 
K. Hen. Gloster, 't is true, that we are in great 
danger; 
The greater therefore should our courage be. 
Good moriow, brother Bedford.- God Almightyl 
There is some soul of goodness In things evil. 
Would men observingly distil it out; 
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, 
Which is both healthful and good husbandry: 
Besides, they are our outward consciences. 
And preachers to us all; admonishing 
That we should dress us fairly for our end. 
Thus may we gather hone.v from the weed, 
And make a moral of the devil himself. 

Enter Erpingham. 
Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham: 
A good soft pillow for that good white head 
Were better than a churlish turf of France. 

Erp. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better. 
Since I may say, now lie I like a king. 



K. Hen. 'T is good for men to love their present 
pains, 
Upon example; so the spiril Is r.'ised: 
And, when the mind is giiH-kt-iiM. nut of doubt, 
The organs, though derinu-t an I drad before. 
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move 
With casted slough and fresh legerity. 
Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas.— Brotiiers both. 
Commend me to the princes in our camp; 
Do my good morrow lotliem; and, anon. 
Desire them all to my pavilion. 

Glo. We shall, my liege. [E.veiint Gio. and Bed. 

Erp. Shall I attend your grace? 

K. Hen. No, my good knight; 

Go with my brothers to my loids of England: 
I and my bosom must debate a while. 
And then 1 would no other company. 

Erp. The Lord in heaven bless tiiee, noble Harry! 
[Exit Erpingham. 

K. Hen. Goda-mercy, old heart! thou speak,;st 
cheerfully. 

Enter Pistol. 

Pist. Qui I'a la?. 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Pist. Discuss unto ine; Art thou officer? 
Or art thou base, common, and popular? 

K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 

Pist. Trail'st thou the puissant pike? 

K. Hen. Even so: What are you? 

Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 

K, Hen. 'Then you are better than the king. 

Pist. The king 's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, 
A lad of life, an imp of fame; 
Of parents good, of fist most valiant: 
I kiss his dlrt.v shoe, and from my iieart-strings 
I love the lovely bully. What 's thy name? 

K. Hen. Harry le Roy. 

Pist. Le Roy! a. Cornish name; art thou of Cornish 
crew? 

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 

Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen? 

K. Hen. Yes. 

Pist. Tell him, 1 '11 knock his leek about his pate, 
Upon Saint Davy's day. 

K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap 
that day, lest he knock that about yours. 

Pist. Art thou his friend? 

K. Hen. And his kinsman too. 

Pist. The Jigo for thee, then! 

K. Hen. I thank you: God be with you! 

Pi.sV. My name is Pistol called. fjBa-rt. 

K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 
Enter Fluellen and Gower, severally. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen! 

Flu. So, iu the name of Cheshu Christ, speak few- 
er. It is the greatest admiration in the universal 
'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and 
laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the 
pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, 
you shall find, I warrant you, that there no tiddle 
taddle, nor pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp; I M'ar- 
rant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, 
and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the so- 
briety of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. 

Gow. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all 
night. 

Flu. If the enemy Is an ass, and a fool, and a prat- 
ing coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should 
also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating 
coxcomb; in your own conscience now? 

Gow. I will speak lower. 

Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that yon ■will. 

[Exeunt Gower and Fluellen. 

K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion. 
There is much care and valour in this Welshman. 
Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court, 
and Michael Williams. 

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning 
which breaks yonder? 

Bates. I think it be: but we have no great cause to 
desire the approach of day. 

Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but, 
I think, we shall never see the end of it.— Who goes 
there? 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Will. Under what captain serve you? 

K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. 

Will. A good old commander and a most kind 
gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our 
estate? 

K. Hen. Even as men wracked upon a sand, that 
look to be washed off the next tide. 

Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? 

K. Hen. No; nor is it not meet he should. For, 
though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a 
man, as I am; the violet smells to him as it doth to 
me; the element shows to him as it doth to me; all 
his senses have but human conditions: his cere- 
monies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a 
man; and though his affections are higher mounted 
than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the 
like wing; therefore, when he sees reason of fears, 
as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same 
relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should 
possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by 
showing it, should disliearten his army. 

Bates. He may show what outward courage he 
will: but, I believe, as cold a night as 't is, he could 
wish himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I 
would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so 
we were quit here. 

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of 
the king; I think he would not wish himself any 
where but where he is. 

Bates. Then I would he were here alone; so should 
he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's 
lives saved. 

K. Hen. I dare say you love him not so ill to wish 
him here alone, howsoever you speak this to feel 
other men's minds: Methinks, I could not die any 
where so contented as in the king's company; his 
cause being just and his quarrel honourable. 

Will. That 's more than we know. 

Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for 
we know enough if we know we are the king's sub- 
jects; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the 
king wipes the crime of it out of us. 

Will. But if the cause be not good, the king himself 
hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those 
legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, 
shall join together at the latter day, and cry all— We 
died at such a place; some, swearing; some, crying 



for a surgeon; some, upon their wives left poor be- 
hind them; some, upon the debts they owe; some, 
upon their cliildren rawly left. I am afeard there 
are few die well that die in a liattle; for how can 
they charitably dispose of any thing when blood is 
their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, It 
will be a black matter for the king that led them to 
it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of 
subjection. 

K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent 
about mereiiandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the 
.sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, 
should be imposed upon his father that sent him: 
or it a servant, under Ills master's command, trans- 
porting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers!, 
and die in many irreconciied iniquities, you may call 
the business of the master the author of the serv- 
ant's damnation:— But this is not so: the king is not 
bound to answer the particular endings of his sol- 
diers, the father of his son, nor the master of his 
servant; for they purpose not their death when 
they purpose their services. Besides, there is no 
king, be his cause never so spotless. If it comes to the 
arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all un- 
spotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on them 
the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder: 
some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of 
perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that 
have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with 
pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have de- 
feated the law, and outrun native punishment, 
though they can outstrip men they have no wings to 
fly from God: war is his beadle, war is his vengeance, 
so that here men are punished, for before-breach of 
the king's laws, in now the king's quarrel: where 
they feared the death they have borne life away; 
and where they would be safe they perish: Then if 
they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of 
their damnation, than he was before guilty of those 
impieties for the which they are now visited. Every 
subject's duty is the king's: but every subject's soul 
is his own. Tiierefore should every soldier in the 
wars do as every sick man in Ills bed, wash every 
mote out of his conscience: and dying so, death is 
to him advantage; or not dying, the time was bless- 
edly lost, wherein such preparation was gained: and 
in him that escapes it were not sin to think that 
making God so free an offer, he let him outlive that 
day to see his greatness, and to teach others how 
they shf.uld prepare. 

Will. 'T is certain, every man that dies ill the ill is 
upon his own head, the king is not to answer it. 

Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; 
and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say he would not 
be ransomed. 

Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully- 
but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, 
and we ne'er the wiser. 

K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his 
word after. 

Will. You pay him then! That 's a perilous shot 
out of an elder gun, that a poor and private dis- 
pleasure can do against a monarch! you may as 
well go about to turn the sun to ice, with tanning in 
his face with a peacock's feather. You '11 never 
trust his word after! come, 't is a foolish saying. 

K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round; I 
should be angry with you, if the time were con- 
venient. 

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. 

K. Hen. I embrace it. 

Will. How shall I know thee again? 

K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will 
wear it in m.y bonnet: then, if ever thou darest ac- 
knowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. 

Will. Here is my glove; give me another of thine. 

K. Hen. There. 

Will. This will I also wear in my cap; if ever thou 
come to me and say, after to-morrow, ' This is my 
glove,' by this hand, I will take thee a box on the 
ear. 

K. Hen. If ever I live to see it I will challenge it. 

Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 

JK. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the 
king's company. 

Will. Keep thy word; fare thee well. 

Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we 
have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how 
to reckon. 

K. Hen. Indeed the French may lay twenty French 
crowns to one they will beat us; for they bear them 
on their shoulders: but it is no English treason to 
cut French crowns; and, to-morrow, the king himself 
will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers. 

Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls, 
Our deirts, our careful wives. 
Our children, and our sins, lay on the king: 
We must bear all. 

O hard condition! twin -born with greatness. 
Subject to the breath of every fool, whose sense 
No more can feel but his own wringing! 
What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect. 
That private men enjoy? 

And what have kings that privates have not too. 
Save ceremony, save general ceremony? 
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony? 
What kind of god art thou, that sufter'st more 
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? 
What are thy rents? what are thy comiugs-in? 

ceremony, show me but tliy worth! 
What is thy soul of adoration? 

Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form. 

Creating awe and fear in other men? 

Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 

Than the.y in fearing. 

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, 

But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness. 

And bid thy ceremony give thee cure! 

Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out 

With titles blown from adulation? 

Will it give place to flexure and low bending? 

Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's 

knee, 
Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream. 
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose; 

1 am a king that find thee; and I know, 

'T is not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball. 
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl. 
The farced title running 'fore the king. 
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
That beats upon the high shore of this world, 



156 



AXVe HENRY V. 



[Act v. 



No, not all theso, thrice-gorproons ceremony 
Not all tlu'Sf, l:(icl in bed majestlcal. 
Can slPf !> so soiuuily as the wretched slave 
Who, with a limlv till'd, and vacant mind. 
Gets hlni to rest, ci-aniin'd willi distressful bread: 
Never sees horrid niulil, Ihechild of lioU; 
But, like a lacki'V, from tlu- rise to set, 
Sweats in the eye of Phiebus, and all night 
Sleeps In Elysium; next day. after dawn, 
Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse; 
And follows so the ever-running year 
M'ith profitable labour, to his grave; 
And, but for eeremony, such a wretch, 
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, 
H,id the fore hand and vantaije of a king. 
The slave, a member of the eountrv's peace, 
Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots 
What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace. 
Whose hours tlie peasant best advantages. 
Enter Erpingham. 

Erp. M.v lord, your nobles, jealous of your ab- 
sence. 
Seek through your camp to And you. 

K. Hen. Good old knight, 

Collect them all together at my tent; 
I 'II be before thee. 

Erp. I shall do 't, my lord. ( Exit. 

K. Hen. O God of battlesi steel my soldiers' hearts! 
Possess them not with fear! take from them now 
The sense of reckoning of the opposed numhersi 
Pluck their hearts from them not to-day, O Lord, 

not to-day! Think not upon the fault 
M.v father made in compassing the crown! 

1 Richard's body have interred new; 

And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears 
Than from it Issued forced drops of blood. 
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pa.v. 
Who twice a da.v their wither'd hands hold up 
Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built 
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; 
Though all that I can do Is nothing worth; 
Since that my penitence comes after all, 
Imploring pardon. 

Enter Gloster. 

Glo. My liegel 

K. Hen. Jly brother Gloster's voice?— Ay; 
I know thy errand, I will go with thee;— 
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II.— T7ie French Camp. 

Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Eambures, and others. 

Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords. 

Dau. ilontez a cheval;—M.y horse! valet! lacqaay! 
ha! 

Orl. O brave spirit! 

Dau. Via!~les ea/tx et la terre— 

Orl. Rten puis? Vair et le feu^ 

Dan. Ciel! cousin Orleans.— 

Enter Constable. 
Now, my lord Constable! 

Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service 
neigh. 

Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their 
hides; 
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes. 
And doubt them with superfluous com'age; Ha! 

Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses' 
blood? 
How shall we then behold their natural tears? 
Elder a Messenger. 

Mess. The English are embattled, you French 
peers. 

Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to 
horse! 
Do but behold yon poor and starved band, 
And your fair show shall suck away their souls, 
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. 
•There is not work enough tor all our hands; 
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, 
To give each naked curtie-ax a strain. 
That our Frencli gallants shall to-day draw out. 
And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on 

them. 
The vapour of of our valour will o'erturn them. 
'T is positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords. 
That our superfluous laeke.vs, and our peasants,— 
Who, in unnecessary action, swarm 
About our squares of battle,— were enow 
To purge this field of such a hilding foe: 
Though we upon this mountain's basis by 
Took stand for idle speculation: 
But that our honours must not. V/hat 's to say? 
A ver.v little little let us do, 
And all is done. Then let the trumpet sound 
The tucket-sonaunce and the note to mouut: 
For our approach shall so much dare the field 
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. 
Enter Grandpre. 

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of 
Fi-ance? 
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
Ill-favour'dl.v become the morning field: 
Their ragged curtains poorI.v are let loose. 
And our air shakes them passing scornfully. 
Big Slars seems bankrout in their beggar'd host. 
And faintly through a rustic beaver peeps. 
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks 
With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor 

jades 
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips; 
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes; 
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit 
Lies foul with chaw'd grass, still and motionless; 
And their executors, the knavish crows. 
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour. 
Description cannot suit itself in words. 
To demonstrate the life of such a battle. 
In life -JO lifeless as it shows itself. 

Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay 
fo. death. 

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh 
suits. 
And give their fasting horses provender. 
And after fight with them? 

Con. I stay but for my guidon. To the field; 
I will the banner from a trumpet take. 
And use it for my haste. Come, come away! 
The sun Is high, and we outwear the day. \Exeunt. 



Scene III.— r/ie English Camp. 

Enter the English Host; Gloster, Bedford, Exeter, 
Salisbury, and Westmoreland. 
Glo. Where Is the king? 

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. 
West. Of fighting men they have full threescore 
thousand. 

Exe. There 's five to one; besides, they are all 
fresh. 

Sal. God's arm strike with us! 't is a fearful odds. 
God be wi' you, princes all; I '11 to my charge: 
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven. 
Then, joyfully;— my noble lord of Bedford, 
My dear lord Gloster, and m.v good lord Exeter, 
And my kind kinsman, warriors all— adieu! 

Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go 
with thee! 

Exe. Farewell, kind lord, fight valiantly to-day; 
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it. 
For thou art framed of the firm trtith of valour. 

[Exit Salisbury. 

Bed. He is as full of valour as of kindness; 
Princely in both. 

West. O that we ;iow had here 

Enter King Henry. 
But one ten thousand of those men in England 
That do no work to-day! 

K. Hen. What 's he that wishes so? 

My cousin Westmoreland?— No, my fair cousin: 
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 
To do our country loss; and if to live. 
The fewer men the greater share of honour. 
God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold; 
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; 
It yearns me not if men my garinents wear; 
Such outward things dwell not in my desires; 
But if it be a sin to covet honour 
I am the most offending soul alive. 
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England; 
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour, 
As one man more methinks, would share from me. 
For the best hope 1 have. O, do not wish one more: 
Rather prot'laim it, Westmoreland, through my host, 
Ihat he which hath no stomach to this fight 
Let him depart; his passport shall be made. 
And crowns for convoy put into his purse: 
We would not die in that man's company 
That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
This da.y is called the feast of Crispian: 
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home. 
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd. 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian. i 
He that shall see this day, and live old age. 
Will yearl.y on the vigil feast his neighbours, 
And say, to-morrow is saint Crispian: 
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars: 
Old men forget; .vet all shall be forgot. 
But he '11 remember, with advantages. 
What feats he did that day: Then .shall our names, 
Familiar in his mOuth as household words,— 
Harr.v the king, Bedford and Exeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbur.y and Gloster,— 
Be in their flowing cups freshl.y remember'd: 
This stor.v shall the good man teach his sou; 
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go b.v, 
From this da.v to the ending of the world. 
But we in it shall be remernbered: 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, 
For he to-da.y that sheds his blood with me 
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile 
This day shall gentle his condition: 
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed. 
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here; 
And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles an.v speaks 
That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day. 
Enter Salisbury. 

Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: 
The French are bravely in their battles set. 
And will with all expedience charge on us. 

K. Hen. All things are ready if our minds be so. 

West. Perish the man whose mind is ba ckward now! 

K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from Eng- 
land, coz? 

West. God's will, m.v liege, 'would you and alone. 
Without more help, could flght this royal battle! 

K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thou- 
sand men; 
Which likes me better than to wish us one.— 
You know your places: God be with you all! 
Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 

Jlont. Once more I come to know of thee, king 
Harry, 
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, 
Before thy most assured overthrow: 
For, certainl.y, thou art so near the gulf 
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy. 
The constable desires tliee— thou wilt mind 
Thy followers of repentance; that their souls 
Ma.v make a peaceful and a sweet retire 
From oft these fields, where (wretches) their poor 

bodies 
Must lie and fester. 

K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? 

Nont. The Constable of France. 

K. Hen. I pray thee, bear m.v former answer back; 
Bid them achieve me, and then sell m.v bones. 
Good God! wh.v should they mock poor fellows thus? 
The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
While the beast lived, was kill'd with hunting him. 
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt. 
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust. 
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work: 
And those that leave their valiant bones in France, 
Dying like men, though buried in your dung-hills. 
They shall be fam'd: for there the sun shall greet 

them. 
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven; , 
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime. 
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. 
Mark then abounding valour in our English; 
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing. 
Break out into a second course of mischief. 
Killing in i-elapse of mortalit.v 
Let me speak proudly:— Tell the Constable, 
We are but warriors for the working day: 
Our gayness, and our gilt, are all besmirch'd 
With rain.v marching in the painful field; 
There 's not a piece of feather in our host, 
(Good argument, I hope, we will not fly,) 
And time hath worn us into slovenry: 



But. by the mass, our hearts are in the trim; 
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night 
They 'II be in fresher robes; or they will pluck 
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads. 
And turn them out of service. It they do this, 
(As, if God please, the.v shall,) mv ransom then 
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; 
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald: 
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints; 
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them 
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. 

Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well: 
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. iExit. 

K. Hen. I fear thou 'It once more come again for 
ransom. 

Ent,er the Duke of York. 

York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 
The leading of the vaward. 

K. Hen. Take it, brave York.— Now, soldiers, march 
away: — 
And how thoii pleasest, God, dispose the day! 

{Exeitnt, 

Scene IV.—The Field of Battle. 

Alarums: Excursions. Enter French Soldier, Pistol, 
and Boy. 

Fist. Yield, cur. 

Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous cstes le gentilhomme de 
honne giialite. 

Fist. Quality! Calen o Custure me. Art thou a 
gentleman? What is thy name? discuss. 

Fi'. Sol. O seigneur Dieu! 

Fist. O signieur Dew should be a gentleman:— 
Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark;— 

signieur Dew, tho,. diest on point of fox. 
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me 
Egregious ransom. 

Fr. Sol. O, prennez misericorde.' ayez pitie de 
moy.' 

Fist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; 
For I will fetch thy rim out al thy throat. 
In drops of crimson blood. 

Fr. Sol. Est il impossible d'eschapper la force de 
ton bras? 

Fist. Brass, ciu" 
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, 
Offer'st me brass? 

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy. 

Fist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moysf 
Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French, 
W^hat is his name. 
, Boy. Eseovtez; Cori\ment estes vous appelle? 

Fr. Sol. illonsie'ir le Fer. 

Buy. He says, his name is master Fer. 

Fist. Master Fer! I 'U fer him, and flrk him, and 
ferret him:— discuss the same in French unto him 

Boy. I do not know the French for fer. and ferret 
and flrk. 

Fist. Bid him prepare, for 1 will cut his throat. 

Fr. Sol. Que dit-?l, monsieur? 

Boy. II me commande de voxis direque vons faites 
vous prest; car ce soldat.icy est dispose tout a cette 
heurc de couper vostre gorge. 

Fist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma fo.v, pesant. 
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; 
Or man.eled shalt thou be by this m.v sword. 

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supphe pour I'amour de Dieu, 
me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne 
maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux 
cent csciis. 

Fist. What are his words? 

Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gentle- 
man of a good house: and for his ransom he will 
give you two hundred crowns. 

Fist. Tell him, my fury shall abate, and I 
The crowns will take. 

Fr. Sol. Fetit monstevr. que dit-il? 

Boy. Encore qu* il est contre son jurement de par- 
donner aiicnn prisonnier; neantmoins, pour fes escus 
que voiis V .avez promts, il est content de vous don- 
ner la liberie, la franchisonent. 

Fr. Sol. Siir mes genoux je vons donne mille re- 
merciemens: et je m' estime heurcux que je suis 
tombe entre les mains d' un chevalier, je pense, le 
plus l)rave, valiant, et tres distingue -seigneur d' 
Angleterre. 

Fist. Expound unto me, boy. 

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, |a thousand 
thanks; and he esteems himself happ.v that he hath 
fallen into the hands of one (as he tiiinks) the most 
brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of Eng- 
land. 

Fist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.— 
Follow me. | Exit Pistol. 

Boy. Suivez vous le grand captaine. [Ex . Fr. Sol. 

1 did never know so full a voice issue from so empty 
a heart: hut the saying is true,— the empt,v vessel 
makes the greatest sound. Bardolph and Nym had 
ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the 
old play, that every one may pare his nails with a 
wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and so 
would this be, if he durst steal an.v thing adventur- 
ously. I must sta.v with the lackeys, with the lug- 
gage of our camp: the French might have a good 
prey of us, if he knew of it; tor there is none to guard 
It but boys. [Exit. 

Scene V.— Another Fart of the Field of Battle. 

Alarums. Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, 
Constable, Rambures, and others. 

Con. O diable! 

Orl. O seigneur'— le jour est perdu, tout est perdu! 

Dau. Mort de ma vis! all is confounded, all! 
Reproach and everlasting shame 

Sits mocking in our plumes.— O meschante fortune! — 
Do not run away. • [A short alarum. - 

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. 

Dau. O perdurable shame!— let 's stab our.selves. 
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for? 

Orl. Is this the king we sent to tor his ransom? 

Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but 
shame! 
Let 's die in honour; Once more back again; 
And he that will not follow Bourbon now. 
Let him go hence and, with his cap in hand. 
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door. 
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than ray dog, 
His tairest daughter is contaminate. 

Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! 
Let us, on heaps, go offer up our lives. 

Orl. We are enow, yei living in the field. 



Scene v.l 



KING IIENEY V. 



isr 



To smother up the English in oiii- throngs. 
If any order niiffht be thonglit upon. 

Boar Tlie devil talje order now! I '11 to the throng; 
Let life be short; else shame will be too long. [lixe. 

Scene VI.— Another Part of the Field. 

Alarums. Enter King Henry and Forces; Exeter, 

and others, withiirisoners. 

K. Ben. Weil have we done, thrice-valiant eoun- 
trvmen: 
But all 's not done, yet keep the Frencli the flelcl. 

E.xe. The duke of York commends him to your 
majesty. 

K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice withm this 
hour 
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting; 
From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. 

Exe. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie, 
Lardinpr tlie plain: and by his bloody side, 
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,) 
The noble earl of Suffolk also lies. 
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over, 
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, 
.A.nd takes him by the beard; kisses the gushes, 
That bloodily did yawn upon his face; 
And cries aloud,—' Tarr.y, my cousin Suffolk! 
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven: 
Tarr.v, sweet soul, for mine, then fiy abreast; 
As. in this glorious and well-foughten field. 
We Icept together in our chivalry!' 
Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up: 
He smii'd me in the face, raught me his hand. 
And with a feeble gripe, says,—' Dear my lord. 
Commend my service to my sovereign.' 
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck 
He tin-ew his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips; 
And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd 
A testament of noble-ending love. 
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd 
Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd; 
But I had not so much of man in me. 
And all my mother came into mine eyes. 
And gave me up to tears. 

K. Hen. I blame .vou not; 

For hearing this, I must perforce compound 
With mistful eyes, or the.v will issue too.— [Alarum. 
But, hark! what new alarum is this same?— 
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men:— 
Then every soldier kill his prisoners; 
Give the word through. [Exeunt. 

Scene YIL— Another Part of the Field. 

Alarums. Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Flu. Kill the povs and the luggage! "t is expressly 
against the law of arms: 't is as arrant a piece of 
knavery, mark you now, as can be offered. In your 
conscience now, is it not? 

Oow. 'T Is certain there 's not a boy left alive: and 
the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle have 
done this slaughter: besides, they have burned and 
carried away all that was in the king's tent; where- 
fore the king, most worthily, hath caused ever.v sol- 
dier to cut his prisoner's "throat. O, 't is a gallant 
king! 

Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower: 
What call you the town's name where Alexander the 
pig was porn? 

Gow. Alexander the great. 

Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? The pig, 
or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the mag- 
nanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is 
a little variations. 

Ooiv. I tliiuk Alexander the great was born in 
Macedon; his father was called Philip of Macedou, 
as I take it. 

Flu. I think it Is in Macedon, where Alexander is 
porn. I tell you, captain, — If , vou look in the jnaps 
of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the com- 
parisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the 
situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river 
in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at 
Monmouth; it is called W.ye, at Monmouth; but it 
is out of my prains what is the name of the other 
river; but 't is all one, 't is alike as ray fingers is to 
ray fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you 
mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's 
life is come after it Indifferent well; for there is 
figures in all things. Alexander (God knows, and 
you know,) in his rages, and his furies, and his 
wraths, and his cholers, and liis moods, and his dis- 
pleasures, and his indignations, and also being a 
little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and 
his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. 

Gow. Oar king is not like him in that; he never 
kill'd any of his friends. 

Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the 
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and ftuish'd. 
1 speak but in the figures and comparisons of it: 
As Alexander killed his friend Clytus, being in his 
ales and his cups; so also Harr,y Monmouth, being in 
his right wits and his goot judgments, turned away 
the fat knight with the great pell.v-doublet: he was 
full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; 
I have forgot his name. 

(?o«). Sir John Falstaff. 

Flu. That is he: I '11 tell you, there is goot men 
porn at Monmouth. 

Goiv. Here comes his majesty. 

Alarum. Enter King Henry with a part of the 
English forces; Warwick, Gloster, Exeter, and 
others. 

K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France 
Until this instant.— Take a trumpet, herald; 
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill; 
If they will fight with us, bid them come down. 
Or void the field; the.v (To offend our sight: 
If they '11 do neither, we will come to them; 
And made them skirr away, as swift as stones 
Enforc'd from the old Ass.vrian slings: 
Besides, we '11 cut the throats of those'we have; 
And not a man of them, that we shall take. 
Shall taste our mercy:— Go, and tell them so. 
Enter Montjoy. 

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my 
liege. 

Cfto. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be. 

K. Hen. How now] what means this, herald? 
knowest thou not 
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom? 
Com'st thou again for ransom? 



3Iont. No, great king, 

I come to thee for charitable licence, 
That we may wander o'er this blood.v field, 
To book oiu' dead, and then to bury them; 
To sort our nobles from our common men; 
For many of our princes I woe the while!) 
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; 
(So do our vulgar drcm-li llu-ir peasant limbs 
In blood of princes;) :iii(l their wounded steeds 
Fret fetlock deep in gore, ond, with wild rage, 
Yerk out their armed lieels at their dead masters. 
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king. 
To view the field in safety, and dispose 
Of their dead bodies. 

K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 

I know not if the day be ours, or no; 
For yet a many of your horsemen peer. 
And gallop o'er the field. 

Mont. The day is yours. 

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength for 
it! 
What is this castle call'd that stands hard by? 

Mont. They call it Agincourt. 

K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, 
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 

Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an 't 
please your majest.v, and your great uncle Edward 
the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the 
chronicles, fouglit a most prave pattle here in 
France. 

K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 

Flu. Yotir majesty says very true: if your majes- 
ties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot 
service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing 
leeks in their Monmouth caps; which, your majesty 
knows, to this hour is an honourable padge of the 
service; and, I do believe, your majesty takes no 
scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day. 

K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour: 
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 

Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your 
majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell 
you that; Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it 
pleases his grace, and his majesty too! 

K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 

Flu. By Cheshu, I am your majesty's country- 
man, I care not who know it: I will confess it to all 
the 'orld: I need not to be ashamed of your majes- 
ty, praised be God, so long as your majesty is an 
honest man. 

JC. Hen. God keep me so!— Our heralds go with 
him; 
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead 
On both our parts. — Call yonder fellow hither. 

[Points to Williams. Exeunt Montjoy and others. 

Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. 

K. Hen. Soldier, why weai'est thou that glove in 
thy cap? 

Will. An 't please your majesty, 't is the gage of 
one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 

K. Hen. An Englishman? 

Will. An 't please your majesty, a rascal that 
swaggered with me last night: who, if 'a live and 
ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to 
take him a box o' the ear: or, if I can see my glove 
in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he 
would wear if alive,) I will strike it out soundly. 

K. Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen? is it fit 
this soldier keep his oath? 

Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an 't please 
your majesty, in my conscience. 

if. Hen. It may be his enemy is a gentleman of 
great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. 

Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the 
tevil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is neces- 
sary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and his 
oath: if he be perjured, see you now, his reputation 
is as arrant a villain, and a Jack sauce, as ever his 
plack shoe trod upon Got's ground and his earth, in 
my conscience, la. 

K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou 
meet'st the fellow. 

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 

K. Hen. Who serv'st thou under? 

Will. Under Captain Gower, ray liege. 

Flu. Gower is a goot captain; and is goot know- 
ledge and literature in the wars. 

K. Hen. Call hiin hither to me, soldier. 

Will. I will, my liege. [Ex-it. 

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour 
for me, and stick it in thy cap: When Alencon and 
myself were down together, I plucked this glove 
from his helm; if any man challenge this, he is a 
friend to Alengon and an enemy to our person; if 
thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou 
dost me love. 

Flu. Your grace does me as great honours as can 
be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would 
fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall 
find himself aggi-iefed at this glove, that is all; but 
I would fain see it once: an please Got of his grace 
that I might see it. 

K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower? 

Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 

K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to 
my tent. 

Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. 

K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, and my brother 
Gloster, 
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels: 
The glove which I have given him for a favour 
May, haply, purchase him a box o' the ear; 
It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, .should 
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick: 
If that the .soldier strike him, (as, I judge 
By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,) 
Some sudden mischief may arise of it; 
For I do know Fluellen valiant, 
And, touched with choler, hot as gunpowder. 
And quickly will return an Injury: 
Follow, and see there be no harm between them.— 
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII.— Be/ore King Henry's Pavilion. 

Enter Gower and Williams. 
Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. 

Enter Fluellen. 
Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech 
you now, come apace to the king: there is more good 
toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowl- 
edge to dream of. 



Will. Sir, know you this glove? 

Flu. Know the glove? I know the glove Is a glove. 

Will. I know this; and thus I challenge It. 

[Strikes him.. 

Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor as any 's In the uni- 
versal 'orld, or in France, or in England. 

Gow. How now, sir? you villain! 

Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn? 

Flu. Stand away, captain Gower; I will give trea- 
son his payment into plows, I warrant you. 

Will. I am no traitor. 

Flu. That 's a lie in thy throat.— I charge you In 
his majesty's name, apprenend him; he's a friend of 
the duke Alengon's. 

Enter Warwick and Gloster. 

War, How now, how now! what 's the matter? 

Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be Got 
for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, look 
you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is 
his majesty. 

Enter King Henry and Exeter. 

K. Hen. How now! what 's the matter? 

Flu. M.v liege, here is a villain, and a tr,aitor, that, 
look your grace, has struck the glove which your 
majegty is take out of the helmet of Alengon. 

Will. My liege, this was my glove; here Is the fel- 
low of it: and he that I gave it to in change promised 
to wear it In his cap; I promised to strike him, if he 
did: I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I 
have been as good as my word. 

Flu. Your majesty hear now, (saving your majesty's- 
manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lowsy 
knave it Is: I hope your majesty is pear me testi- 
mony, and witness, and will avoiichment, that this 
is the glove of Alencon, that your majesty is give 
me, in your conscience now. 

K. Hen. Give rae thy glove, soldier! Look, here's 
the fellow of it; 
'T was I, indeed, thou promised 'st to strike; 
And thou hast given me most bitter terms. 

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer 
for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld. 

K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction' 

Will. All offences, my lord, come from the heart:, 
never came any from mine that might offend your 
majest.y. 

K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. 

Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you. 
appeared to rae butasacoramou man; witness the 
night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your 
highness suffered under that shape I beseech you,, 
take it for your own fault and not mine: for had you 
been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore 
I beseecli your highness, pardon me. 

K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with 
crowns, 
And give it to this fellow.— Keep it, fellow; 
And wear it for an honour in thy cap. 
Till I do challenge it.— Give him the crowns:— 
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 

Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has 
mettle enough in his pelly:— Hold, there is twelve 
pence for you, and I pray you to seri'e Got, and 
keep you out of prawls, antl prabbles, and quarrels, 
and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter 
for you. 

Will. I will none of your money. 

Flu. It is with a goot will; I can tell you it will 
serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore 
should you be so pashful? your shoes is not so goot: 
't is a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change 
it. 

Enter an English Herald. 

K. Hen. Now, herald; are the dead number'd? 

Her. Here is the number of the siaughter'd French, 
r Delivers a paper. 

K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, 
uncle? 

Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king;. 
John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt: 
Of other lords and barons, knights and 'squires. 
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 

K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 
French 
That in the field lie slain: of princes. In this number,. 
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
One hundred twenty-six: added to these. 
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen. 
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, 
J'ive hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights: 
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost. 
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; 
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires. 
And gentjemen of blood and quality. 
The names of those their nobles that lie dead, — 
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; 
Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France; 
The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures; 
Great master of France, the brave sir Guischard 

Dauphin; 
John duke of Alencon; Anton.y duke of Brabant, 
The brother to the duke of Burgundy; 
And Edward duke of Bar: of lust.v earls, 
Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix, 
Beaumont and Marie, Vaudemont and Lestrale. 
Here was a roj'al fellowship of death! 
Where is the number of our English dead? 

[Herald presents another paper ^ 
Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, 
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: 
None else of name; and of all other men. 
But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here. 
And not to us, but to thy arm alone. 
Ascribe we all.— When, without stratagem, 
But in plain shock and even play of battle. 
Was ever known so great and little loss, 
On one part and on the other?— Take it, God, 
For it is none but thine! 

E.re. 'T is wonderful! 

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village: 
And belt death proclaimed through our host. 
To boast of this, or take that praise from God 
Which is his only. 

Flu. Is it not lawful, and please your majesty, to 
tell how many is killed? 

K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknowledg- 
ment, 
That God fought for us. 

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot 

K. Hen. Do we all hol.v rites; 
Let there be sung Non Nobis, and Te Deum, 



Wia 



158 



KING JIENllY V. 



[Act v. 



The dead vitli charity ciiclos'd In clay: 
And then to Calais: and to Enttland then; 
Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men. 
yCxeunt. 

Chorus. 

Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story, 

That I may prompt them: and of such as have, 

I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 

Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, 

Which cannot In their hupre and proper life 

Be here presented. Now we hear the king 

Towaril Cahiis: grant him tliere: there seen. 

Heave liiin away upon vour winged thoughts. 

Athwart the sea: Behold", tlie English beach 

Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys. 

Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd 

sea. 
Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king, 
Seems to prepare his way: so let him land; 
And, .solemnly, see liim set on to London. 
So swift a pace hath thought, that even now 
You may imagine him upon Blacklieath: 
Where that his lords desire him to have borne 
His bruised hemlet, and his bended sword. 
Before him, through the city: he forbids it, ^ 
Being free from vainness and self-giorious pride; 
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent. 
Quite from himself, to God. But now behold, 
In the quick forge and working house of thought. 
How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
The mayor, and all his brethren in best sort,— 
Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
With the plebeians swarming at their heels, — 
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Csesar in: 
As, by a lower but by loving likelihood. 
Were now the general of our gracious empress 
(As In good time he may,) from Ireland coming. 
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword. 
How many would the peaceful city quit 
To welcome him! much more, (and much more 

cause,) 
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him- 
(As yet the lamentation of tlie French 
Invites the king of England's stay at home 
The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 
To order peace between them;) and onilt 
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd, 
Till Harry's back-return again to Prance: 
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd. 
The interim, by remembering you, 't is past. 
Then brook abridgement; and your eyes advance 
After yo'jr thoughts, straight back again to France. 

ACTV. 

Scene I.— France. An English Court of Guard. 

Enter Fluelien and Gower. 

Goiv. Nay, that 's right; but why wear you your 
leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past. 

Flu. There is occasions and causes why and where- 
fore in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, cap- 
tain Gower: The rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy, 
pragging knave, Pistol,— which you and yourself, arid 
all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, look 
you now, of no merits,— he is come to me, and 

E rings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and 
id me eat my leek: it was in a place where I 
could not breed no more contentions with him; but 
I will be so poid as to wear it in my cap till I see 
him once again, and then I will tell him'a little 
piece of my desires. 

Enter Pistol. 

Gold. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey- 
cock. 

Flu. 'T is no matter for his swellings, nor his tur- 
key-cocks.— Got pless you, ancient Pistol ! you 
scurvy, lowsy knave, Got pless youl 

Fist. Ha; art thou ISedlam? dost thou thirst, base 
Trojan, 
To have me fold up Pai-ca's fatal web? 
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsy knave, 
at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to 
eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you do 
not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, 
and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would 
desire you to eat it. 

Pi.sf. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. 

Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.} 
Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat It? 

Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 

Flti. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's 
will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time, 
and eat your victuals: come, there is sauce for it. 
{Striking him again.^ Y'ou called me yesterday, 
mountain-squire, but I will make you to-day a squire 
of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock 
a leek, you can eat a leek. 

Gou: Enough, captain; you have astonished him. 

Fill. I say, I will make him eat some part of my 
leek, or I will peat his pate four days:— Pite, I pray 
you; it is goot for your green wound, and your 
ploody coxcomb. 

Pist. Must I bite? 

Flu. Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of 
questions too, and ambiguities. 

Pi.tt. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; I 
eat— and eat— I swear. 

Fill. Eat, I pray you: Will you have some more 
sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek to 
swear by. 

Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat. 

Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, 
pray you, throw none away; the skin is good for your 
proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see 
leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them; that is 
all. 

Pist. Good. 

Flu. Ay, leeks is goot:— Hold you, there is a groat 
to heal your pate. 

Pist. Me a groat! 

Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take It; or 
I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall 
eat. 

P«^ I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge. 

Flu. If I owe you anything, I will pay you in cud- 
gels: you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing 
of me but cudgels. Got bo wi' you, and keep you, 
and heal your pate. [Exit. 

Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 

Oow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. 



Win you mock at an ancient tradition,- begun upon 
an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable 
trophy of predeceased valour,— and dare notavoucli 
In your deeds any of your words? I have seen you 
gleeklng and galling at this gentleman twice or 
thrice. You thought, because he could not speak 
English in the native garb, he could not tlieri't'orf 
handle an English cudgel; you find itotherwise; and, 
henceforth, let a Welsh correction teach you a good 
English condition. Fare ye well. [h'xit. 

Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife with me 
now? 
News have I that my Nell is dead i' the spital 
Of malady of France; 
And there my rendezvous is quite cut oft. 
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs 
Honour Is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn. 
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal: 
.\na patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars. 
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. 

Scene II.— Troyes in Champagne. An Apart- 
ment in the French King's Palace. 

Enter at one door. King Henry, Bedford, Gloster, 
Exeter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and o/ftecLords; 
at another the French King, Queen Isabel, the 
Princess Katharine, Lords, Ladies, <£'c., the Duke of 
Burgundy, and his Train. 

K. lien. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are 
met! 
Unto our brother France, and to our sister, 
Health and fair time of day:— joy and good wishes 
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine; 
And (as a branch and member of this ro.yalty, 
By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,) 
We do salute you, duke of Burgundy;- 
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all! 

Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face. 
Most worthy brother England; fairly met:— 
So are you, princes English, every one. 

Q. Isa. So happy I)e the issue, brother England, 
Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting. 
As we are now glad to behold your eyes; 
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
Against the French, that met them in their bent, 
The fatal balls of murthering baslli.sks: 
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, 
Have lost their quality; and that this day 
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. 

K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. 

Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. 

Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, > 
Great kings of France and England ! That I have 

labour'd 
With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours. 
To bring your most imperial majesties 
Unto this bar and royal interview. 
Your migthiness.on both parts best can witness. 
Since then my ofBce hath so far prevail'd 
That face to face, and royal eye to eye. 
You have congreeted; let it not disgrace me. 
If I demand, before this royal view. 
What rub, or what impediment, there is. 
Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace. 
Dear nurse of arts, plentie.s, and joyful births, 
Should not, in this best garden of the world. 
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? 
Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd; 
And all her husbandry doth He on heaps, 
Corrupting in its own fertilit.y. 
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleached. 
Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair. 
Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas, 
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, 
Doth root upon; wliile that the coulter rusts 
That should deracinate such savagery: 
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, 
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
Conceives b.y idleness; and nothing teems 
But hateful docks, rough thistles, Icecksies, burs. 
Losing both beauty and utilit.y: 
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges. 
Detective in their natures, grow to wildness; 
Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children. 
Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, 
The sciences that should become our country; 
But gro\v, like savages, — as soldiers will. 
That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 
To swearing, and stern looks, dlffus'd attire, 
And every thing that seems unnatural. 
Which to reduce into our former favour 
Y'ou are assembled: and my speech entreats 
That I may kno.v the let, why gentle peace 
Should not expel these inconveniences. 
And bless us with her former qualities. 

K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the 
peace, 
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
With full accord to all our just demands; 
Whose tenours and particular effects 
Y^ou have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. 

Bur. The king hath heard them; to the which, as 
yet. 
There is no answer made. 

K. Hen. Well then, the peace, 

Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer. 

Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye 
O'er-glane'd the articles; pleaseth your grace 
To appoint some of j'our council presently 
To sit with us once more, with better heed 
To re-survey them, we will, suddenly. 
Pass our accept and peremptory answer. 

K. Hen. Brother, we shall.— (So, uncle Exeter,— 
And brother Clarence,— and j'ou, brother Gloster,— 
Warwick,— and Huntington,— go with the king: 
And take with you free power, to ratify. 
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
Shall see advantageable for our dignity. 
Any thing in, or out of, our demands; 
And we'll consign thereto.— Will you, fair sister. 
Go with the princes, or stay here with us? 

Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them; 
Haply a woman's voice may do some good, 
When articles too nicely urg'd be stood on. 

K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with 
us; 
She is our capital demand, comprls'd 
Within the fore rank of our articles. 



Q. Isa. She hath good leave. 

[Exeunt all hut Henry, Katharine, and her 
Gentlewoman. 

K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fair! 

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms. 
Such as will enter at a lady's ear. 
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? 

Kiith. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot 
speak your England. . 

K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me 
soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to 
hear you confess it brokenly with your English 
tongue. Do you like me, Kate? 

Kath. Pardonnez moji, I cannot tell vat is-like me. 

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you are 
like an angel. 

Kath. Que dit-il? gue Je snis scmblable a les 
anges? 

Alice. Oiiy, vrayment, {savfvostre. grace) ainsi dit- 
il. 

K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not 
blush to affirm it. 

Kath. O hnn Dieii! |te llangues des hommes sont 
pleines de.^ trompcries. 

K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues 
of men are full of deceits? 

Alice. Oiiy; dat de tongues of de mans is be full of 
deceits: dat is de princess. 

K. Hen. The princess is the better Englishwoman. 
I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thv understand- 
ing: I am glad thou canst speak no better English; 
for, if thou could'st, thou would'st find me such a 
plain king, that thou would'st think I had .sold my 
farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it 
in love, but directly to say— I love you: then, if vou 
urge me further than to say -Do you in faith"? I 
wear out my suit. Give me your answer: i' faith, 
do; and so clap hands and a bargain: How saj you 
lady? 

Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well. 

K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, 
or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you uiidid me; 
for the one, I have neither words nor measure: and 
for the other, I have no strength in meastire, yet a 
reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a 
lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle 
with my armour on my back, under the correction of 
bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a 
wife. Or, if I might buffet for my love, or bound 
my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a 
butcher, and sit like a jack an-apes, never off: but, 
before (jod, Kate, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp 
out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in pro- 
testation; only downright oaths, which I never use 
till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou 
canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face 
is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his 
glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine 
eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If 
thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say 
to thee— that I shall die, is true: but— for thy love, 
by the lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while 
thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and 
\incoIned constancy; for. he perforce must do thee 
right, because he hath not the gift to woo In other 
places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can 
rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, thev do 
always reason themselves out again. What! a speak- 
er is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good 
leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard 
will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair 
face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a 
good heai't, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, 
the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright, and 
never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou 
w^ould have such a one, take me: And take me, take 
a soldier; take a soldier, take a king: And what 
sayest Ihou then to my love? speak,, my fair, and 



fairly, I pray thee. 

■".. Is i 
France 



Kath. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of 



K. Hen. No; it is not possible you should love the 
enemy of France, Kate: but, in loving me, you 
should love the friend of France; for I love France 
so well that I will not part with a village of it; I will 
have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is mine, 
and I am yours, then yours is France, and you are 
mine. 

Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 

K. Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; 
which I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a 
new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly 
to be shook otf. Quand fay la possession de 
Finance, et quand i^oiis avez la possessioji de moy, 
(let me see, what then? Saint Dennis be my speed!) 
—done vostre est France, et vo7is cstes mienne. It is 
as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to 
speak so much more French: I shall never move 
thee In Brench, unless it be to laugh at me. 

Kath. Sauf vostre hoymeur, Ic Froncoi.'^ que volts 
parlez est nieiUeiir que V Anglois lequel je parte. 

K. Hen. No, 'faith, is 't not, Kate: but thy speaking 
of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must 
needs bp granted to be much at one. But, Kate, 
dost thou understand thus much English? Canst 
thou love me? 

XaHi. I cannot tell. 

K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? 
I '11 ask them. Come, I know, thou lovest me- and 
at night when you come into your closet, you '11 
question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, 
Kate, you will, to her, dispraise those parts in me 
that you love with your heart: but. good Kate, mock 
me iiiercitully; the ratlier, gentle princess, because I 
love thee cruelly. If ever thou be'st mine, Kate, (as 
I have a saving faith within me tells me thou shalt,) 
I get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore 
needs prove a good soldier-breeder: Shall not thou 
and I, between Saint Dennis and Saint George, com- 
pound a bo.v, half French, half English, that shall go 
to (Constantinople, and take the Turk by the beard? 
shall we not? what sayest thou, my fair flower-de- 
luce? 

Kath. I do not know dat. 

K. Hen. No; 't is hereafter to know, but now to 
promise: do but now promise, Kate, you will en- 
deavour for your French part of such a bo.y; and, 
for my English moiety, take the word of a king and 
a bachelor. How answer you. la})liis belle Katharine 
du nionde, mon tres chere et divine rfeesse/ 

Kath. Your majeste 'ave favsse French enough to 
deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France. 

K. Hen. Now, fye upon my false French! By 
mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate: by 



Scene ii.] 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



159 



which honour I dai-e not swear thou Invest me; .vet 
my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, not- 
withstanding tlie poor and untemperiiig effect of my 
visage. Now beshrew my father's auibition! lie was 
thuiking of civil wars wlieu he got me; therefore 
was I created with a stubborn outside, with an as- 
pect of iron, tliat when I ounie to woo ladies I fright 
them. But, in faitli, Kate, tlie elder I wax the bet- 
ter I shall appear: my comfort is that old age, that 
ill-laver up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my 
face" thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; 
and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better 
and better; And therefore tell me, most fair 
Kailiarine, will you have me? Put off your maiden 
blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with 
tlie looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and 
sav— Havrv of England, I am thine: which word 
thou Shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, Imt I 
will tell thee aloud England is thine. Ireland is thine, 
France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; 
who. tlioufih I speak It before ids face, it he be not 
fellow witli the best king, tho\i shalt find the best 
kiiiL: of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken 
music; for thv voice is music, and thy English 
broken: therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break 
thv mind to me m broken English, Wilt thou have 
me? 

Kafh. Dat is. as it shall please de roji mon. pere. 

K. Hen. Nav, it will please him well, Kate; it shall 
please him, Kate. 

Kiith. Den it sail also content me. 

K. Hen. Upon that I kiss ycur hand, and I call 
you my queeu. 

Katli. Laissi'2, mon seigneur, laissez^ laissez: ma 
fou, Je ne veu.v poh:t que vons abbaissez vostre 
gmnaeiir, en baisant la main d'une vostre indigne 
serviteure; e.vcuse3 moy, je voKS siippUe, mon tres 
puissant seigneur. 

K. Hen. Then 1 will kiss your lips. Kate. 

Kate. Les dames et demoiselles pour estre baisees 
devant lear iiojjces, il n'est pas cle eoutume de 
France. 

K. Hen. Madame my interpreter, what says she? 

Alice. Dat It is not be de fashion ])our les ladies of 
France,— I cannot tell what is, baiscr, en English. 

K. Hen. To kiss. 

Alice. Your iwajestv entendre bettre 9"e viou. 

K. Hen. It is not a fashion for the malils in France 
to kiss before they are married, would she say? 

Alice. Oitt/, x'raj/ment. 

K. Hen. O Kate, nice customs curt's.v to great 
kings. Dear Kate, you and 1 cannot be confined 
within the weak list of a country's fashion; we are 
the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that 
follows our places stops the mouths of all find- 
faults; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice 
fasliion of your country in denying me a kiss: there- 
fore, patiently, and yielding. [Kissing her.\ You 
have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more elo- 
quence in a sugar touch of them, than in the tongues 
of the French council: and they should sooner per. 



suade Harry of England than a general petition of 
monarclis. Here comes your father. 

Enttr the French King and Queen, Burgundy, Bed- 
ford, Glostcr, Exeter, Westmoreland, and other 

French and English Lords. 

Bur. God save your ma.1esty! my royal cousin, 
teach vou our princess English? 

K. Hen. 1 would have her learn, my fair cousin, 
how perfectly I love her; and that is good English. 

Bur. Is she not apt? 

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz; and my con- 
dition is not smooth: so that, having neither the 
voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot 
so conjure up the spirit of love In her, that he will 
appear in his true likeness. 

Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I an- 
swer you for that. If you would conjure 'a her you 
nuist make a circle: if conjure up love in her in his 
true likeness, he must appear naked and blind: Can 
vou blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over 
"with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny tlie 
appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked see- 
ing self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a 
maid to consign to. 

K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield; as love is 
blind, and enfoi'ces. 

Bar. They are then excused, my lord, when they 
see libt what they do. 

K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to 
consent winking. 

B^ir. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you 
will teach her to know niy meaning: for maids, well 
summered and warm kept, are like flies at Bartho- 
lomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; and 
then they will endure handling, which before would 
not abide looking on. 

K. Hen. This moral ties me over to time, and a hot 
summer; and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in 
the latter end, and she must be blind too. 

Bur. As love is. my lord, before it loves. 

K. Hen. It is so; and you may, someof you, thank 
love for my blindness; who cannot see man.v a fair 
French'city, for -one fair French maid that stands 
in my vvay. 

Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them perspect- 
ively, the cities turned into a maid; for tliey are all 
girdled with maiden walls, that war hath never 
entered. 

K. Ben. Shall Kate be my wife? 

Fr. King. So please you. 

K. Hen. I am content; so the maiden cities you 
talk of may wait on her: so the maid that stood in 
the way of my wisii shall show me the way to my 
will. 

Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of 
reason. 

K. Hen. Is 't so, my lords of England? 

West. The king hath granted every article: 
His daughter, first; and then, in sequel, all. 
According to their firm proposed natures. 

Exc, Only, he hath not yet subscribed this:— 



Where your majesty demands,— That the king of 
France, having any occasion to write for nuitter of 
grant, shall name your highness in this form, and 
with this addition, in French.— Notre rres cher filz 
Henry loy d' Anylelcrte, heritier de France; and 
thus ni 'LaUn,—Pra;larissimns Jtlius nosterllcniiciis, 
rex Anglice^ et hoires Francice. 

Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied, 
But your request shall make me let It pass. 

K. Hen. I pra.v you then, in love and dear alliance. 
Let that one article rank with the rest: 
And, thereupon, give me your daughter. 

Fr. King. Take her, fair son; and from her blood 
raise up 
Issue to me: that the contending kingdoms 
Of France and England, whoso very sliores look 

pale 
With envy of each other's happiness, 
May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction 
Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord 
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France. 

All. Amen! 

K, Hen. Now welcome, Kate:— and bear me wit- 
ness all. 
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. 

[Flourish. 

Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages. 
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in onel 
As man and wife, being two, are one in love. 
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, 
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy. 
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, 
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms. 
To make divorce of their incorporate league; 
That English may as French, French Englishmen, 
Receive each otherl— God speak this Amen! 

All. Amen! 

K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage;— on which 
da.v, 
M.y lord of Burgund.y, we '11 take your oath. 
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. 
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me; 
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be! 

[Fxeunt, 
Chorus. 
Thus far, with rougli and all unable pen. 

Our bending author hr.tli pursued the story; 
In little room confining miglity men. 

Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. 
Small time, tut in that small, most greatly liv'd 

This star of England: fortune made his sword; 
By which the world's best garden he achiev'd. 

And of it left his son imperial lord. 
Henr.y the Sixth, in infant bands crown'd king 

Of France and England, did this king succeed; 
Whose state .so man.v had the managing. 

That they lost France, and madi^ his England 
bleed: 
Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake, 

In your fair minds let this acceptance take. 



FIRST PART OF 



KING HENRY VI. 



PKRSOXS REPBFSENTED. 



King Henky VI. 

Duke of Gloster, 7mcle to the King, 
and Protector. 

Duke of Bedford, uncle to the King, 
and regent of France. 

Thojias Be.iufort, Duke of Exeter, 
great uncle to the King. 

Henry Beaufort, great uncle to the 
King, bishop of Winchester, and af- 
terwards cardtnal, 

John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset; af- 
terwards difke. 

Richard Plantagenet, eldest son of 
Richard lat,- Earl of Cambridge; af- 
terwards Duke o/ York. 

Earl of Warwick. 



E.\.EL OF Salisbury. 

Earl of Suffolk. 

LORO Talbot, afterwards Earl of 

Shrewsbury. 
John Talbot, his son. 
Edmund Mortimer, Jiarl of March. 
Slortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer. 
Sir John Pastolfe. 
Sir William Lucy. 
Sir William Glansdale. 
Sir Thomas Gargrave. 
Maijor of London. 

Woodville, Lieutenant of the Tower. 
Vernon, of the White Rose, or York 

faction. 



Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster 

faction. 
Charles, Dauphin, and afterivards 

King of France. 
Reignifr, Duke of Anjou, and titular 

King of Naples. 
Duke op Burgundy. 
Duke of AlenqoN. 
Govei-nor _of Paris. 
Bastard of Orleans. 

Master-O'inner of OrleSLas, ana his son. 
General of the French forces in Bor- 
deaux. 
A French Sergeant. 

A Porter. 



An old Shepherd, father to Joan La 
Pucelle. 

Margaret, daughter to Reignier; af- 
tenvards married to King Henry. 

Countess of auvergne. 

Joan La Pucelle, commonly called 
Joan of Arc. 

Fiends, appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, 
Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Of- 
ficers, Soldiers, Messengers, and sev- 
eral Attendants both on the English 
and French. 

SCENE. — Partly in England, and part- 
ly in France. 



ACTL 
Scene I.— Westminister Abbey. 

Dead march. Corpse of King Henry V. discoi'ered 
lying in state; attended on by the Dukes of Bed- 
ford. Gloster, and Exeter; the Earl of Warwick, 
the Bishop of Winchester, Heralds, <£c. 
Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day 
to niglit! 
Comets, importing change of times and states, 
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky: 
And with tliem scourge the bad revolting stars. 
That have consented unto Henry's death! 
King Henry the fifth, too famous to live long! 
England ne'er lost a king of so much w orth. 

<3lo. En.gland ne'er had a king until his time. 
Virtue he had, deserving to command: 
His brandish'd swnrd did blind men witli his beams: 
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; 
His sparkling e.ves. replete with wrathful fire, 
.More dazzled and drove back his enemies, 
Thau mid-d.ay sun. fierce bent against their faces. 
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech: 
He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered. 
Hxe. We mourn in black: Why mourn we not in 
blood? 
Henry Is dead, and never shall revive: 



Upon a wooden coffin we attend; 
And death's dishonourable victory 
We with our stately presence glorify. 
Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
Wliat! shall we curse the planets of mishap. 
That plotted thus our glor.v's overthrow? 
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French 
Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, 
B.v magic verses liave contriv'd his end? 

'Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings. 
Unto the French the dreadful judgment day 
So dreadful will not be, as was his sight. 
The battles of the Lord of Hosts he fought: 
The church's pra.vers made him so prosperous. 

Glo. The church! where is it? Had not churchmen 
pra.v'd. 
His thread of life had not .so soon decay'd; 
None do you like but an effeminate prince. 
Whom, like a school-bo.v, you may over-awe. 

Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector; 
.\nd lookest to command the prince and realm. 
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe. 
More than God or religious churchmen ma,y. 

Glo. N.ame not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh; 
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st. 
Except it be to pray against thy foes. 

Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your minds 
in peace ! 



Let 's to the altar:— Heralds, wait on us.— 

Instead of gold, we 'U offer up our arms; 

Since arms avail not, now that Henry 's dead. 

Posterit.y, await for wretched .years, 

When at their mothers' moisten'd eyes babes shall 

suck; 
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, 
And none but women left lo wail the dead. 
Henry the fifth ! thy ghost I invocate; 
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! 
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! 
A far more glorious star thy soul will make. 
Than Julius Caesar, or bright 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. M.v lionourable lords, health to you all! 
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, 
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture: 
Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans, 
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. 
Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry 's 
corse? 
Speak .softly; or the loss of those great towns 
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. 

Glo. Is Paris lo.st? is Rouen yielded up? 
If Henry were recall'd to life again. 
These news would cause him once more yield the 
ghost. 



u 



160 



FIIiST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



(.Act I. 



Kre. How weri' they lost? what treachery wasus'd? 

Jl/css. No treaeheiv; but want of men and money. 
Amongst the soldiers this Is muttered,— 
That here voii maintain several Tactions; 
And. whilst a field should be (lespatch'd and fought, 
You are dlslnltiu^' o( vour tieuerals. 
One would have ilnii'riui; wars, wiih little cost; 
Another would flv swit't, but wauteth wmcs; 
A third man thinks, wltho\it expense at ail. 
By guileful fair words (leacc nu\y be obtain'd. 
Awake, awake, Enulisli nohiliiyl 
Let not sloth dim your lion.mi-s, new-begot; 
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms; 
Of England's coat one half is cut away. 

Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, 
These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. 

Bed. Me they eoncern; regent I am of France. 
Give nie my steeled coat, I Ml fight for France. 
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes! 
Wounds will I lend the French, instead of eyes. 
To -.veep their intermlssive miseries.' 
tMer another Messenger. 

2 Mess. Lords, view these. letters, full of bad mis- 

chance: 
France is revolted from the English quite; 
Except some petty towns of no Import: 
The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; 
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; 
Keigner, duke of Anjou, doth take his part; 
The duke of Alengon flielh to his side. 

£xe. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! 
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach? 

6lo. We will not flv, but to our enemies' throats:— 
Bedford, if thou be slack, I '11 fight it out. 

JBed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forward- 
ness? 
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts. 
Wherewith already France is overrun. 
Enter a third Messenger. 

3 jlfe.«s. My gracious lords,— to add to your laments, 
■Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, — 

I must inform you of a dismal flght. 
Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and thelrench. 

Win. What? wherein Talbot overcame? is 't so? 

3 il/ess. O, no; wherein lord TalViot was o'erthrown: 
The circumstance : '11 tell you more at large. 
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, 
Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 
Having full scarce six thousand in his troop. 
By three and twenty thousand of the French 
Was round encompassed and set upon: 
Uo leisure had he to enrank his men; 
He wanted pikes to set before his archers; 
Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges. 
They pitched in the ground confusedly. 
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 
More than three hours the flght continued; 
Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, 
Enacted wonders with liis sword and lance. 
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand hira; 
Here, there, and everywhere, enrag'd he flew: 
The French exclaim'd. The devil was in arms; 
All the whole army stood agaz'd on him: 
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, 
A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain. 
And rush'd into the Ijowels of the battle. 
Here had the conquest fully been seai'd up. 
If sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward; 
He being in the vaward, (plac'd behind. 
With purpose to relieve and follow them.) 
Cowardly fled, not having struck one .stroke. 
Hence grew the general wrack and massacre; 
Enclosed were they with their enemies: 
A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace, 
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the hack; 
Whom all France, with their chief assembled 

strength. 
Durst not presume to look once in the face. 

Bed. Is Talbot slain? tlien I will slay myself. 
For living idly here, in pomp and ease, 
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, 
Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd. 

3 Mess. O no, he lives; but is took prisoner. 
And lord Scales with him. and lord Hungerford: 
Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise. 

Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay: 
I '11 hale the Dauphin lieadlong from his throne, — 
His crown shall he the ransom of my friend; 
Four of their lords I '11 change for one of ours. 
Farewellj my masters; to my task will I; 
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make. 
To keep our great Saint George's feast withal: 
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take. 
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. 

3 Mess. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd; 
The English army is grown weak and faint: 
The earl of Salisbury craveth supply. 
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny. 
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 

Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn. 
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly. 
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 

Bed. lAo remember it; and here take my leave. 
To go about my preparation. [Exit. 

Glo. I '11 to the Tower, with all the haste I can. 
To view the artillery and munition; 
And then I will proclaim young Henry kin^. [Exit. 

E.re. To Eltham will I. wliere the young king is. 
Being ordain'd his special governor; 
And tor his safety there I '11 best devise. [E;rit, 

Win. Each hath his place and function to attend: 
I am left out; for me nothing remains. 
But long I will not be Jack-out-of-olflce; 
The king from Eltham I intend to steal. 
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. 

[Exit. Scene closes. 

Scene n.— France! Before Orleans. 

JCnteit Charles, with his Forces; Alenson, Reignier, 
and others. 

Char. Mara his true moving, even as in the 
heavens. 

So in the earth, to this day is not known: 

Late did he shine upon the English side; 

Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. 

What town:; of any moment but we have? ' 

At pleasure here we lie near Orleans; 

Otherwhlles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, 

i'alntly besiege us one hoin- in a month, 
Aten. They want their porridge and their fat bull- 
beeves: 



Either they must be dieted like mules, 

And have their provender tied to their mouth.s. 

Or piteous the.v will look, like drowned mice. 

Rcig. Let 's raise tiie siege: Why live we idly 
here? 
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: 
Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; 
.\nd he m.ay well in fretting spend his gall, 
Nor men nor money hath he to make war. 

Clinr. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on them. 
Now for the honour of the forlorn Frencli:— 
Him I forgive my death tiuit killeth me. 
When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. \ Exeunt. 

Alarums. They are beaten back by the English, with 
great loss. Re-enter Charles, Alenoon, Reignier, 
and others. 

Char. Who ever saw the like? what men have I?— 
Dogs! cowards! dastards! -I would ne'er have fled, 
But that they left me midst my enemies. 

Reig. Salisbury is a desperate liomicide; 
He fighteth as one weary of his life. 
The other lords, like lioiis wanting food. 
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. 

Alen. Froissart, a countryman of ours, records, 
England, all Olivers and Rowlands bred 
During the time Edward the third did reign. 
More truly now may this be verified; % 

For none but Samsons, and Goliasses, 
It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten! 
Lean raw-bon'd rascals! who would e'er suppose 
They had such courage and audacity? 

Char. Let 's leave this town; for they arc halr- 
brain'd slaves. 
And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: 
Of old I know them; rather with their teeth 
The walls they '11 tear down than forsake the siege. 

Reig. I think, by some odd gimmers or device. 
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on; 
Else ne'er coidd they liold out so as they do. 
By my consent, we 'U even let them alone. 

Alen. Be it so. 

Enter the Bastard of Oi-leans. 

Bast. Where 's the prince Dauphin? I have news 
for him. 

Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. 

Bast. Methinks your looks are sad, your cheer 
appall'd; 
Hath the late overthrow -ivrought this offence? 
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand: 
A holy maid hither with me I bring. 
Which, bj- a vision sent to her from heaven, 
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege. 
And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
The spirit of deep propliecy she hath, 
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome; 
What 's past, and what 's to come, she can descry. 
Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, 
For they are certain and nnfallible. 

Char. Go, call her In: [Exit Bastard] But, flrst, 
to try her skill, 
Reignier-, stand thou as Dauphin in my place: 
Question her proudly, let thy looks be .stern:— 
By tills means shall we sound what skill she hath. 

[Retires. 

Enter La Pucelle, Bastatd of Orleans, and others. 

Reig. Fair maid. Is 't thou wilt do these wond'rous 
feats? 

Puc. Reignier, is 't thou that thinkest to beguile 
me? 
Where is tlie Dauphin?— come, come from behind; 
I know thee well, though never seen before. 
Be not amaz'd, there is notliing hid from me: 
In private will I talk with thee apart;— 
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. 

Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. 

Pile. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, 
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. 
Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleas'd 
To shine on my contemptible estate: 
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs. 
And to sun's parehmg heat display'd my cheeks, 
God's mother deigned to appear to me; 
And, in a vision full of majesty, 
Will'd me to leave my base vocation. 
And tree n\y country from calamity; 
Her aid she pronils'd and assiir'd success: 
In complete glory she reveal'd herself; 
And, whereas I was black and swart before, 
With those clear rays which she infused on me. 
That beauty am I bless'd with.which you may see. 
Ask me what question 'hou canst possible. 
And I will answer unpremeditated: 
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st, 
And thou slialt find that I exceed my sex. 
Resolve on this: Thou shalt be fortunate 
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. 

Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high 
terms; 
Only this proof I '11 of thy valour make,— 
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me: 
And if thou vanqulshest, thy words are true; 
Otherwise I renounce all confidence. 

Puc. I am prepar'd: here is my keen-edg'd sword, 
Deck'd with five fiower-de-luces on each side; 
The which, at Touralne, in Saint Katherlne's church- 
yard, 
Oiit of a great deal of old iron I chose forth. 

Char. Then come o' God's name, I fear no woman. 

Puc. And, while I live, I '11 ne'er fly from a man. 

\They fight, and La Pucelle overcomes. 

Char. Stay, stay thy hands; thou art an Amazon, 
And flghtest with the sword of Deborah. 

Puc. Christ's motlier lieips me, else I were too weak. 

Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 't Is thou that must 
help me: 
Impatientl.v I burn with thy desire: 
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdued. 
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so. 
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be; 
'T is the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. 

Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love, 
For my profession 's sacred from above: 
When I nave chased all thy foes from hence, 
Then will I think Ufjon a recompense. 

Char. Meantime, look gracious on thy prostrate 
thrall. 

Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 

Aten. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her 
smociv; 
Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 

Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? 



Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do 
know: 
These women are shrewd tempters with their 
tongues. 

Reig. My lord, where arc you? whrt devise you on? 
Shall we give over Orleans, or no? 

Piic. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants ! 
Fight to the last gasp; I will be vour guard. 

Char. What she says I '11 confirm; we '11 fight It out. 

Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. 
This night the siege assuredly 1 '11 raise: 
Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days. 
Since f have entered into these wars. 
Glory is like a circle In the water. 
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself. 
Till, by broad spreading. It disperse to nought. 
With Henry's death the English circle ends; 
Dispersed are the glories it included. 
Now am I like that proud insulting ship. 
Which Cjesar and his fortune bare at once. 

Char. Was JIahomet inspired with a dove? 
Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 
Helen, the mother of great Constantino, 
Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. 
I Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth. 
How may I reverently worship thee enough? 

Aten. Leave off delavs, and let us raise the siege. 

Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our hon- 
ours; 
Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. 

Char. Presently we '11 try:— Come, let 's awav 
about it: 
No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt. 

Scene IIL— London. Hill before the Tower. 
Enter, at the gates, the Duke of Gloster, ivith his 

Serving-men, in blue coats. 
Glo. T am come to survey the Tower this da.y: 
Since Henry's death, I fear there is conveyance. 
Wliere be these warders, that they wait not here? 
Open the gates; 't is Gloster that calls. 

[Servants knock. 
I Ward. [WUhin.] Who 's there that knocks so im- 
periously? 
1 Sen: It is the noble duke of Gloster. 
? Ward. [Within.] Whoe'er he be, you may not be 

let 111. 
1 Serv. Villains, answer you so the lord protector? 
1 Ward. [Within.] The lord protect him! so we 
answer him : 
We do no otherwise than we are willed. 
Glo. Who willed you? or whose will stands but 
mine? 
There 's none protector of the realm but I. 
Break up the gates, I '11 be your warrantize: 
Sliall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms? 
Servants rush at the Tower gates. Enter to the 

gates, Woodville, the Lieutenant. 
Wood. [Within.] What noise is this? what traitors 

have we here? 
Glo. Lieutenant, is It you whose voice I hear? 
Open the gates; here 's Gloster that would enter. 
Wood. [Within.] Have patience, noble duke; I may 
not open; 
The cardinal of Winchester forbids: 
From him I have express commandment. 
That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in. 

Glo. Faint-hearted Wood ville, prizest him 'fore me? 
Arrogant Winchester, that haughty prelate. 
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook:^ 
Thou art no friend to God, or to the king: 
Open the gates, or I 'II shut thee out shortly. 

1 Sero. Open the gates unto the lord protector; 
Or we '11 burst them open, if that you come not 
- quickly. 

Enter Winchester, attended by a train of Servants 
in tawny coats. 

Win. Fqw now, ambitious Humphrey? what means 
this? 

Glo. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me to be 
shut out? 

Win. I do, thou most usurping prodltor, 
And not protector of the king, or realm. 

Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator; 
Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord; 
■That thou giVst whores indulgences to sin: 
I '11 canvass thee In thy broad cardinal's hat, 
If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 

Wi7i. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a 
foot; 
Tills be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
To slay thy brother Abel, If thou wilt. 

Glo. I will not slay thee, but I '11 drive thee back: 
Thy scarlet robes, as a child 's bearing cloth 
I '11 use, to carry thee out of this place. 

Win. Do what thou dar'st; I beard thee to thy face. 

Glo. What ! am I dar'd, and bearded to my face?- 
Draw, men, for all this privileged place; 
Blue-coats to tawny -coats. Priest, beware your 
beard; ' 

fGloster and his men attack the Bishop. 
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly; 
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat; 
111 spite of pope, or dignities of church. 
Here by the cheeks I '11 drag thee up and down. 

Win. Gloster, thou 'It answer this before the pope. 

Glo. Winchester goose: I cry— a rope! a rope! 
Now beat them hence: Why do you let shem stay?— 
Thee I '11 chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.— 
Out, tawny coats! — out, scarlet hypocrite! 
Here a great tumult. In the midst nf it, enter the 
Mayor of London, and Officers. 

May. Fie, lords! that you, being supreme magis- 
trates. 
Thus contumeliously should break the peace! 

Olo. Peace, mayor; thou know'st little of my 
wrongs. 
Here 's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. 

Win. Here 's Gloster, too, a foe to citizens; 
One that still motions war, and never peace, 
O'ercharging your free purses with large fines; 
"That seeks to overthrow religion. 
Because he is protector of the realm; 
And would have armour here outof the Tower, 
To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. 

Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but blows. 
\Hcre they skirmish again. 

May. Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous strife, 
But to make open proclamation:— 
Come, officer, as loud as e'er thou canst, cry. 



^ 



Scene iii.l 



FinST PAST OF KING HENRY VI. 



161 



Off. All manner of men, csnemhled here in artns 
thfs day, agamst God^s peace and the king^s, we 
charge and command i/tut, in his highness' name, to 
repair to your several direlling jffacrs; and not to 
tvear, handle, or itse, aitii strord, treapon, or dag- 
ger, henceforward, upon pain of death. 

Glo. Cardinal, I '11 be no breaker of the laws, 
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. 

Win. Gloster, we '11 meet; to thy dear cost, be 
sure: 
Thv heavt-blood I will have for this day's work. 

Mai/. 1 '11 call for clubs, it you will not away ;— 
This cardinal is more haughty than the devil. 



They may vex lis, with shot, or with assault. 

To intercept this inconvenience, 

A piece of ord.ince 'Kninst it I have plac'd; 

And fully even these three days iiave I waieii'd 

If 1 could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch, 

For I can stay no longer. 

It thou spy'st any, run and bring me word; 

And tliou Shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit. 

Son. Father, I warrant you; take you no care; 
I '11 never trouble you if I may spy them. » 

Enter, in an ttpper chamber of a- tower, the Lords 
Sall.sbury and Talbot, Sir William Glandsdale, Sir 
Thomas Gargrave, and others. 
Sal. Talbot, my life, my ,ioy, again return'd! 



In iron walls they deem'd me not secure; 

So great fear of my name 'inongst them was spread, 

That they .suppos'd I eoiikl rend bars of steel, 

Andspurn in pieces jmsts of adamant: 

Wherefore a guard of eliosen shot I had, 

That walk'ii alxnit nie ivirv niiiiute-whlle; 

And if I (lid liut sUrnut oliny lied. 

Ready tliey were to sliiioi nic to the heart. 

Sal. I grieve to hear wliat torments you endur'd; 
But we will be reveng'd suffleiently. 
Now it is supper-time in Orleans: 
Here, through this grate, I count each one, 
And view the Frenclimen hovv they fortify; 
Let us look in, the .sight will much delight thee. 
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, 




{King Henry T'.] 



K. Hen. And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. 
Kath. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France? 



[act v. — SCENE 11.] 



Glo. Mayor, farewell: thou dost but what thou 

may'st. 
Win. Abominable Gloster! guard thy head; 
Tor I intend to have it, ere long. [Exe.nnt. 

May. See the coast elear'd, and then we will de- 
part.— 
Good God! that nobles should such stomachs bear! 
1 myself light not once in forty year. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— France. Before Orleans. 

Enter, on the walls, the Master-Gunner, and his 
Son. 
M. (run. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is be- 
sieg'd. 
And how the English have the suburbs won. 

Soti. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, 
Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim. 
M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by 
me: 
Chief master-gunner am I of this town; 
Something I must do to procure me grace. 
The prince's espials have informed me. 
How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, 
Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars 
In yonder tower, to overpeer the city; 
And thence discover, how, with most advantage. 



How wert thou handled, being prisoner? 

Or by what means gott'st thou to be releas'd? 

Discourse, I prithee, on this turret's top. 

Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner. 
Called the brave lord Ponton de SantraiUes, 
For him was I exchang'd and ransomed. 
But with a baser man of arms by far. 
Once, In contempt, they would have barter'd me; 
Which I, disdaining, suorn'd; and craved death. 
Rather than I would be so vile-esteem'd. 
In fine, redeem'd X was as I desir'd. 
But, O! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart! 
Whom with my hare fists I would execute. 
If I now had him brought into my power. 

Sal. Yet tell'st thou not how thou wertentertain'd. 

Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious 
taunts. 
In open market-place produc'd they me. 
To be a public spectacle to all: 
Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
The scarecrow that affi'ights our children so. 
Then broke I from the officers that led me; 
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground. 
To hurl at the beholders of my shame. 
My grisly countenance made others fly; 
None durst come near, for fear of sudden death. 



Let me have your express opinions. 

Where is best place to make our battery next. 

Gar. I think, at the north gate; for there stand 
lords. 

Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of tlie bridge. 

Tal. For aught I see, this cit.v must be famish'd. 
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. 

[Shot from the town. Salisbury and 
Sir Tho. Gargrave /ai7. 

Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! 

Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! 

Tal. What chance, is this that suddenly hath 
cross'd us? 
Speak, Salisbury; at least, if thou canst speak; 
Hovv far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? 
One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off!— 
Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand, 
That hatli contriv'd this woeful tragedy! 
In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame; 
Henry the fifth he first/ train'd to the wars; 
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up, 
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. 
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth 

fail. 
One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace: 
The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. 



162 



FIRST PART OF A'lA'C^ HENRY VI. 



LACT II. 



Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive 
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hand! 
Bear henne his body, I will help to bury It. 
Sir Thomas Gargravc, hiist thou any life? 
Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to nira. 
saiisDury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort; 

Thou Shalt not die whiles 

He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me; 
AS who should say, ' When I am dead and gone 
Remember to avenge me on the French.'— 
Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, 
Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: 
Wretched shall France be only in my name. 

[T/iHwder heard; aftenoardx an alarum. 
What stir is this? What tumult 's in the heavens? 
Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise? 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have gather'd 
head: 
The Dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle joln"d,— 
A holy prophetess, new risen up, — 
Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 

[Salisbury groans. 

Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan! 
It Irks his heart he cannot be reveng'd.— 
Frenchmen, I '11 be a Salisbury to you: 
Pucelle or puzzel, dolphin or dogfish. 
Your hearts I '11 stamp out with my horse's heels. 
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. 
Convey me Salisbury Into his tent. 
And then we '11 try what these dastard Frenchmen 
dare. [Exeunt, bearing out the bodies. 

Scene V.—The same. Before one of the gates. 

Alarum. Skirmishings. Enter Talbot pursuing the 
Dauphin, drives him in and e.rit; then enter La 
Pucelle, driving' Englishmen before her, and exit 
after them. Then re-enter Talbot. 

Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my 
force? 
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them; 
A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. 

Enter La Pucelle. 
Here, here she comes:— I '11 have a bout with thee; 
Devil, or devil's dam, I '11 conjure thee: 
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch. 
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. 

Puc. Come, come, 't is only I that must disgrace 
thee. [.Tliev fight. 

Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail? 
My breast I '11 burst with straining of my courage, 
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. 
But J will chastise this high-minded strumpet. 

Phc. Talbot, farewell; thy hour is not yet come: 
1 must go victual Orleans forthwith. 
O'ertake me, it thou canst; I scorn thy strength. 
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men; 
Help Salisbury to make his testament: 
This day is ours, as many more shall be. 

[Pucelle enters the Town, with Soldiers. 

Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel; 
I know not where I am, nor what I do: 
A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, 
Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists: 
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench. 
Are from their hives and houses driven away. 
They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs; 
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 

\A short alarum. 
Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight, 
Or tear the lions out of England's coat; 
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: 
Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf. 
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard, 
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. 

{Alarum. Another skirmish. 
It will not be: — Retire into your trenches: 
You all consented unto Salisbury's death. 
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge.— 
Pucelle is euter'd into Orleans, 
In spite of us, or aught that we could do. 
O, would I were to die with SalisbuiT 1 
The shame hereof will make me hide my head ! 

[Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and his 
Forces, d:c. 

Scene VI.—The same. 

Enter, on the walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reignler, 
Alencon, and Soldiers. 

Puo. Advance our waving colours on the walls; 
Rescued is Orleans from the English wolves:— 
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 

Char. Divinest creature, bright Astraea's daughter, 
How shall I honour thee for this success? 
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, 
That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next. — 
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess !— 
Recover'dis the town of Orleans: 
More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 

Reig. Why ring not out the bells aloud through- 
out the town? 
Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires. 
And feast and banquet in the open streets. 
To celebrate the Joy that God hath given us. 

Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and 
doy, 
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. 

Char. 'T is Joan, not we, by whom the day Is won; 
For which, I will divide my crown with her: 
And all the priests and friars in my realm 
Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise. 
A statelier pyramls to her I '11 rear. 
Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was: 
In memory other, when she is dead. 
Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
Than the rich jewell'd coffer of Darius, 
Transported shall be at high festivals 
Before the kings and queens of France. 
No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry. 
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
Come in: and let us banquet royally. 
After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exe. 

ACTIL 

Scene L—Orleans. 

Er\ter to the gates, a French Sergeant, and Two 

Sentinels. 
Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant: 
If any noise, or soldier, you perceive 



Near to the walls, by some apparent sign 
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 
1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant.] 

Thus are poor servitors 
(Whan others sleep upon their quiet beds) 
Constraln'd to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. 

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, and Forces, with 
scaling ladders; their drutns beating a dead 
m^rch. 

Tal. Lord Regent, and redoubted Burgundy,— 
By whose approach, the regions of Artols, 
Walloon, and Picard.v, are friends to us,— 
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, 
Having ail day carous'd and banqueted: 
Embi'ace we then this oppoitunity; 
As fitting best to quittance their deceit, 
Contrlv'd by art and baleful 8orcer.v. 

Bed. Coward of Francel— how much he wrongs his 
fame, 
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, 
To join with witches, and the help of hell. 

B%ir. Traitors have never other company. 
But what 's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure? 

Tal. A maid, they sav. 

Bed. A maid! and be so martial? 

Bur. Pray God she prove not masculine ere long; 
If underneath the standard of the French, 
She carry armour, as she hath begun. 

Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with 
spirits: 
God is our fortress; in whose conquering name 
Let us resolve to scale their flinty oulwarks. 

Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. 

Tal. Not all together: better far, I guess. 
That we do make our entrance several ways; 
That if it chance the one of us do tail. 
The other yet may rise against their force. 

Bed. Agreed; 1 '11 to yon corner. 

Bur. And I to this. 

Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his 
grave. 
Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right 
Of English Henry, shall this night appear 
How much in duty I am bound to both. 

[The English scale the walls, crying St George! 
a Talbot! andall enter by the Town. 

Sent. [Within.] Arm, arm! the enemy doth make 
assault! 
The French leap over the ivalls in their shirts. Enter 

several ways, Bastai'd, Alenson, Reignler, half 

ready, and half unready. 

Alen. How now, my lords? what, all unready so? 

Bast. Unready? ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well. 

Reig. "I was time, I trow, to wake and leave our 
beds. 
Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. 

Alen. Of all exploits, since first IfoUow'd arms. 
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprise 
More venturous or desperate than this. 

Bast. I think this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 

Reig. It not of hell, the heavens sure favour him. 

Alen. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped. 
Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 

Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. 

Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? 
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal. 
Make us partakers of a little gain. 
That now our loss might be ten times so much? 

Puc. Wherefore is Charles Impatient with his 
friend? 
At all times will you have my power alike? 
Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail. 
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? 
Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been good. 
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. 

Char. Duke of Alengon, this was your default; 
That, being captain of the watch to-night. 
Did look no better to that weighty charge. 

Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept 
As that whereof I had the government, 
We had not been thus shamefully surpris'd. 

Bast. Mine svas secure. 

Reig. And so was mine, my lord. 

Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night. 
Within her quarter, and mine own precinct, 
I was employ'd in passing to and fro. 
About relieving of the sentinels: 
Then how, or which way, should they first break in? 

Pue. Question, ray lords, no further of the case. 
How, or which way; 't is sure, they found some place 
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. 
And now there rests no other shift but this, — 
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers.'d. 
And lay new platforms to endamage them. 
Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying a Talbot ; 

a Talbot ! They fly, leaving their clothes behind. 

Sold. I '11 be so bold to take what they have left. 
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; 
For I have loaden me with many spoils. 
Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. 

Scene II.— Orleans. Within the Town. 

Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, 
and others. 

Bed. The day begins to break, and night Is fled. 
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. 
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 

[Retreat sounded. 

Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury; 
And here advance it in the market-place. 
The middle centre of this cursed town. 
Now have I paid my vow unto his soul; 
For every drop of blood was drawn from him. 
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. 
And, that hereafter ages may behold 
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, 
Withm their chiefest temple I '11 erect 
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd; 
Upon the which, that every one may read. 
Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans; 
The treacherous manner of his mournful death, 
And what a terror he had been to France. 
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
I muse we met not with the Dauphin's grace. 
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc, 
Nor any of his false confederates. 

Bed. 'T is thought, lord Talbot, when the fight be- 
gan, 
Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds. 
They did, amongst the troops of armed men. 



I-eap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 

Bur. Myself (as far as 1 could discern. 
For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night,) 
Am sure I scar'd the Dauphin, and his trull; 
When arm in anu tney both came swiftly running. 
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves 
That could not live asunder day or night. 
After that things are set in order here. 
We '11 follow them with all the power we have. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. All hail, my lords! which of this princely 
train 
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts 
So much applauded through the realm of Erance? 

Tal. Here is the Talbot; who would speak with 
him? 

Me.<is. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, 
With modesty admiring thy renown. 
By me entreats, great lord, thou would'st vouchsafe 
To visit her poor castle where she lies; 
That she may boast she hath beheld the man 
Whose glory fills the world with loud report. 

Bur. Is it even so? Nay, then, I see our wars 
Will turn unto a peaceful comic sport. 
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. 
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 

Tal. Ne'er trust me then; for, when a world of 
men 
Could not prevail with all their oratory. 
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd: 
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks; 
And in submission will attend on her. 
Will not your honours bear me comnany? 

Bed. No, truly; it is more than manners will: 
And I have heard it said,— Unbidden guests 
Are often welcomest when they are gone. 

Tal. Well then, alone, (since there 's no remedy,) 
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
Come hither, captain. [Whtspers.i— Yon perceive my 
mind. 

Capt. I do, my lord; and mean accordingly. [Exe. 

Scene III.— Auvergne. Court of the Castle. 
Enter the Countess and her Porter. 

Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge; 
And when you have done so, bring the keys to me. 

Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Count. The plot is laid: if all things fall out right, 
I shall as famous be by this exploit 
As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death. 
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight. 
And his achievements of no less account: 
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears. 
To give their censure of these rare reports. 
Enter Messenger and Talbot. 

Mefs. Madam, 
According as your ladyship desir'd. 
By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. 

Count. And he is welcome. What ! is this the man? 

Mess. Madam, it is. 

Count. Is this the scourge of France? 

Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad. 
That with his name the mothers still their babes? 
I see report is fabulous and false: 
I thought I should have seen some Hercules, 
A second Hector, for his grim aspect. 
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs 
Alas ! this is a child, a silly dwarf: 
It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp 
Should strike such terror to his enemies. 

Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you: 
But since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
I '11 sort some other time to visit you. 

Count. What means he now?— Go ask him whither 
he goes. 
Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot: for my lady craves 
To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 

Tal. Marry, for that she 's in a wrong belief, 
I go to certify her Talbot's here. 

Re-enter Porter, with keys. 

Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 

Tal. Prisoner! to whom? 

Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord; 

And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me. 
For in my gallery thy picture hangs: 
But now thy substance shall endure the like; 
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine. 
That hast by tyranny, these many years. 
Wasted our country, slain our citizens. 
And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 

Tal. Ha, ha, ha! 

Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall 
turn to moan. 

Tal. I laugh to see your la<lyship so fond. 
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow 
Whereon to practise your severity. 

Count. Why, arc not thou the man? 

Tal. I am, indeed. 

Count. TJ\en have I substance too. 

Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: 
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here; 
For what you see is but the smallest part 
And least proportion of hunmnity: 
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here 
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch. 
Your roof were not sulHcient to contain it. 

Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; 
He will be here, and .yet he is not here: 
How can these contrarieties agree? 

Tal. That will I show you presently. 
[He «ii>«ls a horn. Drums heard; then a Peal of 

Ordnance. The gates being forced, enter Soldiers. 
How say you, madam? are you now persuaded 
That Talbot is biit shadow of himself-? 
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength 
With which he yoketh your rebellioas necks; 
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns. 
And in a moment makes them desolate. 

Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse: 
I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited, 
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; 
For I am sorry, that with reverence 
I did not entertain thee as thou art. 

Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconster 
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
The outward composition of his body., 
What you have done hath not offended me: 
Nor o( her satisfaction do I crave. 
But only (with your patience) that we may 



, 



Scene hi.] 



FIBST PAIir OF KING HENRY VI. 



163 



I 



Taste of your wine, and see what cates you liave; 
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 

Count. With all my heart; and think me honoured 
To feast so great-a warrior in my house. \ Exeunt. 

Scene rv.— London. The Temple Garden. 

Enter the EaHs o/ Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; 
Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and another Lawyer. 

Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this 
silence? 
Dare no man answer in a case of truth? 

Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud; 
The garden here is more convenient. 

Plan. Tlien say at once, If I maintain the truth; 
Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error? 

Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law; 
And never yet could frame my will to it; 
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. 

^m. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be- 
tween us. 

War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher 
pitch. 
Between two dogs, which hath the deepermouth. 
Between two blades, which bears the better temper. 
Between two horses, which doth bear him best. 
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye, 
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment: 
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law. 
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 

Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: 
The truth appears so naked <m my side, 
That an.y purblind eye may find it out. 

Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
So clear, so shining, and so evident. 
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 

Plan. Since you are tongue-tied, and so loath to 
speak. 
In dumb'signillcants proclaim your thoughts: 
Let him that is a true-born gentleman. 
And stands upon the honour of his birth. 
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth. 
From off this brier pluck a wiiite rose with me. 

Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer. 
But dare maintain the party of the truth. 
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 

War. I love no colours; and, without all colour 
Of base insinuating flattery, 
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. 

Suf. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset; 
And say withal, I think he held the right, 

Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen; and pluck no 
more. 
Till you conclude— that he upon whose side 
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree. 
Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 

Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected; 
If I have fewest I subscribe in silence. 

Plan. And I. 

Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, 
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here. 
Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 

Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; 
Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red. 
And fall on my side so against your will. 

Ver. It I, my lord, for my opinion bleed. 
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt. 
And keep me on the side where still I am. 

Som. Weil, well, come on; Who else? 

iMw. Unless my study and my books be false, 
The argument you held was wrong in you; 

[To Somerset. 
In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. 

Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your aigument? 

Som. Here in my scabbard; meditating that 
Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. 

Plan. Meantime, your cheeks do counterfeit our 
roses; 
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
The truth on our side. 

Som. No, Plantagenet, 

'T is not for fear, but anger,— that thy cheeks 
Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses; 
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 

Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? 

Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? 

Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his 
truth; 
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 

Som. Well, I '11 find friends to wear my bleeding 
roses. 
That shall maintain what I have said is true, 
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 

Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, 
I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. 

Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. 

Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and 
thee. 

Suf. I '11 turn my part thereof into thy throat. 

Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole! 
We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. 

War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, 
Somerset; 
His grandfather was Lionel duke of Clarence, 
Third son to the third Edward king of England; 
Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root? 

Plan. He bears them on the place's privilege. 
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 

Som. By him that made me, I '11 maintain my 
words 
On any plot of ground in Christendom: 
Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge, 
For treason executed in our late king's days? 
And, by his treason, stand'st thou not attainted, 
Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry? 
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood; 
And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman. 

Plan. My father was attached, not attainted; 
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; 
And that I '11 prove on better men than Somerset, 
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. 
For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, 
I' 11 note you in my book of memory. 
To scourge you for this apprehension: 
Look to it well; and say you are well warn'd. 

Som. Ay, thou Shalt find us readv for thee still: 
And know us, by these colours, for thy foes; 
For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. 

Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, 
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, 
Will I forever, and my faction, wear; 
Until it wither with me to my gi-ave, / 

Or flourish to the height of my degree. 



Suf Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition! 
And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. 

Som. Have with tliee, Poole.— Farewell, ambitious 
Richard. [Exit. 

Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce endure 
it! 

War. This blot, that they object against your 
house. 
Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, 
Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gioster: 
And, if thou be not then created York, 
I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 
Meantime, in signal of my love to thee. 
Against proud Somerset and VVilliam Poole, 
Will I upon thy party wear tliis rose: 
.i.nd here I prophesy,- This brawl today. 
Grown to thi?i faction, in the Temple garden, 
Shall send, between the red rose and the white, 
A thousand souls to death and deadly night. 

Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you, 
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower. 

Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. 

Lair. And so will I. 

Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. 

Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say 
This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exe. 

ScE.NE v.— The same. A Boom in the Tower. 

Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair by two 
Keepers. 

Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age. 
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. 
Even like a man new haled from the rack. 
So fare m.y limbs with long Imprisonment; 
And these gray locks, the pursuivants of death, 
Nestor-like aged, in an age of care. 
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. 
Tliese eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent. 
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent: 
Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'nlng grief; 
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
That cjroops his sapless branches to the ground: 
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb. 
Unable to support this lump of clay. 
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave. 
As witting I no other comfort have. 
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? 

1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, ra.v lord, will come: 
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber; 
And answer was return'd, that he will come. 

Mo:: Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied. 
Poor gentleman ! Ills wrongdoth equal mine. 
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
(Before whose glory I was great in arms,) 
This loathsome sequestration have I had; 
And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, 
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance: 
But now, ihe arbitrator of despairs. 
Just death, kind umpire of men'sjmiseries. 
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence 
I would his troubles likewise were expir'd, 
That so he might recover what was lost. 
Enter Richard Plantagenet. 

1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. 

Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he 
come? 

Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd. 
Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes. 

Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, 
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: 
0, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks, 
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. 
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great 

stock. 
Why didst thou say— of late thou wert despis'd? 

Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine 
arm; 
And, in that ease, I '11 tell thee my disease. 
This day. In argument upon a ease. 
Some words there grevv 'twixt Somerset and me: 
Among which terms, he us'd his lavish tongue. 
And did upbraid me with my fatlier's death; 
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue. 
Else with the like I had requited him: 
Therefore, good uncle,— for my father's sake. 
In honour of a true Plantagenet, 
And for alliance' sake,— declare the cause 
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 

Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me. 
And hath detain'd me, all my llow'ring youth, 
Within a loathsome dimgeon, there to pine. 
Was cursed instrument of his decease. 

Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was; 
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. 

Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit. 
And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
Heni-y the fourth, grandfather to this king, 
Depos'd his nephew Richard,— Edward's son. 
The flrst-begotten, and the lawful heir 
Of Edward king the third of that descent: 
During whose reign, tiie Perciesof tlie north. 
Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne 
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this. 
Was— for that (young king Richard thus remov'd. 
Leaving no heir begotten of his body) 
I was the next by birth and parentage. 
For by my mother I derived am 
From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son 
To king Edward the third, whereas he 
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, 
Being but fourth of that heroic line. / 

But mark; as, in this haughty great attempt. 
They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 
I lost my liberty, and they their lives. 
Long after this, when Henry the fifth. 
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign. 
Thy father, earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd 
From famous Ednmnd Langley, duke of York, 
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, 
Again, in pity of my hard distress, 
Levied an army; weening to redeem. 
And have instali'd me in the diadem: 
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl. 
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. 

Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last. 

ilfoj-. True; and thou seest that I no issue have; 
And that my fainting words do warrant death: 
Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather; 
And yet be wary in thy studious care. 

Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me: 



But yet, methinks, my father's execution 
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic; 
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
And, like a mountain, not to lie remov'd. 
But now th.v uncle is removing hence; 
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
With long continuance in a settled place. 

Plan. O uncle, would some part oimy young years 
Might but redeem the passage of your age ! 

Mor. Thou dost then wrong me; as the slaught'rer 
doth. 
Which giverh many woimds when one will kill. 
Mourn not, except thou soitow for my good; 
Only, give order for my funeral; 
And so farewell; and fair be all thy hopes ! 
And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war! [Dien. 

Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul ! 
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, 
And like a hermit overpass'd tliy days. 
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; 
And what I do imagine, let that rest. 
Keepers, convey him hence: and I myself 
Will see his burial better than his life. 

[Exeunt Keepers, bearing out Mortimer. 
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, 
Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort. 
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries. 
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house, 
I doubt not but with honour to redress: 
And therefore haste I to the parliament; 
Either to be restored to my liiood. 
Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit 

ACT in. 
Scene I.— London. The Parliament-House. 

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter. Gioster, War. 

wick, Somerset, and Suffolk; the Bishop of Win- 
chester, Richard Plantagenet, and others. Gioster 

offers to put up a bill; Winchester snatehes it, and 

tears it. 
' Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines. 
With written phamphlets studiously devis'd, 
Humphrey of Gioster? if thou canst accuse, 
Or aught iutend'st to lay unto my charge, 
Do it without invention suddenly; 
As I with sudden and extemporal speech 
Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 

Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands 
my patience. 
Or thou should'st find thou has dishonour'd me. 
Think not, althcnigli in writing I preferr'd 
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, • 
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able 
Verbatim to reheai'se the method of my pen: 
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, 
Tliy iewd.pestiferious, and dissentlous pranks 
As every infants prattle of thy pride. 
Thou art a most pernicious usurer; 
Froward by nature, enemy to peace; 
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
A man of thy profession and degree; 
And for thy treacher.y, what 's more manifest? 
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life. 
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower? 
Besides, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted. 
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 

Win. Gioster, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe 
To give me hearing what I shall reply. 
If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, 
As he will have me, how am I so poor? 
Or how haps It I seek not to advance 
Or raise myself, btit keep my wonted calling? 
And for dissension, Avho preferreth peace 
More than I do, — except I be provok'd? 
No, my good lords, it is not that offends; 
It is not that that hath incens'd the duke: 
It is, because no one should sway but he; 
No one but he should be about the king; 
And that engenders thunder in his breast, 
And makes him roar these accusations forth. 
But he shall know, I am as good 

Olo. As good? 

Thou bastard of my grandfather!— 

Win. Ay, lordly sir: For what are you, I pray. 
But one imperious in another's throne? 

Glo. Am I not pi'otector, saucy priest? 

Win. And am I not a prelate of the church? 

Olo. Yes, as au outlaw in a castle keeps. 
And useth it to patronage his theft. 

Win. Unreverent Gioster! 

Glo. Thou art reverent. 

Touching thy spii-itual function, not thy life. 

Win. Rome shall remedy this. ' 

War. Roam thither then. 

Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 

War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 

Sovi. Methinks, my lord should be religious. 
And know the office that belongs to such. 

War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler; 
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. 

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. 

War. State hol.v, or unhallow'd, what of that? 
Is not his grace protector to the king? 

Plav. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue; 
Lest it be said, ' Speak, sirrah, when you should; 
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?" 
Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside. 

K. Sen. Uncles of Gioster, and of Winchester, 
The special watchmen of our English weal, 
I would prevail, if prayei-s might prevail. 
To join your hearts in love and amity. 
O, what a scandal is it to ourcrowu. 
That two such noble peers as ye should jar! 
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell. 
Civil dissension is a viperous worm 
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.— 

[A noise within; ' Down with the tawny coats!' 
What tumult 's this? 

War. An uproar, I dare warrant. 

Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 

[A noise again; 'Stones! Stones.'' 
Enter the Mayor of London, attended. 

May. O, my good lords,— and virtuous Henry,— 
Pity the city of London, pity us! 
The bishop and the duke of Gloster'smen, 
Forbidden late to carry any weapon, 
Have fiU'd their pockets full of pebble-stones: 
And banding themselves in contrary parts. 
Do pelt so fast atone another's pate, 



164 



FIJiST PART OF KING lIEXIiY Vl. 



LAcT III. 



That many li<ave their glddv l)rains knock'd out: 
Our windows are broke down in every street. 
And we, for fear, conipeil'd to shut our sliops. 

ilnter, skirmishing, the Ketainers o/ Gloster and 
Wlncliester, with bloody pates. 

K. Hen. AVe cliarge you, on allegiance to ourSelf, 
To hold your <laught'ring hands, and keep the 

peace. 
Prav, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 

1 Sen: Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we'll fall 
to it with our teeth. 

2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. 

[Skii-mish again. 
Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil. 
And set this unaccustom'd light aside. 

3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man 
Just and upright; and, for your royal birth, 
Inferior to none but to his majesty: 

And ere that we will suffer such a prince, 
So kind a father of the commonweal, . 
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, 
We, and our wives, and children, all will light. 
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes. 

1 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails 
Shall pitch a Held, when we are dead. 

[Skirmish again. 

Glo. Stay, stay, 1 say! 

And, if you love me, as you say you do. 
Let me persuade vou to forbear la while. 

K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul! 
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold 
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent? 
Who should be pitiful, if yoil be not? 
Or who should study to prefer a peace. 
If holy churchmen take delight in broils? 

War. Yield, my lord protector;— yield, Winches- 
ter;— 
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, 
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. 
You see what mischief, and wliat murder too. 
Hath been enacted through your enmity; 
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 

Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. 

Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop; 
Or I would see his heart out ere the priest 
Should ever get that privilege of me. 

War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the dv.ke 
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury. 
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: 
Why look you still so stern and tragical? 

Glo. Here. Winchester, I offer thee my hand. 

K. Hen. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you 
preach 
That malice was a great and grievous sin: 
And win not you maintain the thing you teach. 
But prove a chief offender in the same? 

War. Sweet king!— the bishop hath a kindly gird.— 
For shame, mj' lord of Winchester! relent; 
What, shall a child instruct you what to do? 

Win. Well, duke of Gloster, 1 will yield to thee: 
Love tor thy love, and hand for hand I give. 

Glo. Ay; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart. 
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen; 
This token serveth for a flag of truce. 
Betwixt ourselves and all our followers; 
So help me God, as I dissemble not! 

Win. So help me God, as I intend it not! [Aside. 

K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, 
How joyful am I made by this contract! 
Away, my masters! trouble us no more; 
But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 

1 Serv. Content; I '11 to the surgeon's. 

2 Serv. And so will I. 

3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern 

affords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, i£-c. 

War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign; 
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet 
We do exhibit to your majesty. 

Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick;— for, sweet 
prince. 
An if your grace mark every circumstance. 
You have great reason to do Richard right: 
Especially, for those occasions 
At Eltham-place I told your majesty. 

K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force: 
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is 
That Richard be restored to his blood. 

War. Let Richard be restored to his blood; 
So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. 

Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester. 

K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone. 
But all tlie whole Inheritance I give 
That doth belong unto the house of York, 
From whence you spring by lineal descent. 

Plan. Thy humble servant vows obedience, ^ 

And humble service, till the point of death. 

K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against my 
foot: 
And, in reguerdon of that duty done, 
I girt thee with the valiant sword of York: 
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet; 
And rise created princely duke of York. 

Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall ! 
And as my duty springs, so perish they 
That grudge one thought against your majesty! 

All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of 
York! 

Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York! 

I Aside. 

Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty 
To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France: 
The presence of a king engenders love 
Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends; 
As it disanimates his enemies. 

K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Henry 
goes: 
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 

Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. 

[Sennet. Flourisli. J:'xeunt all but Exeter. 

Exe. Ay, we may march in England, or in France, 
Not seeing what is likely to ensue: 
This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers, 
Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love. 
And will at last break out into a flame: 
As fester'd members rot but by degree. 
Till bone.s, and flesh, and sinews, fall away, 
So will this base and envious discord breed. 
And now I fear that fatal prophecv. 
Which, In the time of Henry nam'd the fifth. 
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe,— 
That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all; 
And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all: 



Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish 

His days may finish ere that hapless time. [E.vit. 

Scene II.— France. Before Rouen. 

Enter La Pucelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed 
like Countrymen, with sacks upon their backs. 

Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, 
Througli which our policy must make a breach: 
Take heed, be wary how you place your words; 
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men 
That come to gather money for their corn. 
If we have entrance, (as I hope we shall,) 
And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
I '11 by a sign give notice to our friends. 
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. 

1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, 
And we be lords and rulers over Rouen; 
Therefore we '11 knock. [Knocks. 

Guard. [Within. J Qui est la? 

Puc. Paisans, pauvres gens de France: 
Poor market-folks that come to sell their corn. 

Guard. Enter, go in; the market-bell is rung. 

[ Opens the gates. 

Puc. Now, Rouen, I '11 shake thy bulwarks to the 
ground. 

[Pucelle, d-c, enter the city. 
Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, Alencon, 
and Forces. 

Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem ! 
And once again we '11 sleep secure in Rouen. 

Bast. Fere enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants; 
Now she is there, ho w will she specify 
Where is the best and safest passage in? 

Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower; 
Which, once discern'd, shows that her meaning 

is,— • 
No way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. 

Enter La Pucelle on a battlement: holding out a 
' torch burning. 

Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch. 
That joineth Rouen unto her countrymen; 
But burning fatal to the Talbotites. 

Bast. See, noble Charles! the beacon of our friend, 
The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 

Cliar. Now shine It like a comet of revenge, 
A prophet to the fall of all our foes! 

Alen. Defer no time: Delays have dangerous 
ends; 
Enter, and cry—' The Dauphin" presently. 
And then do execution on the watch. [They enter. 
Alarums. Enter Talbot, and certain English. 

Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with tny 
tears. 
If Talbot but survive thy treachery. 
Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress. 
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares. 
That hardly we eseap'd the pride of France. 

[Exeunt to the toxvn. 
Alarum. Excursions. Enter, from the town, Bed- 
ford, brought in sick, in a chair, u-ith Talbot, 

Burgundy, and the English Forces. Then, enter on 

the walls, La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard, Alenjon, 

and others. 

Puc. Good morrow, gallants! want ye com for 
bread? 
I think the duke of Burgundy will fast. 
Before he '11 buy again at such a rate; 
'T was full of darnel: Do you like the taste? 

Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and .shameless courtesan! 
I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own. 
And moke thee curse the harvest of that corn. 

Cliar. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before th&t 
time. 

Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this trea- 
son! 

Pue. What will you do, good grey-beard? break a 
lance. 
And run a tilt at death within a chair? 

Tal. ioul fiend of France, and hag of all despite, 
Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours, 
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age. 
And twit with cowardice a man half dead? 
Damsel, I '11 have a bout with you again, 
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 

Puc. Are you so hot, sir? Yet, Pucelle, hold thy 
peace; 
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. 

[Talbot, and the 7-est, consult together. 
God speed the parliament \ who shall be thespeaker? 

Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us In the field? 

P((c. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, 
To try if tliat our own be ours, or no. 

Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
Bvit unto thee, Alenson, and the rest; 
Will ye, like soldiers, come and flglit it out? 

Alen. Signlor, no. 

Tal. Signior, hang !— base muleteers of France ! 
J.Ike peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls. 
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 

Puc. Awaj', captains: let 's get us from the walls; 
For Talbot means no goodness by his looks. 
God be wi' you, my lord ! we came but to tell you 
•That we are here. 
I [^lixejint La Pucelle, <Si-c.,from the walls. 

I Tal. And there will we be too, ere It be long. 
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! 
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house, 
(Prick'd on by public wrongs sustain'd In France,) 
Either to get the town again, or die: 
And I, as sure as English Henry lives. 
And as his father here was conqueror: 
As sure as In this late-betrayed town 
Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried; 
So sure I swear, to get tlie town or die. 

Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows. 

Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince. 
The valiant duke of Bedford:- Come, my lord. 
We will bestow you in some better place. 
Fitter for sickness and for crazy age. 

Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me: 
Here will I sit before the walls of Rouen, 
And will be partner of your weal or woe. 

Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade 
you. 

Bed. Not to be gone from hence; for once I read, 
That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick. 
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes: 
Methinks I should revive the .soldier's hearts, 
Because lever found them as myself. 

Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast!— 



Then be it so:— Heavens keep old Bedford safe!- 
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 
But gather we our forces out of hand. 
And set upon our boasting enemy. 

[Eo:eunt Burgundy, Talbot, and forces, 
leaving Bedford and otiiers. 

Alarum: Excursions. Enter Sir John Fastolfe, and 
a Captain. 

Cap. Whither awa.y, sir John Fastolfe, in such 
haste? 

Fa.it. Whither away? to s^ve myself by flight. 
We are like to have the overthrow again. 

Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? 

Fast. Av. 

All the Talbots in the world, to .save my life. [E.cit. 

Cap. Cowardly knight! Ill fortune follow thee! [Ex. 

Retreat: E.reursions. Enter, from, the town, L?, 
Pucelle, Alengon, Charles, if-c, and exeunt flying. 

Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please; 
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
What is the trust or strength of foolish man? 
Ihey, that of late were daring with their .scoffs. 
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 

[Dies, and is carried off in his chair. 

Alarum: Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and others. 

Tal. Lost, and recover'd In a day again! 
This Is a double honour. Burgundy: 
Yet heavens have glory for this victory! 

Btir. Warlike and m'artial Talbot, Burgundy 
Enshrines thee In his heart; and there erects 
Thy noble deeds, as valour's monuments. 

Tal. Thanks gentle duke. But where is Pucelle 
now? 
I think her old familiar is asleep: 
Now where 's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his 

f leeks? 
a-mort? Rouen hangs her head for grief 
That such a valiant company are fled. 
Now will we take some order In the town. 
Placing therein some expert officers; 
And then depart to Paris, to the king; 
For there young Henry with his nobles lies. 

Bur. What wills lord Talbot pleaseth Burgundy. 

Tal. But yet, before we go, let 's not forget 
The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, 
But see his exequies fulfiU'd In Rouen; 
A braver soldier never couched lance, 
A gentler heart did never sway in court: 
But kings, and mightiest potentates, must die; 
For that 's the end of human misery. [Exeunt, 

Scene III.— The same. The Plains near the City. 

Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alencon, La Pucelle, 
and Forces. 

Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident. 
Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered: 
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive. 
For things that are not to be remedied. 
Let frantic Talbot triumph for awhile. 
And like a peacock sweep along his tail; 
We '11 pull his plume.s, and take away his train. 
If Dauphin and the rest will be but rul'd. 

Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto. 
And of thy cunning had nodlffldence; 
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 

Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies. 
And we will make thee famous through the world. 

Alen. We '11 set thy statue in some holy place. 
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint; 
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. 

Puc. Then thus It must be; this doth Joan devise 
By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugac'd words, 
We win entice the duke of Burgundy 
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. 

Cliar. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, 
France were no place for Henry's warriors; 
Nor should tliat nation boast it so with us. 
But be extlrped from our provinces. 

Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd from 
France, 
And not have title of an earldom here. 

Puc. Your honours shall perceive howl will work. 
To bring this matter to the wished end. 

[Drums heard. 
Hark! by the sound of drum you may perceive 
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. 
An English March. Enter, and pass over at a dis- 
tance, Talbot and his Forces. 
There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread; 
And all the troops of English after him. 
A French March. Enter the Duke of Burgundy and 

Forces. 
Now, in the rearward, comes the duke, and his; 
Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind. 
Summon a parley, we will talk wfth him. 

[Aparley sounded. 

Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. 

Bur. W4io craves a parley with the Burgundv? 

Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy country- 
man. 

Bur. Wiiat say'st thou, Charles? fori am marching 
hence. 

Char. Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with Ihy 
words. 

Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France ! 
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 

Bar. Speak on; but be not over-tedious. 

Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, 
And see the cities and the towns defac'd 
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe! 
As looks the mother on her lowly babe. 
When death doth close his tender dying eyes. 
See, see, the pining malady of France; 
Behold the ivounds, the most unnatural wounds. 
Which thou th.vself hast given her woeful breast! 
O, turn thy edged sword another way: 
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help! 
One drop of blood drawn from thy country's bosom 
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign 

gore; 
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears. 
And wash away thy country's stained spots! 

Bur. Either slie hath bewltch'd me with her words. 
Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 

Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on 
thee. 
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. 
Whojoin'st thou with, but with a lordly nation. 
That will not trust thee but for profit's sake? 



Scene iii.l 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



165 



When Talbot hath set footing once In France, 

And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, . 

Who then, but English Henry, will be lord, ^ 

And thou be thrust out like a fugitive? 

Call we to mind,— and mark but this, tor proof;— 

Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe? 

And was he not in England prisoner? 

But, when they heard he was thine enemy, 

They set him free, without his ransom paid. 

In spite of Burgundy and all his friends. 

See then, thou flght'st against thy countrymen. 

And join'st with them will be thy slaughtermen. 

Come, come, return; return, ihou wand'ring lord; 

Charles and the ves-t will take thee in their arms. 

Bur. I am vanquished; these haughty words of 
hers 
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon shot, 
And make me almost yield upon my knees. 
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen! 
And. lords, accept this hearty kind embrace: 
My forces and my power of "men are yours; 
So, farewell, Talbot; I '11 no longer trust thee. 

Pmc. Done like a Frenchman; turn, and turn again! 

Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes 
US fresh. 

Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. 

Alcn. Pueelle hath bravely play'd her part in this. 
And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 

Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our 
powers; 
And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [E.veunt, 

Scene IV.— Paris. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Grloster, and other Lords, Ver- 
non, Bassett, &c. To them Talbot, and some of his 

Officers. 

Tal. My gracious prince, and honourable peers, 
Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
I have awhile' given truce unto my wars. 
To do my duty to my sovereign: 
In sign whereof, this arm,— tfiat hath reclaim'd 
To your obedience fifty fortresses. 
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength. 
Besides five hundred prisoners of esteem,— 
Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet; 
And, with submissive loyalty of heart. 
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got. 
First to my God, and next unto your grace. 

K. Hen. Is this the lord Talbot, uncle Gloster, 
That hath so long been resident In France? 

Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. 

K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious 
lord! 
When I was young, (as yet I am not old,) 
I do remember how my father said 
A stouter champion never handled sword. 
Long since we were resolved of your truth. 
Your faithful service, and your toil in war; 
Yet never have you tasted our reward. 
Or teen reguerdon'd with so much as thanks, 
Because till now we never saw your face: 
Therefore, stand up; and, for these good deserts. 
We here create you earl of Shrewsbury; 
And in our coronation take your place. 

[E.veiint King Henry, Gloster, talbot, anii Nobles. 

Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea. 
Disgracing of these colours that I wear 
In honour of my noble lord of York,— 
Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st? 

Bas. Yes, sir; as well as you dare patronage 
The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
Against my lord, the duke of Somerset. 

Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. 

Bas. Why, what is he? as good a man as York. 

Ver. Hark ye; not so: in witness take ye that. 

[.'Strikes him. 

Bas. Villain, thouknow'st the law of arms is such. 
That whoso draws a sword 't is present death. 
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. 
But I '11 unto his majesty, and crave 
I may have liberty to venge this wrong; 
When thou shalt see I '11 meet thee to thy cost. 

Ver. Well, miscreant, I 'U be there as soon as you; 
And, after; meet you sooner than you would. lExe. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I.— Paris. A Room of State. 

Enter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, Suffolk, 
Somerset. Winchester, Warwick, Talbot, the Gov- 
ernor of Paris, and others. 

Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his liead. 

Win. God save king Henry, of that name the sixthi 

610. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath, — 

[Governor kneels. 
That you elect no other Idng^but him: 
Esteem none friends but such as are his friends; 
And none your foes but such as shall pretend 
Malicious practices against his state: 
This shall ye do, so help you righteous God ! 

[Exeunt Gov. and his Train. 
Enter Sir John Fastolfe. 

Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, 
To haste unto your coronation, 
A letter was deliver'd to my hands. 
Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy. 

Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy; and thee ! 
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next. 
To tear the garter from thy craven's leg, 

[Plucking it off. 
(Which I have done) because unworthily 
Thou wast installed in that high degree. 
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest: 
This dastard, at the battle of Patay, 
When but in all I was six thousand strong. 
And that the French were almost ten to one, 
Before we met, or that a stroke was given, 
Like to a trusty squire, did run away; 
In which assault we lost; twelve hundred men; 
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside. 
Were there surpris'd and taken prisoners. 
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss; 
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear 
This ornament of knighthood, yea or no. 

Glo. To saythe truth, this fact was infamous 
And ill-beseeming any common man; 
Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. 

Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords, 
Knights of the garter were of noble birth; 
Valiant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage. 
Such as were grown to ■credit by the wars; 
JUot fearing death, nOTBhrinking for distress. 



But always resolute in most extremes. 
He then that is not furni-sh'd in this sort 
Doth but usurp the saoied name of knight, 
Profaning this most honourable order; 
And should (it I were worthy to be judge) 
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. 

K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen! thou hear'st thy 
doom: 
Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight; 
Hencefoi'tli we banish thee, on pain of death.— 

[Exit Fastolfe. 
And now, lord protector, view the letter 
Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. 

Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chang d 
his style? 1 Vieiving the sujperscriptlon. 

No more but, plain and bluntly,—' To the king? ' 
Hath he forgot he is Iiis sovereign? 
Or doth this churlish superscription 
Pretend some alteration in good will? 
What 's here?—' I have, upon especial cause,— 

[Reads. 
Mov'd with compassion of my counti'y's wrack, 
Together with the pitiful complaints 
Of such as your oppression feeds upon, — 
Forsaken your pernicious faction. 
And join'd with Charles, the rightful king of France.' 

monstrous treachery ! Can tins be so; 
That in alliance, amity, and oaths. 

There should be found such false dissembling guile? 

K. Hen. What ! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? 

Glo. He doth, my lord; and is become your foe. 

K. Hen. Is that the worst this letter doth contain? 

GU). It Is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. 

K.Hen. Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk 
with him. 
And give him chastisement for this abuse: — 
How say you, my lord? are you not content? 

Tal. Content, my liege? Yes; but that I am pre- 
vented, 

1 should have begg'd I might have been employ'd. 
K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto him 

st^-aight: 
Let him perceive how ill we brook his treason; 
And what offence it is to flout his friends. 
Tal. I go, my lord; in heart desiring still 
You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit. 

Enter Vernon and Basset. 

Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign ! 
Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too ! 
York. This is my servant: Hear him, noble prince ! 
Som. And this is mine: Sweet Henry, favour him! 
K. Hen. Be patient, lords, and give them leave to 



Say, gentlemen. What makes you thus exclaim? 
And wherefore crave .you combat? or with whom? 

Ver. With him, my lord; for he hath done me 
wrong. 

Bas. And I with him; for he hath done me wrong. 

K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both 
complain? 
First let me know, and then I '11 answer you. 

Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France, 
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue. 
Upbraided me about the rose I wear; 
Saying— the sanguine colour of the leaves 
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks. 
When stubbornly he did repugn the truth. 
About a certain question in the law. 
Argued betwixt the duke of York and him; 
With other vile and ignominious terms: 
In confutation of which rude reproach, 
And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
I crave the benefit ,of law of arms. 

Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord: 
For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit. 
To set a gloss upon his bold intent, 
ifet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him; 
And he first took exceptions at this badge. 
Pronouncing— that the paleness of this flower 
Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. 

York. Will not this malice, Somei-set, be left? 

Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will 
out. 
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. 

K. Hen. Good Lord ! what madness rules in brain- 
sick men ; 
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause. 
Such factious emulations shall arise: 
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 

York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight. 
And then j'our highness shall command. a peace. 

Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; 
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. 

York. There is ray pledge; accept it, Somerset. 

Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 

Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. 

Glo. Confirm it so? Confounded be your strife ! 
And perish ye, with your audacious prate ! 
Presumptuous vassals ! are you not asham'd, 
With this immodest clamorous outrage 
To trouble and disturb the king and us? 
And you, my lords,— methinks you do not well. 
To bear with their perverse objections; 
Much less to take occasion from their mouths 
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves; 
Let me persuade you, take a better course. 

Exe. It grieves his highness:— Good my lords, be 
friends. 

K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be combat- 
ants: 
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour. 
Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause. 
And you, my lords, remember where we are; 
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation: 
If they perceive dissension in our looks. 
And that within ourselves we disagree. 
How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd 
To wilful disobedience, and rebel? 
Beside, whafinfamy will there arise. 
When foreign princes shall be certified 
That, for a toy, a thing of no i-egard. 
King Henry's peers and chief nobility 
Destroy themselves, and lost the realm of France! 
O, think upon the conquest of my father. 
My tender years; and let us not forego 
That for a trifle that was bought with blood! 
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 

[Putting on a red rose. 
That any one should therefore be suspicious 
I more incline to Somerset than York: 



Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both: 

As well they may upbraid me with my crown. 

Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'cJ. 

But your discretions better can persuade 

Than 1 am able to instruct or teach: 

And therefore, as we hither came in peace, 

So let us still continue peace and love. 

Cousin of York, we institute your grace 

To be our regent in these parts of France: 

And good my lord of Somer.set, unite 

Your troops of horsemen with his Viands of foot; 

And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, 

Go cheerfully together, and digest 

Your angry choler on your enemies. 

Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest. 

After some respite, will return to Calais; 

From thence to England, where 1 hope ere long 

To be presented, by your victories. 

With Charles, Alengon, and that traitorous rout. 

IFlourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo., Som., 
Win., Suf., and Basset. 

War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king 
Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 

York. And so he did; but yet I like it not. 
In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 

War. Tush! that was but his fancy, blame him 
not: 
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. 

York. And, if I wist he did,— But let it rest; 
Other affairs must now be managed. 

[?Jxeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon. 

Exe. Well didst thou, Bichard, to suppress thy 
voice: 
For had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there 
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils 
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'a. 
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees 
This jarring discord of nobilitj: 
This should'ring.of each other in the court, 
This factious bandying of their favourites. 
But that it doth presage some ill event. 
'T is much, when sceptres are in children s hands: 
But more, when envy breeds unkind division; 
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Ex. 

Scene II.— France. Before Bordeaux. 
Enter Talbot ivith his Forces. 

Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter; 
Summon their general unto the wall. 
Trumpet soiinds a parley. Enter, on the walls, the 

General of the French i''o»-ces, and others. 
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, 
Servant in arms to Harry king of England; 
And thus he would,— Open your city gates; 
Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours. 
And do him homage as obedient subjects; 
And I '11 withdraw me and my bloody power: 
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace. 
You tempt the fury of my three attendants. 
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fli'e 
Who, in a moment, even with the earth 
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers. 
If you forsake the offer of our love. 

Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death. 
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge! 
The period of thy tyranny approachetl). 
On us thou canst not enter, but by death: 
For, I protest, we are well fortified, ' 

And strong enough to issue out and fight: 
If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed. 
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee: 
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd. 
To wall thee from the liberty of flight; 
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress. 
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil. 
And pale destruction meets thee in the face. 
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament. 
To rive their dangerous artillery 
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 
Lo! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man. 
Of an invincible unconquer'd spirit: 
This is the latest glory of thy praise. 
That I, thy enemy, due thee withal; 
For ere the glass that now begins to run 
Finish the process of his sandy hour. 
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured. 
Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. 

[Drum afar off. 
Hark! hark! the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell. 
Sings heavy music to thy timoi'ous soul. 
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 

[Exeunt General, <£-c., from the walls. 

Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy;— 
Out some light horsemen, and peruse their wings.— 
O, negligent and heedless discipline! 
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale; 
A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs! 
If we be English deer, be then m blood : 
Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch; 
But rather moody-mad and desperate stags. 
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel. 
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay: 
Sell every man his life as dear as mine. 
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. 
God, and Saint George! Talbot, and England's 

right! 
Prosper our colours In this dangerous fight! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Ptoins m Gascony. 

Enter York, with Forces; to him, a Messenger. 

York. Are not the speedy scouts return 'd again. 
That dogg'd the mighty army of the Dnuphin? 

Mess. They are return'd, my lord: ar. ■ give it out 
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with ' s power. 
To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along. 
By your espials were discovered 
Two mightier troops than that the Dauphin led; 
Which join'd with him, and made their march for 
Bourdeaux. 

York. A plague upon that villain Somerset, 
That thus delays my promised supply 
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege ' 
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid; 
And I am lowted by a traitor villain. 
And cannot help the noble chevalier: 
God comfort him in this necessity ! 
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 
Enter Sir William Lucy. 



166 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY Yl. 



LACT V. 



Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English 
strenpttn, 
Never so needful on the earth of France, 
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot; 
Who now is girdled »lih a waist of iron, 
And liemm'd about with grim destruction: 
To Bourdeaux, warlll{0 diilte ! to Bourdeaux, York ! 
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour. 

York, O God ! that Somerset, who in proud heart 
Doth slop my cornets, were in Talbot's place '. 
So should we save a valiant gentleman. 
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
JIad ire. and wratliful fury, makes me weep. 
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 

Lmcu. O, send some succour to the distress'd lord ; 

York. He dies, we lose; I break my warlike word: 
We mourn, France smiles; we lose, they daily get; 
All long of this vile traitor Somerset. 

Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's 
soul '. 
And on his son, young John; whom, two hours since, 
I met in travel toward his warlike fiither ! 
This seven years did not Talbot see his son; 
And now tliey meet where both their lives are done. 

York. Alas ! what joy shall noble Talbot have, 
To bid his young son welcome to his grave? 
Away ! vexation almost stops my breath. 
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. 
Lucy, Farewell: no more my fortune can, 
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. 
Maine, Blois, Poictlers, and Tours, are won away, 
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [Exit. 

Lucy. Thus while the vulture of sedition 
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, 
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
Tlie conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, 
That ever-living man of memory, 
Henry the fifth:— Whiles thev each other cross. 
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit. 

Scene TV.— Other Plahis of Gaseony. 
Enter Somerset, inith his Forces; an Officer of 

Talbot's with him. 
Som. It is too late; I cannot send them now: 
This expedition was by York and Talbot 
Too rashly plotted; all our general force 
Might with a sall.v of the very town 
Be buckled with: the over daring Talbot 
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour, 
By this unheedtul, desperate, wild adventure: 
York set him on to flglit, and die in shame. 
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. 

Off. Here is Sir William Lucy, who with n>e 
Set from our o'ermatch'd forces forth for aid. 

Ihiter Sir William Lucy. 
Som. How now? sir William, whither were you 

sent? 
Lmcy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold 
lord Talbot; 
Who, ring'd about with bold adversity. 
Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
To beat assailing death from his weak legions. 
And whiles the honourable captain there 
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs. 
And, in advantage llng'ring, looks for rescue. 
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour. 
Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
Let not your private discord keep away 
The levied succours that should lend him aid, 
While he, renowned noble gentleman. 
Yields up his life unto a world of odds; 
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, Burgundy, 
Alengon, Reignier, compass liim about. 
And Talbot perlsheth by your default. 
Som. York set him on, York should have sent him 

aid. 
Lucy. And York as fast upon your gi-ace exclaims; 
Swearing that you withold his levied horse. 
Collected for this expedition. 
Som. York lies; he might have sent and had the 
horse; 
I owe him little duty and less love; 
And take foul scorn to fawn on him by sending. 
Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of 
France, 
Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot: 
Never to England shall he bear his life; 
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife. 
Som. Come go; I will despatch the horsemen 
straight: 
Within six hours they will be at his aid. 

Lucy. Too late comes rescue; lie is ta'en, or slain: 
For fly he could not, if he would have fled; 
And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 
Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu! 
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in 
you. t£xeunt. 

Scene Y.—The English Camp near Bourdeaux. 
Enter Talbot and John his Son. 

Tal. O young John Talbot! I did send for thee. 
To tutor thee in stratagems of war; 
That Talbot's name might be in thee revived. 
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs. 
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
But,— O malignant and ill-boding stars!— 
Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
A terrible and una voided danger: 
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse; 
And I '11 direct thee how thou shalt escape 
By sudden flight: come, dally not, begone. 

John. Is my name Talbot? and am I your son? 
And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother. 
Dishonour not her honourable name. 
To malce a bastard, and a slave of me: 
The world will say,— He is not Talbot's blood. 
That basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. 

Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. 

John, fie that flies so, will ne'er return again. 

Tal. If we both stay we both are sure to die. 

John. Then let me stay; and, father, do you fly: 
Your loss is great, so your regard should be; 
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 
Upon my death the French can little boast: 
In yours thej' will, in you all hopes are lost. 
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; 
But mine it will, that no exploit have done: 
You fled for vantage, every one will swear; 
Bu(, if I bow, they'll say It was for fear. 
There Is no hope that ever I will stay. 
If the flrst hour I shrink, and run away. 



Here, on my knee, I beg mortality, 
Rather than life preserv'd with infamy. 

Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie In one tomb? 

John. Ay, rather than I '11 shame my mother's 
womb. 

Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. 

John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 

Tal. Part of thy father may be saved in thee. 

John. No part of him but will be shame in me. 

Tal. Thou never hadst renown, noi canst not lose 
it. 

John. Yes, your renowned name; Shall flight 
abuse It? 

Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that 
stain. 

John. You cannot witness for me, being slain. 
If death be so app.irent, then both fly. 

Tal. And leave my followers heie, to flght and die? 
My age was never tainted with sucli shame. 

John. And shall my youth be guilty of .such blame? 
No more can I be sever'd from your side. 
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide: 
Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I; 
For live I will not if my father die. 

Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son. 
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
Come, side by side together live and die; 
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. \_Exe. 

Scene VI.— A Field of Battle. 

Alarum: Excursions^ ivherein Talbot's Son is 
hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 

Tal. Saint George and victory! flght, soldiers, 

flght: 
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word. 
And left us to the rage of France his sword. 
Where is John Talbot?— pause, and take thy 

breath; 
I gave thee life, and rescued thee from death. 

John. O twice my father! twice am I thy son: 
The life thou gaVst me first was lost and done; 
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate. 
To my determin'd time thou gav'st new date. 
Tal. When from the Dauphin's crest th.y sword 

struck flre. 
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire 
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, 
Quicken'd with youthful spleen and warlike rage. 
Beat down Alenson, Orleans, Burgundy, 
And from the pride of Gallia rescued tliee. 
The ireful bastard Orleans— that drew blood 
From thee, my boy; and had the maideuljood 
Of thy flrst flght— I soon encountered; 
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed 
Some of his bastard blood; and, in disgrace. 
Bespoke him thus: 'Contaminated, base. 
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine. 
Mean and right poor; for that pure blood of mine. 
Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave 

boy:'— 
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy. 
Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care; 
Art thou not weary, John? How didst thou fare? 
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly. 
Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry? 
Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead; 
The help of one stands me in little stead. 
O, too much folly is it, well I wot. 
To hazard all our lives in one small boat. 
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage. 
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age: 
By me they nothing gain an if I stay, 
'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day: 
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name. 
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame: 
All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay; 
All these are sav'd if thou wilt fly. away. 
John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me 

smart; 
These words of yours draw life-blood from my 

heart; 
On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
(To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) 
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, 
The coward horse that bears me fall and die: 
And like me to the peasant boys of France; 
To be shame's scorn and subject of mischance. 
Surely, by all the glory you have won. 
An it I fly I am not Talbot's son: 
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; 
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 

Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, 
Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet: 
If thou wilt flght, fight by thy father's side; 
And, commendable prov'd, let 's die in pride. L^''^^. 

Scene YII.— Another Part of4he same. 

Alarum: Excursions. Enter Talbot, woimded, 
suppoHed by a Servant. 

Tal. Where is my other life?— mine own is gone:— 
O, Where's young Talbot? where is valiant John? 
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity, 
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee. 
When he pereelv'd me shrink, and on my knee, 
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me. 
And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
Rough deeds of rage and stern Impatience; 
But when my angry uuardant stood alone, 
Tend'ring my ruin, and assail'd of none, 
Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart. 
Suddenly made him from my side to start 
Into the clust'rlng battle of the French: 
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
His over mounting spirit; and there died 
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 

Enter Soldiers, bearing the body of John Talbot. 

Serv. O, my dear lord ! lo, where your son Is borne! 

Tal. Thou antic death, which laugh'st us here to 
scorn. 
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny. 
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, 
•Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky. 
In thy despite shall 'scape mortality. 
O thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death. 
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath: 
Brave death by speaking, whether he will or no; 
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe. 
Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks; as who should say. 
Had death been French, then death had died to-day. 
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms; 
My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 



Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have. 
Now my old arms are yoimg John Talbot's grave. 

[Dies. 

Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the 
two bodies. Enter Charles, Alemjou, Burgundy, 
Bastard, La Pucelle, and Forces. 

Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue In, 
We should have found a bloody day of this. 

Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's raging 
wood. 
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 

Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said, 
'Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd by a maid:' 
But, with a proud, majestical high scorn. 
He answer'd thus: ' Young Talbot was not born 
To be the pillage of a glglot wench:' 
So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
He left me proudly, as unworthy flght. 

Bur. Doubtless he would have made a noble 
knight: 
See, where he lies inhersed in the arms 
Of the most blood.v nurser of his harms. 

Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asun- 
der; 
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 

Char. O, no; forbear: for that which we have fled 
During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 

Enter Sir William Lucy, artended; a French 
Herald pi-eeeding. 

Lucy. Herald, conduct me to the Dauphin's tent; 
To know who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. 

Char. On what submissive message art thou sent? 

Lucy. Submission, Dauphin? 't is a meie French 
word; 
We English warriors wot not what it means. 
I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, 
And to survey the bodies of the dead. 

Char. For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison Is. 
But tell me whom thou seek'st. 

iMcy. But where 's the great Aleldes of the fleld. 
Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury? 
Created, for his rare success In arms. 
Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence; 
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfleld, 
Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, 
Lord Cromwell of Wingfleld, lord Furnlval of Shef- 
field, 
The thrice-victorious lord of Falconbrldge; 
Knight of the noble order of Saint George, 
Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece; 
Great mareshal to Henry the sixth, 
Of all his wars within the realm of France? 

Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed ! 
The Turk, that two-and-flfty kingdoms hath. 
Writes not so tedious a style as this. 
Him, that thou magniflest with all these titles. 
Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. 

Lucy. Is Talbot slain? the Frenchmen's only 
scourge. 
Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis? 
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd. 
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces ! 
O, that I could but call these dead to life ! 
It were enough to fright the realm of France: 
Were but his picture left among you here, 
It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
Give me their bodies; that I may bear them hence, 
And give them burial as beseems their worth. 

Puc. I think this upstart is old Talbot's ghost. 
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. 
For God's sake let him have 'em; to keep them 

here. 
They would but stink and putrefy the air. 

Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 

Lucy. I '11 bear them hence: 

But from their ashes shall be rear'd 
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard. 

Char. So we be rid of them do with 'em what thou 
.wilt. 
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein; 
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. lExe. 

ACTV. 

Scene I.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter. 

K. Hen. Have ycu perus'd the letters from the 
pope. 
The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac? 

Glo. I have, my lord; and their intent Is this,— 
They humbly sue unto your excellence, 
To have a godly peace concluded of. 
Between the realms of England and of France. 

K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their motion? 

Olo. Well, my good lord; and as the only means 
To stop effusion of our Christian blood. 
And 'stablish quietness on every side. 

K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought 
It was both impious and unnatural, , 

That such immanity and bloody strife 
Should reign among professors of one faith. 

Olo. Beside, my lord,— the sooner to effect. 
And surer bind, this knot of amity,— 
The earl of Armagnac-near knit to Charles, 
A man of great authority in France, — 
Proffers his only daughter to your grace 
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 

K. Hen. Marriage, uncle! alas! my years are 
young; 
And fitter is my study and my books 
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
Yet, call the ambassadors; and, as you please, 
So let them have their answers every one: 
I shall be well content with any choice 
Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal. 

Enter a Legate, and two Ambassadors, iinth 
Winchester, in a Cardinal's habit. 

Exe. What! is my lord of Winchester Install'd, 
And call'd upon a cardinal's degree? 
Then, I perceive that will be verified, 
Henry the fifth did sometime prophesy, — 
' If once he come to be a cardinal, 
He '11 make his cap co equal with the crown.' 

K. Hen. My lords ambasadors, your several suits 
Have been consider'd and debated on. 
Your purpose is both good and reasonable: 
And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd 
To draw conditions of a friendly peace; 
Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean 
Shall be transported presently to France. 




Scene i.l 



FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI 



ler 



OU>. And for the proffer of my lord your master,— 
I have inform'd his highness so at large, 
As— liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, 
Her beauty, and tlie value of her dower,- 
He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 

K. Hen. In argument and proof of which contract 
Bear her this jewel, (to the Amb.J pledge of my af- 
fection. 
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded. 
And safely brought to Dover; where, iushlpp'd, 
Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 

\£jceunt King Henry and Trains Gloster, 
Exeter, and Anibassadoi's. 

Win. Stay, my lord legate; you shall first receive 
The sum of money, which I promised 
Shoulcl be deliver'd to his holiness 
For clothing me in these grave ornaments. 

I^g. I will attend upon your lordship'.s leisure. 

Win. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow. 
Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
Humphrey of Gloster, thou Shalt well perceive, 
That, neither in birth, or for authority, 
The bishop will be overborne by thee: 
I'll either make thee stoop and bend thy knee. 
Or sack this country with a mutiny. f^xeunf. 

Scene II.— France. Plains in Anjou. 

jEnter Charles, Burgundy, Alencon, La Pucelle, 

and Forces, marching. 
Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our droop- 
I iug spirits: 

'T is said the stout Parisians do revolt. 
And turn again unto the warlike French. 
Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of 
France, 
And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 

Puc. Peace be amongst them if they turn to us; 
Else, ruin combat witli their palaces! 
Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Success unto our valiant general, 
And happiness to his accomplices! 
Char. What tidings send our scouts? I prithee, 

speak. 
Mess. The English army, that divided was 
Into two parties, is now conjoin'd in one; 
And means to give you battle presently. 

Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; 
But we will presently provide for them. 

Bur. I trust the ghost of Talbot is not there; 
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 

Pile. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd: — 
Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine; 
Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. 
Char. Then on, my lords; and France be fortun- 
ate ! [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— TTie same. Before Anglers. 
Alarums: Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. 

Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly. 
Now help, ye charming «pens, and periapts; 
And ye choice spirits that admonish me, 
And give me signs of future accidents! [Thunder. 
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
Under the lordly monarch of the north. 
Appear, and aid me In this enterprise ! 

Enter Fiends. 
This speedy and quick appearance argues proof 
Of your accustom d diligence to me. 
Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cuU'd 
Out of the powerful legions under earth. 
Help me this once, that France may get the field. 

[They walk about and speak not. 
O, hold me not with silence over-long! 
Where I was wont to feed you with my blood. 
I '11 lop a member off, and give it you, 
In earnest of a further benefit; 
So you do condescend to help me now.— 

[They hang their heads. 
No hope to have redress?- My body shall 
Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 

[Then shake their heads. 
Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice. 
Entreat you to your wonted furtherance? 
Then take my soul; my body, soul and all. 
Before that England give the French the foil. 

[They depart. 
See! they forsake me. Now the time is come 
That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest. 
And let her head fall into England's lap. 
My ancient incantations are too weak, 
And hell too strong for me to buckle with: 
Now, l ranee, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Exit. 
Alarums. Enter French and English, fighting. La 

Pucelle and York fight hand to hand. La Pucelle 

is taken. The French fly. 

York. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast: 
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charm.s. 
And try if they can gain your liberty. 
A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace! 
See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows. 
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape. 

Puc. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be. 

York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man; 
No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 

Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and 

And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd 
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds' 

York. Fell, banning hag! enchantress, hold thy 

tongue. 
Puc. I prithee, give me leave to curse a while. 
York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to the 
stake. [Exeunt. 

Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lady 
Margaret. 
Sztf. Be what thou \vllt, thou art my prisoner. 

[Gazes on her. 

fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly; 

For I will touch thee but with reverent hands. 

1 kiss these fingers [kissing her handi for eternal 

peace. 
And lay them gently on thy tender side. 
Who art thou? say, that I may honour thee. 

Mar. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king, 
The king of Naples; whosoe'er thou art. 

Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. 
Be not offended, nature's miracle. 
Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me: 
So doth the swan her downy cygnets save. 
Keeping thera prisoner underneath her wings. 



Yet if this servile usage once offend, 
GrO, and be tret again, as Suffolk's friend. 

[She turns a way as going. 
O, stay!— I have no power to let her pass; 
My hand would free her, but my heart says— no. 
AS plays the sun upon the glassy streams. 
Twinkling another counterfeited beam. 
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes- 
Pain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak; 
I '11 call lor pen and ink, and write my mind. 
Fie, De la Poole! disable not thyself; 
Hast not a tongue? Is she not here thy prisoner? 
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? 
Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such. 
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough. 

Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk, if thy name be so. 
What ransom must I pay before I pass? 
For I perceive I am thy prisoner. 

Suf. How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit. 
Before thou make a trial of her love? [Aside. 

Mar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransom must I 
pay? 

Suf. She 's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd: 
She is a woman; therefore to be won. [.4s We. 

Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no? 

Suf. Fond man! remember that thou hast a wife; 
Then how can Margaret be thy paramour? [Aside. 

3Iar. I were best to leave him, for he will not hear. 

Suf. There all is niarr'd; there lies a cooling card. 

3lar. He talks at random; sure, the man is mad. 

Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 

Mar. And yet I would that you would answer me. 

Suf. I '11 win this lad.v Margaret. For whom? 
Why, for my king: Tush ! that 's a wooden thing. 

Mar. He talks of wood: it is some carpenter. 

Suf. Yet so my fancy may be satisfied. 
And peace established between these realms. 
But there remains a scruple In that too: 
For though her father be the king of Naples, 
I Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor. 
And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside. 

Mar. Hear ye, captain? Are you not at leisure? 

Suf. It shall be so, disdain'd they ne'er so much: 
Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. 
Madam, I have a secret to reveal. 

Mar. What though I be enthrall'd? he seems a 
knight. 
And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside. 

Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. 

Mar. Perhaps I shall be rescued by the French; 
And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. 

Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause— 

Mar. Tush ! women have been captivate ere now. 

[Aside. 

Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so? 

3Iar. I cry you mercy, 't Is but quid for quo. 

Suf. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose 
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? 

Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile 
Than Is a slave In base servility; 
For princes should be free. 

Suf. And so shall you, 

It happy England's royal king be free. 

3rar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me? 

Suf. I '11 undertake to make thee Henry's queen; 
To put a golden sceptre in thy hand. 
And set a precious crown upon thy head. 
If thou wilt condescend to be mv— 

Mar. What? 

Suf. His love. 

Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 

Suf. No, gentle madam; I unworthy am 
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife. 
And have no portion in the choice myself. 
How say you, madam; are you so content? 

Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 

Suf. Then call our captains, and our colours, forth: 
.4.nd, madam, at your father's castle walls 
W3 '11 crave a parley, to confer with him. 

[Troops come forward, 

A Parley sounded. Enter Relgnier, on the walls. 

Suf. See, Relgnier, see, thy daughter prisoner. 

Beig. 'To whom? 

Suf. To me. 

Beig. Suffolk, what remedy? 

I am a soldier; and unapt to weep. 
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 

Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord: 
Consent, (and for thy honour, give consent,) 
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king; 
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto: 
And this her easy-held imprisonment 
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 

Beig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks? 

Suf. Fair Margaret knows 

That Suffolk doth not fiatter, face, or feign. 

Beig. Upon thy princel.y warrant, I descend. 
To give thee answer of thy just demand. 

[Exit from the ivalts. 

Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. 

Trumpets sounded. Enter Relgnier, heloiiy. 

Beig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories; 
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. 

Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child 
Fit to be made companion with a king: 
What answer makes your grace unto my suit? 

Beig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth. 
To be the princely bride of sucn a lord; 
Upon condition I may quietly 
Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, 
Free from oppression, or the stroke of war. 
My daughter shall be Henry's, if he please. 

Suf. That is her ransom, I deliver her; 
And those two counties, I will undertake, 
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 

Beig. And I again, in Henry's royal name, 
As deputy unto that gracious king. 
Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 

Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, 
Because this is in trafiic of a king: 
And yet, methinks, I could be well content 
To be mine own attorney in this case. [Aside. 

I '11 over then to England with this news. 
And make this marriage to be solemniz'd; 
So, farewell, Relgnier ! set this diamond safe 
In golden palaces, as it becomes. 

Beig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 
The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. 

Mar. Farewell, my lord ! Good wishes, praise, and 
prayers. 
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. 

Suf. Farewell, sweet madam ! But hark you, Mar- 
garet, 



No princely commendations to my king? 

Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, 
A virgin, and his servant, say to him. 

Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed. 
But, madam, 1 must trouble you again,- 
No loving token to his majesty? 

Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure unspotted heart, 
Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 

Suf. And this withal. [Kisses her 

Mar. That for thyself; I will not so presume. 
To send such peevish tokens to a king. 

[E.'ceiint Reignier and Margaret. 

Suf. O, wert thou for myself !— But. Suffolk, stay; 
Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth; 
There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. 
Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise: 
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount; 
And natural graces that extinguish art; 
Repeat their semblance often on the seas. 
That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, 
Thou may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. 

[Exit. 

Scene IV.—Camp of the Duke of York, in Anjou. 
Enter York, Warwick, and others. 

York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to 
bui-n. 
Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. 

Shep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's heart out- 
right ! 
Have I sought every country far and near. 
And, now it is my chance to find thee out. 
Must I behold thy timeless cruel death? 
Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I '11 die with thee ! 

Puc. Decrepit miser ! base ignoble wretch I 
lam descended of a gentler blood; 
Thou art no father, nor no friend of mine. 

Shep. Out, out!— My lords, an please you, 't is not 
so; 
I did beget her all the parish knows: 
Her mother llveth yet, can testif.y 
She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 

War. Graceless! wilt thou deny thv parentage 

York. This argues what her kind otlife hath been; 
Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes. 

Shep. Fie, Joan; that thou wilt be so obstacle! 
God knows thou art a collopof my flesh; 
And for thy sake have I shed many a tear; 
Deny me not. I prithee, gentle Joan. 

Puc. Peasant, avaunt!— You have suborn'd this 
man, 
Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. 

Shep. "T is true, I gave a noble to the priest, 
The morn that I was wedded to her mother. 
Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. 
Wilt thou not stoop? Now cursed be the time 
Of thy nativity! I would, the milk 
Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her 

bi-east. 
Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake! 
Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, 
I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee! 
Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab? 
O, burn her, burn her; hanging Is too good [Exit. 

York. Take heraway;for she hath 11 v'd too long. 
To fill the world with vicious qualities. 

Puc. First, let me tell you whohi you ha,ve con- 
demn'd: 
Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, 
But Issued from the progeny of kings; 
Virtuous, and holy; chosen from above 
By Inspiration of celestial grace. 
To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
I never had to do with wicked spirits: 
But you,— that are polluted with your lusts, 
Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, 
CoiTUpt and tainted with a thousand vices.— 
Because you want the grace that others have, 
Yovi judge it straight a thing Impossible 
To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
No, misconceived! Joan of Arc hath been 
A virgin from her tender infancy. 
Chaste and immaculate in very thought; 
Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously effus'd. 
Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 

York. Ay, ay;— away with her to execution. 

War. And hark ye, sirs; because she Is a maid. 
Spare for no fagots, let there be enow; 
Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, 
That so her torture may be shortened. 

Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? 
Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity; 
That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. 
I am with child, ye bloody homicides: 
Murder not then the fruit %vithin my womb. 
Although ye hale me to a violent death. 

Forfc. Now heaven forefend! the holy maid with 
child? 

War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought: 
Is all your strict preclseness come to this? 

Yoric. She and the Dauphin have been juggling: 
I did Imagine what would be her refuge. 

War. Well, go to; we will have no bastards live; 
Especially since Charles must father it. 

Puc. You are deceiv'd; my child is none of his; 
It was Alencon that enjo.y'd my love. 

York. Alencon! that notorious Machiavel! 
It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 

Pile. O, give me leave, I have deluded you; 
'T was neither Charles nor yet the duke I nam'd, 
But Relgnier, king of Naples, that prevall'd. 

War. A married man! that's most Intolerable. 

York. Why, here 's a girl! I think she knows not 
well. 
There were so many, whom she may accuse. 

War. It 's sign she hath been liberal and free. 

York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure. 
Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee: 
Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 

Puc. Then lead me hence;— with whom I leave my 
curse: 
May never glorious sun reflex his beams 
Upon the country where you make abode! 
But darkuess and the gloomy shade of death 
Environ you; till mischief, and despair. 
Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves! 

Exit, guarded. 

York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes. 
Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 

Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended. 

Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
With letters of commission from the king. 



368 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act I. 



For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
Mov'd with remorse of these o\Ura),'eons broils. 
Have earnestly inij'lor'd a general peaee 
Betwixt our nation and tlie aspiiinf; French; 
And here ar hand the l)a\ipliin. and Ids train, 
Approacheth to eonfer about some matter. 

York. Is all our travail turn'd to tins effect? 
After the slaughter of so many peers, 
So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers. 
That in this quarrel have been overthrown. 
And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, 
Shall we at last oonelude effeminate peace? 
Have we not lost most part of ail the towns. 
By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, 
Our great progenitors had conquered? 
O. Warwick, Warwick! I foresee witli grief 
The ntter loss of all the realm of France. 

Wnr. Be patient, York: if we conclude a peace. 
It shall be with sueli strict and severe covenants 
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 

iinter Charles, attended; Aien'con, Bastard, 
Reignier, and others. 

Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed 
That peaceful truce sliall be proclaim'd in France, 
We come to be informed by yourselves 
What the conditions of that league must be. 

York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes 
The hollow passage of my prison'd voice. 
By sight of these our baiefnl enemies. 

Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus: 
That, in regard king Henry gives consent. 
Of mere compassion and of lenity. 
To ease your country of distressful war. 
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace. 
You shall become true liegemen to his crown: 
And, Chai'les, upon condition tiiou wilt swear 
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself. 
Thou Shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him. 
And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 

Aten. Must he be then as shadow of himself? 
Adorn his temples with a coronet; 
And yet, in substance and authority. 
Retain but privilege of a private man? 
This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 

Char. "T is khown already that I am possess'd 
With more than half the Galiian territories, 
And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king: 
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvnnquish'd, 
Detract so much from that prerogative. 
As to be cali'd but viceroy of the whole? 
No, lord ambassador; I '11 rather keep 
That which I have, than, coveting for more. 
Be cast from possibility of all. 

York. Insulting Charles ! hast thou by secret 
means 
Used Intercession to obtain a league; 
And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
Stand'st.thou aloof upon comparison? 
Either accept the title thou usurp'st. 
Of benefit proceeding from our king. 
And not of any challenge of desert. 
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 

Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
To cavil in the course of this contract: 
If once it be neglected, ten to one. 
We shall not find like opportunity. 

Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy. 
To save your subjects from such massacre. 



And ruthle.ss slaughters, as are daily seen 

By our proceeding in hostility: 

And therefore take this compact of n truce. 

Although you break It when your pleasure serves. 

M.i/rft', to Charles. 

Wdr. How say'st thou, Charles? shall our condi- 
tion stand? 

C;iar. It shall: 
Only reserv'd, you claim no interest 
In any of our towns of garrison. 

York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty; 
As thou art knight, never to disobey. 
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.— 

[Charles, and the rest, give tokens of fealty. 
So, now dismiss your army when ye please; 
Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still. 
For here we entertain a solemn peace. lacceiint. 

Scene v.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, in conference with Suffolk; 
Gloster and Exeter following. 

K. Hen. Your wond'rous rare description, noble 
earl. 
Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me: 
Her virtues, graced with external gifts. 
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart: 
And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts 
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide. 
So am I driven, by breath of her renown. 
Either to suffer shipwrack, or arrive 
Where I may have fruition of her love. 

Siif. Tush ! my good lord ! this superficial tale 
Is but a preface of her worthy praise: 
The chief perfections of that lovely dame 
(Had I sufficient skill to utter them) 
Would make a volume of enticing lines. 
Able to ravLsh any dull conceit. 
And, which is more, she is not so divine. 
So full replete with choice of all delights. 
But, with as humble lowliness of mind. 
She is content to be at your command; 
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents. 
To love and honour Henry as her lord. 

K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume. 
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent 
That Mai-garet may be England's royal queen. 

Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
TJnto another lady of esteem; 
How shall we then dispense with that contract. 
And not deface your honour with reproach? 

S'lf As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths; 
Or one that at a triumph having vow'd 
■To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists 
By reason of his adversary's odds: 
A poor earl's daughter Is unequal odds. 
And therefore may be broke without offence. 

Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than 
that? 
Her father is no better than an earl. 
Although in glorious titles he excel. 

Siif. Yes, my lord, her father is a king. 
The king of Naples and Jerusalem; 
And of such great authority in France 
As his alliance will confirm our peace, 
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 



Olo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do. 
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 

Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant a liberal 
dower. 
Where Reignier sooner will receive than give. 

.S«/. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so your king, 
That he should he so abject, base, and poor. 
To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
Henry is able to enrich his queen. 
And not to seek a queen to make him rich: 
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives. 
As market men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
Marriage is a matter of more worth 
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship; 
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, 
Must be companion of his nuptial bed: 
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, 
It most of all these reasons bindeth us. 
In our opinions she should be preferr'd. 
For what is wedlock forced but a hell. 
An age of discord and continual strife? 
Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss. 
And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, 
But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? 
Her peerless feature, joined with her birth. 
Approves her fit for none but for a king: 
Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit, 
(More than in worhen comnionlv is seen,) 
Will answer our hope in issue of a king; 
For Henry, son unto a conqueror. 
Is likely to beget more conquerors, • 

If with a lady of so high resolve 
As is fair Margaret he be link'd in love. 
Then yield, my lords; and here conclude with me. 
That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. 

JC. Ben. Whetheritbetlnoughforeeof your report. 
My noble lord of Suffolk; or for that 
My tender youtli was never yet attaint 
Witli any passion of inflaming love, 
I cannot tell; but this I am aspur'd, 
I feel such sharp dissension in my lireast. 
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear. 
As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 
Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France; 
Agree to any covenants; and procure 
That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
To cross the seas to England, and be erown'd 
King Henry's faithful and anointed queen: 
For your expenses and sufficient chai-ge, 
Among the people gather up a tenth. 
Be gone, I say; for, till you do return, 
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. 
And you, good uncle, banish all offence: 
If you do censure me b.y what you were. 
Not what you are, I know it will excuse 
This sudden execution of my will. 
And so conduct me, where, from company, 
I may revolve and ruminate my grief. \Exit 

Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. 

I Exeunt Gloster and Exeter. 

Siif. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd: and thus he 
goes. 
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece; 
With hope to find the like event in love. 
But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
Margaret shall now be queen, and I'ule the king; 
But I will rule both her, the king, and realm. [Ex. 




SECOND PART OF 



KING HENRY VI. 



PERSOKS REPRESENTED. 



King Henry VI. 

HtJMPHREY, Duke of Gloster, his uncle. 
Cardin.\l Beaufort, Bishop of Win- 
chester, great uncle to the King. 
Richard Plantagenet, Ditfcc o/ York. 
Edward and Richard, his sons. 
DuKK OF Somerset, 1 
Duke of Suffolk, I 

"S ''"■ ^'"''"'•'''- \of the King's 

Lord Clifford, | P^^'^V- 
Young Clifford, 

hia son, J 



Earl of Salisbury, ) of the York fae- 

Earl of Warwick, ) tion. 

Lord Scales, governor of the Tower. 

Lord Say. 

Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his 

Brother. 
Sir John Stanley. 

A Sea-Cnptain, Master, and Master's 

Mate, and Walter Whitmore. 
Tico gentlemen, imsoners with Suffolk. 
A Herald. Vaux. 

Hume and Southwell, two priests. 



BOLINGBROKE, a conjurer; and a Spirr 

it raised hi/ him. 
Thomas Horner, an armourer • and 

Peter, his man. 

Cleric of Chatham. 
Mat/or of St. Alban's. 
Simpcox, an impostor. 
Two Murderers. 

Jack Cade, a rebel; and George, 
John, Dick; Sjiith, the weaxer ; Mich- 
ael, &c., his followers. 



Alexander Iden, a Kentish gentle- 
man. 

Margaret, Queen to King Henry. 
Eleanor, Duchess of Gloster. 
Margery Jourdain, a witch. 
Wife to Simpcox. 

Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Pe- 
titioners, Aldermen, a Beadle, Sher- 
iff, and Officers; Citizens, Prentices, 
Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messen- 
gers, (£-c. 



ACT L 

Scene I.— London. A Room of State in the Palace. 

Flourish of Trumpets: then hautboys. Enter, on one 
side. King Henry, Duke of GXoster, Salisbury, War- 
wick, and Cardinal Beaufort; on the other. Queen 
Margaret, led in liy Suffolk; York, Somerset, 
Buckingham, and others following. 

Siif. As by your high imperial majesty 
I had in charge at my depart for France, 
As procurator to your excellence. 
To marry princess Margaret for vour grace; 
So, in the famous ancient city. Tours,— 
In presence of the kings of France and Sicil 
The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, and 

Alenson, 
Seven earls, twelve barons, and twenty reverend 

bishops,— 
I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd: 
And humbly now upon my bended knee, 
In sight of Englaml and her lordly peers, 
Deliver up my title in the queen 
To your most gracious hands, that are the substance 
Of that great shadow I did represent; 



The happiest gift that ever marquess gave. 
The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd. 

K. Hen. Suffolk, arise.— Welcome, queen Mar- 
garet: 
I can express no kinder sign of love. 
Than this kind kiss.— O Lord, that lends me life. 
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! 
For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, 
A world of earthly blessings to my soul, 
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. 

Q. Star. Great king of England, and my gracious 
lord, 
The mutual conference that my mind hath had. 
By day, by night,— waking, and in my dreams,— 
In courtly companj', or at my beads.— 
With you mine alder-liefest sovereign. 
Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
With ruder terms, such as my wit affords, 
And overjoy of heart doth minister. 

K. Hen. Her sight did ravish; but her grace in 
speech, 
Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty. 
Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys; 
Such Is the fulness of my heart's content. 
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. 



All. [Kneeling.'] Long live queen Margaret, Eng- 
land's happiness! 

Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish. 

Suf. My lord protector, so it please your grace 
Here are the articles of contracted peace, 
Between our sovereign, and the French king Charles, 
For eighteen months concluded by consent. 

Glo. [Reads.'] 'Imprimis, It is agreed between the 
French king, Charles, and William de la Poole, 
marquess of Suffolk, ambassador for King Henry of 
England, that the said Henry shall espouse the lady 
Margaret, daughter unto Reignier king of Naples, 
Slcilia, and Jerusalem; and crown her queen of 
England, ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing.— 
Item,— That the duchy of Anjou and the county of 
Maine shall be released and delivered to the king her 
father'— 

K. Hen. Uncle, how now? 

Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord; 

Some sudden qualm hath .struck me at the heart. 
And dimmed mine eyes; that I can read no further. 

K. Hen. Uncle of .Winchester, I pray, read on. 

Car. 'Item,— It is further agreed between them, 
that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be re- 
leased and delivered over to the king her father; and 



Scene ii.] 



SKCOXD PART OF KTyG HENRY VI. 



169 



she sent over of the kins of EngUiiul's own proper 
cost and chai'ges, without having any dowry." 

K. Hen. Tliey please us well.— Lord marquess, kneel 
down: 
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, 
And girt the with the sword. Cousin of Yorlc, 
We here dlscliargc your grace front being regent 
In the parts of Fiaiiee. till term of eighteen month 
Be full expir'd. Tluinks, uncle Winchester, 
Gloster, York, Buckingliam, Somerset, 
Salisbury, and W arwiek; 
We thank you all for this great favor done. 
In entertainment to my princely queen. 
Come, let us in; and with all speed provide 
To see her coronation be perform'd. 

[E.reiint King, Queen, onrt Suffolk. 

Gto. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, 
To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief; , 
Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
What! did my brother Henry spend his youth. 
His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? 
Did he so often lodge in opeu field. 
In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat, 



Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: 
And are the cities that I got with wounds 
Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? 
M<u-t Dieu! 

York. For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate, 
That dims the honoin- of this warlike isle! 
France sliouUl liave torn and rent my very heart 
Before I would have yielded to this league. 
I never read hut England's kings have had 
Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives: 
And our king Henry gives away his own. 
To match with her that brings no vantages. 

Glo. A proper jest, and never heard belVn-e, 
That Suftolk should demand a whole fifteenth, 
For costs and charges in transporting her! 
She should have stay'd ni France, and starv'd in 

France, 
Before 

Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot, 
It was the pleasure of my lord the king. 

Glo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind; 
'T is not my speeches that you do niislike, 
But 't is my presence that doth trouble you. 



Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
While these do labour for their own preferment, 
Behoves it us to labour for the realm. 
I never saw bvit Humphrey duke of Gloster 
Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
Oft have I .seen the haughty cardinal- 
More like a soldier than a man o' the church, 
As stout and proud as he were lord of all,— 
Swear like a rulTlan, and demean himself 
Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. 
Warwick, my .son, the comfort of my age! 
Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping, 
Fath won the greatest favour of the commons. 
Excepting none but good duke Humphrey. 
And, brother York, thy acts In Ireland, 
In bringing them to civil discipline; 
Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, 
When thou wert regent for our sovereign. 
Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people: 
Join we together for the public good. 
In what we can, to bridle and suppress 
The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal, 
With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; 




[First Part of King Henry VI.'] 



Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch, that jolneth Rouen unto her countrymen; 
but burning fatal to the Talbotites. 



[act m.— scene n.] 



To conquer France, his true inheritance? 

And did my brother Bedford toil his wits. 

To keep by policy what Henry got? 

Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 

Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 

Eeeelv'd deep scars in France and Normandy? 

Or hath mine uncle Beaufort, and myself. 

With all the learned council of the realm, 

Studied so long, sat in the council-house. 

Early and late, debating to and fro 

How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe? 

And hath his highness in his infancy 

Been crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes? 

And shall these labours, and these honours, die? 

Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance. 

Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die? 

O peers of England, shameful is this league! 

Fatal this marriage! canceling your fame; 

Blotting your names from books of memory; 

Razing the characters of your renown; 

Defacing monuments of conquer'd France; 

Undoing all, as all had never been! 

Car. Nephew, what means this passionate dis- 
course,— 
This peroration with such circumstance? 
For France, 't is ours; and we will keep it still. 

Qlo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can; 
But now it Is impossible we should: 
Suffolk, the new-made duke, that rules the roast, 
Hath given the duchies of Anjou and Maine 
Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style 
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 

Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all, 
These counties were the keys of Normandy:— 
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? 

War. For grief, that they are past recovery: 
For were there hope to conquer them again, 
Jly sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no 

tears. 
Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both; 



Rancour will out: Proud prelate, in thy face 

I see thy fury: if I longer stay 

We shall begin our ancient bickerings. 

Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, 

I prophesied— France will be lost ere long. [Exit. 

Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
'T is known to you he is mine enemy: 
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all; 
And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
Consider, lords,— he is the next of blood. 
And heir apparent to the English crown; 
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage. 
And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west. 
There 's reason he should be displeas'd at it. 
Look to it, lords; let not his smoothing words 
Bewitch your heart; be wise, and circumspect. 
What, though the common people favour him. 
Calling him—' Humphrey, the good duke of Gloster,' 
Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice — 
' Jesu maintain your royal excellence!' 
With—' God preserve the good duke Humphrey!' 
I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, 
He will be found a dangerous portector. 

Buck. Why should he then protect our sovereign. 
He being of age to govern of himself? 
Cousin of Somerset, join you witli me. 
And all together with the duke of Suffolk, . 

We '11 quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. 

Car. This weighty business will not brook delay; 
I '11 to the duke of Suffolk presently. {Exit. 

Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's 
pride. 
And greatness of his place, be grief to us, 
Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal; 
His insolence is more intolerable 
Than all the princes in the land beside; 
If Gloster be displac'd, he '11 be protector. 

Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector. 
Despite duke Humphrey, or the cardinal. 

{Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset. 



And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds 
While they do tend the profit of the land. 

War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land. 
And common profit of his country! 

York. And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. 

Sal. Then let 's make haste away, and look unto 
the main. 

War. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost; 
That Maine, which by main force Warwick did win. 
And would have kept, so long as breath did last; 
Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine; 
Which I will win from France, or else be slain. 

{E.veiint Warwick and Salisbury. 

York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; 
Paris is lost; the state of Normandy 
Stand on a tickle point, now they are gone: 
Suffolk concluded on the articles; 
The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas'd 
To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. 
I cannot blame them all; What is 't to them? 
'T is thine they give away, and not their own. 
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pil- 
lage. 
And purchase friends, and give to courtesans, 
Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone: 
While as the silly owner of the goods 
Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands 
And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof. 
While all is shar'd, and all is borne away; 
Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own. 
So York must sit. and frer, and bite his tongue. 
While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold. 
Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ire- 
land, 
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood 
As did the fatal brand .Vlthea burn'd. 
Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. 
.\njou and Maine, both given unto the French! 
Cold news for me; for I had hope of France, 
Even as I have of fertile England's .soil- 



-^y 



170 



SECOND PART OF KINCf HENEY VI. 



LACT I. 



A flay will come when York shall claim his own; 

And therpfore I will take the Nevlls' parts, 

And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey, 

And. whi'nl spy advantaRP, claim the crown, 

For that 's the golden mark I seek to hit: 

Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right. 

Nor hold the sceptre in his cliildish fist. 

Nor wear the diadem upon his head, 

Whose chiireh-like humours fit not for a crown. 

Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve: 

■Wateli tliou, and wake, when others be asleep, 

To pry into the secrets of the state; 

Till Henry, surfeiting in Joys of love. 

With his new bride, and England's dear-bought 

queen, 
And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars: 
Then wlil I raise aloft the milk-white rose. 
With whose sweet smell the air sliall be perfum'd; 
And In my standard bear the arms of York, 
To Rrapple with the house of Lancaster: 
AnS, force perforce, I '11 make him yield the crown. 
Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down. 

iExit. 

Scene U. — The same. A Eoom in the Duke of 
Gioster's House. 

Enter Gloster and the Duchess. 

Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd com, 
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? 
Why doth the great duke Humphi*y knit his brows, 
As frowning at the favoiirs of the world? 
Why are thine eyes flx'd to the sullen earth, 
Oazing on that which seems to dim thy sight' 
What see'st thou there? king Henry's diadem, 
Enchas'd with all the honours of the world? 
If so, gaze on, and grovel on tliy face, 
TTntil thy head be circled with the same. 
Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold: 
What, Is 't too short? I '11 lengthen it with mine: 
And. having both together heav'd it up. 
We '11 both together lift our heads to heav'n; 
And never more abase our siglit so low 
As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 

Glo. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, 
Banisli the canker of ambitious thouglits: 
And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
Be my last breathing in this mortal world I 
My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. 

Duch. What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I '11 
requite it 
With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 

Glo. Methought this staff, mine offlce-badge in 
court. 
Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot. 
But, as I think, tt was by the cardinal; 
And, on the pieces of the broken wand 
Were plac'd the heads of Edmund duke of Somerset, 
And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk. 
This was my dream; what it doth bode, God knows. 

Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument. 
That he that brealcs a stick of Gioster's grove 
Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: 
Methought, I sat in seat of majesty. 
In the cathedral church of Westminster, 
And in that chair where kings and queens are 

crown'd; 
Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me. 
And on my head did set tlie diadem. 

Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: 
Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor! 
Art thou not second woman in the realm: 
And the protector's wife, belov'd of him? 
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command. 
Above the reach or compass of thy thought? 
And wilt thou still be hammering treacliery. 
To tumble down thy husband and thyself. 
From top of honour to disgrace's feet? 
Away from me, and let me hear no more. 

Duch. What, what, my lord! are you so choleric 
With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? 
Next time, I '11 keep my dreams unto myself. 
And not be check'd. 

Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord protector, 't is his highness' plea- 
sure. 
You do prepare to ride unto St. Alban's, 
Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk. 

Glo. I go.— Corhe, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? 

Duch. Yes, my good lord, I 'U follow presentl.y. 

lExeunt Gloster and Messenger. 
Follow I must, I cannot go before. 
While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. 
Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks, 
And smooth my way upon their headless necks: 
And, being a woman, I will not be slack 
To play my part in fortune's pageant. 
Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man. 
We are alone; here 's none but thee and I. 
.Enter Hume. 

Hume. Jesu preserve your royal majesty! 

Duch. What say'st thou, majest.y! I am but grace. 

Hume. But, by the grace of God, and "Hume's ad- 
vice, 
Your grace's title shall be multiplied. 

Duch. What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet 
conferr'd 
With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch; 
With Boger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? 
And will they undertake to do me good? 

Hume. This they have promised,— to show your 
highness 
A spirit rals'd from depth of under ground. 
That shall make answer to such questions. 
As by your grace shall be propounded him. 

Duch. It is enough; I '11 think upon the questions; 
When from St. Alban's we do make return. 
We '11 see these things effected to the full. 
Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, 
With thy confederates In this weighty cause. 

[Exit Duchess. 

Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess' 
gold: 
Marry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume? 
Seal up your lips, and give no words but— mum! 
The business asketh silent secrecy. 
Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch; 
Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
Yet have I (fold, flies from another coast: 



I dare not say from the rich cardinal. 

And from the great and new-made dukeof Suffolk; 

Vet I do find it so: for, to be plain. 

They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour. 

Have hired me to vmdermlne the duchess. 

And buz these conjurations in her brain. 

They say. A crafty knave does need no broker; 

Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. 

Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near 

To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. 

Well, so it stands: And thus, I fear, at last, 

Hume's knaver.v will be the duchess' wrack: 

And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall: 

Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. [,Exlt. 

Scene III.— Tfte same. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Peter, and others, with petitions. 

1 Pet. My masters, let 's stand close; my lord pro- 
tector will come this way by and by, and then we 
may deliver our supplications in the quill. 

2 'Pet. Marry, the Lord protect him, for he 's a good 
man! Jesu bless him! 

Enter Suffolk and Queen Margaret. 

1 Pet. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen with 
him: I'll be the first, sure. 

2 Pet. Come back, fool; this is the duke of Suffolk, 
and not my lord protector. 

Suf. How now, fellow? would'st anything with mel 
1 Pet. I pray, my lord, pardon me! I took ye for my 
lord protector. 
Q. 3Iar. [Reading the superscription.'] 'To my lord 

Erotector!' are your supplications to his lordship? 
et me see them; What is thine? 

1 Pet. Mine is, an 't please your grace, against John 
Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my 
house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. 

Suf. Thy wife too? that is some wrong, indeed.— 
What 's yours?— What 's here? IReads.j 'Against 
the duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of 
Melford.'— How now, sir knave? 

2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our 
whole township. 

Peter. [Presenting Ms petition.] Against my mas- 
ter, Thomas Horner, for saying. That the duke of 
York was rightful heir to the crown. 

Q. Mar. What say'st thou? Did the duke of York 
say. he was rightful heir to the crown? 

Peter. That my master was? No, forsooth: my 
master said, That he was; and that the king was an 
usurper. 

Stif. Who is there? [Enter Servants.]— Take this 
fellow in, and send for nis master with ^ pursuivant 
presently:— We '11 hear more of your matter before 
the king. 

[Exeunt Servants, lolth Peter. 

Q. Mar. And as for you that love to be protected 
Under the wings of otu- protector's grace, 
Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. 

[ Tears the petition. 
Away, base culllons!— Suffolk, let them go. 

All. Come, let 's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners. 

Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise. 
Is this the fashions in the court of England? 
Is this the government of Britain's isle. 
And this the royalty of Albion's king? 
What, shall king Henry be a pupil still. 
Under tlie surly Gioster's governance? 
Am I a queen in title and in style, 
And must be made a subject to a duke? 
I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours 
Thou rann'st a tilt in honour of my love. 
And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France, 
I thought king Henry had resembled thee, 
In courage, courtship, and proportion: 
But all his mind is bent to holiness. 
To number Ave-Marias on his beads: 
His champions are the prophets and apostles; 
His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ; 
His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves 
Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints. 
I would the college of the cardinals 
Would choose him pope, and carry him to Eome, 
And set the triple crown upon his head; 
Thatwere a state fit for his holiness. 

Suf. Madam, be patient: as I was cause 
Your highness came to England, so will I 
In England work your grace's full content. 

Q. Mar. Beside the haughty protector, have we 
Beaufort, 
The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham, 
And grumbling York: and not the least of these 
But can do more in England than the king. 

Suf. And he of these that can do most of all 
Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: 
Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. 

Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half .so much 
As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. 
She sweeps it throug'n the court with troops of 

ladies. 
More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife; 
Strangers in court do take her for the queen: 
She bears a duke's revenues on her back. 
And in her heart she scorns our poverty: 
Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her? 
Contemptuous base-born callat as she is, 
She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day. 
The very train of her worst wearing gown 
Was better worth than all tny father's lands. 
Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 

Suf. Madam myself have lim'd a bush for her; 
And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds. 
That she will light to listen to the la.ys. 
And never mount to trouble you again. 
So, let her rest: And, madam, list tome; 
For I am bold to counsel you in this: 
Although we fancy not the cardinal. 
Yet nmst we join with him, and with the lords. 
Till we have brought duke Ilumphre.v in disgrace. 
As for the duke of York, this late complaint 
Will make but little for his benefit: 
So, one by one, we '11 weed them all at last. 
And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 

Enter King Henry, York, and Somerset; DiiTce and 
Ihichess of Gloster, Cardinal Beaufort, Bucking- 
ham, Salisbury, and 'Warwick. 
K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which; 

Or Somerset, or York, all 's one to me. 
York. If York have 111 demean'd himself In France, 

Then let him be denay'd the regentshlp. 
Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place. 

Let York be regent, I will yield to him. 
War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no 



Dispute not that: York is the worthier. 
Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. 
War. The cardinal 's not my better In the field. 
Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, War- 
wick. 
War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. 
Sal. Peace, son; and show some reason, Bucking- 
ham, 
Why Somerset should be preferr'd In this. 
Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. 
Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
To give his censure; these are no women's matters. 
Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your 
grace 
To be protector of his excellence? 

Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm; 
And at his pleasure will resign my place. 

Suf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. 
Since thou wert king, (as who is king but thou?) 
The commonwealth hath daily run to wrack: 
The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; 
And all the peers and nobles of the realm 
Have been as bondsmen to thy sovereignty. 
Car. The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's 
bags 
Are lank and lean with thy extortion. 
Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's at- 
tire. 
Have cost a mass of public treasury. 

Buck. Thy cruelty in execution, 
Upon offenders, hath exceeded law. 
And left thee to the mercy of the law. 

Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices, and towns in France, 
It they were known, as the suspect is great. 
Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. 

[Exit Gloster. The Queen drops her fan. 
Give me my fan: What, minion ! can you not? 

[Gives the Duchess a bo.c on the ear. 
I cry you mercy, madam; was It you? 
Duch. Was 't I? yea, I It was, proud French-wo- 
man: 
Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
I'd set my ten commandments in .your face. 
K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 't was against her 

will. 
Duch. Against her will ! Good king, look to 't in 
time; 
She '11 hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby. 
Though in this place most master wear no breeches. 
She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd. 

[Exit Duchess. 
Buck. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
And listen after Humphrey, how lie proceeds: 
She 's tickled now: her fume needs no spurs. 
She '11 gallop far enough to her destruction. 

[Exit Buckingham. 
Re-enter Gloster. 

Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blo^vn, 
With walking once about the quadrangle, 
I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 
As for your spiteful false objections. 
Prove them, and I lie open to the law: 
But God in mercy so deal with my soul, 
As I in duty love my king and country i 
But, to the m.atter that we have in hand: 
I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
To be your regent in the realm of France. 

Suf. Before we make election, give me leave 
To show some reason, of no little force. 
That York is most unmeet of any man. 

York. I '11 tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet. 
First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride: 
Next, if I be appointed for the place. 
My lord of Somerset will keep me here. 
Without discharge, money, or-furniture. 
Till France be won Into the Dauphin's hands. 
Last time, I danc'd attendance on his will. 
Till Paris was besieg'd, famlsh'd, and lost. 

War. That can I witness; and a fouler fact 
Did never traitor in the land commit. 

Suf. Peace, headstrong Warwick! 

TFar. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? 

Enter Servants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner and 
Peter. 

Suf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason: 
Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself! 

York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? 

K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk? Tell me: 
What are these? 

Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
That doth accuse his master of high treason: 
His words were these;— that Richard, duke of York, 
Was rightful heii* unto the English crown; 
And that your majesty was an usurper. 

K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words? 

Hor. An 't shall please your majesty, I never said 
nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, I 
am falsely accused by the villain. 

Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, [holding up 
his hands] he did speak them to me in the gafret 
one night, as we were scouring my lord of York's 
armour. 

York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, 
I '11 have thy head for this thy traitor's speech:— 
I do beseech your royal majesty. 
Let him have all the rigour of the law. 

Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the 
words. My accuser is my prentice; and when • did 
correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow 
upon his knees he would be even with me: I have 
good witness of this; therefore, I beseech your maj- 
esty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain s 
accusation. 

K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? 

Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge. 
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
Because in York this breeds suspicion: 
And let these have a day appointed thera 
For single combat, in convenient place; 
For he hath witness of his servant's malice: 
This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. 

Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. 

Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. 

Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot flght; for God's sake, 
pity my case! the spite of man prevaileth against 
me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never 
be able to fight a blow: O Lord, my heart ! 

Glo. Sirrah, or you must flght, or else be hang'd. 

K. Hen. Away with them to prison: and the day 
Of combat shall be the la.st of the next month.— 
Come, Somerset, we '11 see thee sent away. [Exe, 



Scene iv.] 



SECOND r.lllT OF KING HENRY Yl. 



171 



Scene Vf.—Tlie same. The Duke of Gloster's Gar- 
den. 

Enter Margery Joui-daiii, Hume, Southwell, and 
Boliugbi-oke. 

Htime. Come, my mastf rs; the duchess, I tell jou, 
expects performance of your promises. 

Boling. Master Hmtie, we are therefore provided: 
Will lier ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? 

Hume. Ay; What else? fear you nor. her courage. 

Baling. I have heard her reported to be a wmn.an 
of an invincible spirit: But it shall be convenient, 
master Hume, that you be by lier aloft while we he 
busy below; and so. I pray you, go in God's name, 
and leave us. [Exit Hume.] Jlothor Jourdain, be 
you prostrate, and grovel on tlie earth:— John 
Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. 
Enter Duchess, above. 

Duch. Well said, my masters; and welcome all. 
To this gear; the sooner the better. 

Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know their 
times: 
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night. 
The time of night when Troy was set on fire; 
The time when screech-owls cry, and bandogs 

howl. 
And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves. 
That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
Madam, sit .vou, and fear not: whom we raise. 
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. 
[Here they perform the ceremonies appertaining, and 

make the circle; Bolingbroke, or Southwell, reads. 

Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; 

then the Spirit riseth. 

Spir. Adsum. 

M. Jotird. Asmath, 
By the eternal God, whose name and power 
Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; 
For, till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence. 

Spir. Ask what thou wilt: That I had said and 
done! 

Boling. ' First, of the king. What shall of him be- 
come?" [Reading out of a paper. 

Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; 
But him outllvt, and die a violent death. 
[As the Spirit .speaks, Southwell writes the answer. 

Boling. 'What fates await the duke of Suffolk?" 

Spir. By water shall lie die. and take his end. 

Boling. 'What shall befall the duke of Somerset?" 

Spir. Let him shun castles; 
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
Than where castles mounted stand. 
Have done, for more I hardly can endure. 

Baling. Descend to darkness and the burning lake: 
False flend, avoid ! 

[Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends. 

Enter YoxTs. and Buckingham, hastily, with their 
Guards, and others. 

York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their 
trash. 
Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch.— 
What, madam, are you there? the king and com- 
monweal 
Are deeply Indebted for this piece of pains; 
My lord protector will, I doubt it not. 
See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. 

Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England"s king, 
In.iurious duke; that threat's! where is no cause. 

Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you 
this? [Shoiving her the papers. 

Away with them; let them be clapp'd up close, 
And kept asunder:— You, madam, shall with us:— 
Stafford, take her to thee. 

[Emt Duchess /rom above. 
We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming; 
All, away! [E.ve. Guards, with South., Boling., &c. 

York. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch'd 
her well: 
A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon: 
Now, pray, ray lord, let "s see the devil's writ. 
What have we here? [Reads. 

'The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; 
But him outlive, and die a violent death.' 
Why, this is just, 

Aio te, JEacida, Romanes vincere posse. 
Well, to the rest: 

'Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk? 
Bv water shall he die, and take his end, — 
What shall betide the duke of Somerset? 
Let him shun castles; 
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
■Than where castles mounted stand." 
Come, come, my lords; 
■These oracles are hardily attain'd 
And hardly understood. 

The king is now in progress toward Saint Alban's, 
With him the husband of this lovely lady: 
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry 

them; 
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 

Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of 
York, 
To be the post, in hope of his reward. 

York. At your pleasure, my good lord. — 
Who 's within there, ho? 

Enter a Servant. 
Invite my lords of Salisbury and Warwick 
To sup with me to-morrow night.— Away! [Exeunt. 

ACT. IL 
Scene I.— Saint Alban"s. 
Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, Car- 
dinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hollaing. 
Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at tlie brook, 
I saw not better sport these seven years" day: 
Yet, by your leave, the wind was verv high; 
And ten to one old Joan had not gone out. 
K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon 
made, 
ind what a pitch she flew above the rest!— 
To see how God in all his creatures works! 
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. 

Suf. No marvel, an it- like your majesty. 
My lord protector"s hawks do tower so well; 
They know their master loves to be aloft. 
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch, 

Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
That mounts no higher than a i):rd can soar. 
Car. I thought as much; he would be above the 
clouds. 



Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal: How think you by 
that? 
Were it not good .vour grace could fly to heaven? 

K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting Joy! 

Car. Thy heaven Is on earth; thine eyes and 
thouglits 
Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; 
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer. 
That smootn'st it so with king and commonweal! 

Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown per- 
emptory ? 
Tanta^ne atiimis ca^lestihvs ira;? 
Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; 
With such holiness can you do it? 

Suf. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes 
So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. 

Glo. As wno, my lord? 

Suf. Why, as you, ray lord; 

An 't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 

Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. 

Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. 

A. Hen. I prithee, peace, 

Good queen; and whet not on these furious peers, 
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 

Car. Let rae be blessed for the peace I make, 
Against this proud protector with my sword! 

Glo. "Faith, holy uncle, "would it were come to 
that. [Aside to the Cardinal. 

Car. Marr.v, when thou dar"st. [Aside. 

Glo. Malce up no factious numbers for the matter. 
In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside. 

Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou 
dar'st. 
This evening, in the east side of the grove. [Aside. 

K. Hen. How now, my lords? 

Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, 

Had not your man put up the foul so suddenly. 
We had had more sport,— Come, with thy two-hand 
sword. [Aside to Glo. 

Glo. True, uncle. 

Car. Are you advis'd?- the east side of the grove? 

Gla. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside. 

K. Hen. ■ Why , how now, uncle Gloster! 

Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.— 
Now, by God's mother, priest, I"ll shave your crown 

for this. 
Or all my fence shall fail. [Aside. 

Car. Medice teipsmn; 
Protector, see to 't well, protect yourself. [Aside. 

K. Hen. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, 
lords. 
How irksome is this music to my heart! 
When such strings jar, what hope of harmony? 
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 

Enter One, crying, A Miracle! 

Glo. What means this noise? 
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? 

One. A miracle! a miracle! 

Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle. 

One. Forsooth, a blind man at St Alban's shrine. 
Within this half hour, hath reeeiv"d his sight; 
A man that ne'er saw in his life before. 

K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd! that to believing 
souls 
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! 

Enter the Mayor of St. Alban's, and his brethren; 
and Simpcox, borne between two persons in a 
chair; his wife and a great multitude following. 

Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, 
To present your highness with the man. 

K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale. 
Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 

Glo. Stand by, ray masters, bring him near the 
king; 
His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. 

K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, 
That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd? 

SimiJ. Born blind, an "t please your grace. 

Wife. Ay, indeed, was he. 

Suf. What woman is this? 

Wife. His wife, an "t like your worship. 

Glo. Hadst thou been his mother thou could'st 
have better told. 

K. Hen. Where wert thou born? 

Simp. At Berwick in the north, an "t like your 
grace. 

K. Hen. Poor soul! God"sgoodness hath been great 
to thee: 
Let never day nor night unhallow"d pass. 
But still remember what the Lord hath done. 

Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow came'stthou here by 
chance. 
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? 

Simp. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd 
A hundred times, and oftener, in ray sleep 
]3y good Saint Alban; who said, — ' Simpcox, come; 
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee." 

Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft 
Myself have heard a voice to call hira so. 

Car. What, art thou lame? 

Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me! 

Suf. How cam"st thou so? 

Simp. A fall off of a tree. 

Wife. A plum-tree, master. 

Glo. How long hast thou been blind? 

Simp. O, born so, master. 

Glo. What, and would"st climb a tree? 

Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. 

Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. 

Gla. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that would"st 
venture so. 

Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir"d some 
damsons. 
And made me climb, with diinger of ray life. 

Glo. A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve,— 
Let me see thine eyes:— wink now; now open 

them: — 
In my opinion yet thou seest not well. 

Simp. Yes, raaster, clear as day, I thank God and 
Saint Alban. 

Glo. Say"st thou me so? What colour is this cloak 
of? 

Simp. Red, raaster, red as blood. 

Glo. Why, that "s well said; What colouris my gown 
of? 

Simp. Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet. 

K. Hen. Why then thou kuow"st what colour jet is 
of? 

Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 

Glo. But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many. 

Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 



Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what "s my name? 

Simp. Alas, master, 1 know not. 

Glo. What 's his name? 

Simp. I know not. 

Glo. Nor his? 

Simp. No, Indeed, master. 

Glo. What 's thine own name? 

Simp. Saundcr Slmcox, an if it please you. master. 

Glo. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave In 
Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou 
might'st as well have known all our names, as thus 
to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may 
distinguish of colours; but suddenly to nominate 
them all, it is impossible.— My lords, Saint Alban 
here hath done a miracle; and would ye not think 
that cunning to be great that could restore this 
cripple to his legs again? 

Simp. O master, that you could! 

Glo. My masters of St. Alban's, have you not bea- 
dles In your town, and things called whips? 

May. Yes, my lord, if it please .your grace. 

Glo. Then send for one presently. 

May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. 

[Exit an Attendant. 

Glo. Now fetch rae a stool hither by and b.v. [A 
stool brought cmt.'] Now, sirrah, if you mean to 
save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool 
and run away. 

Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone; 
you go about to torture me in vain. 

Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle. 

Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. 
Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same 
stool. 

Bead. I will, my lord.— Come on, sirrah; off with 
your doublet quickly. 

Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able 
to stand. 
[After the Beadle hath hit him. once, he leaps over 

the stool, and runs away; and the people fallow, 

and cry, A Miracle ! 

K. Hen. O God, seest thou this, and bear'st so 
long? 

Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain run. 

Glo. Follow the knave; and take this drab away. 

Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 

Glo. Let them be whipped through every market 
town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they 
came. [Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, <S:c. 

Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. 

Suf. True; raade the lame to leap, and fly away. 

Glo. But you have done more miracles than I; 
You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 

Enter Buckingham. 

K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? 

Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. 
A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,— 
tTnder the countenance and confederacy 
Of lady Eleanor, the pvotector"s wife. 
The ringleader and head of all this rout,— 
Have practis"d dangerously against your state, 
Dealing with witches, and with conjurers: 
Whom we have apprehended in the fact; 
Raising up wicked spirits from under ground. 
Demanding of king ilenr.v's life and death. 
And other of your highness" privy council. 
As more at large your grace shall understand. 

Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means 
Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
This news, I think, hath turn"d your weapon's edge; 
"T is like, ray lord, you wUl not keep your hour. 

[Aside to Gloster. 

Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my 
heart ! 
Sori'ow and grief have vanguish"d all my powers: 
And vanquish'd as 1 am I yield to thee. 
Or to the meanest groom. 

K. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked 
ones; 
Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby! 

Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest; 
And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 

Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal. 
How I have lov'd my king and coraraonweal: 
And for my wife, I know not how it stands; 
Sorry I am to hear what I have heard; 
Noble she is; but if she have forgot 
Honour aud virtue, and eonvers"d with such 
As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
I banish her ray bed and corapany; 
And give her as a prey to law, and shame. 
That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name. 

K. Hen. Well, for this night we will repose us here: 
To-morrow toward London, back again, 
To look into this business thoroughly. 
And call these foul offenders to their answers; 
And poise the cause in justice' equal scales. 
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre- 
vails. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene II.— London. The duke of York's Garden. 
Enter York, Salisbury, and Warvrick. 

York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and War- 
wick, 
Our simple supper ended, give me leave. 
In this close walk, to satisfy myself. 
In craving your opinion of my title, 
Which is infallible, to England's crown. 

Sal. My lord, I loug to hear it at full. 

War. Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good 
The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 

York. Then thus— 
Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons: 
The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales; 
The second, William of Hatfleld; and the third, 
Lionel, duke of Clarence; next to whom 
Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster: 
The fifth was Edmund Langley, duke of York: 
The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Glos- 
ter; 
William of Windsor was the seventh, and last. 
Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father; 
And left behind him Richard, his only son. 
Who, after Edward the Third's death, reigu'd as 

king; 
Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, 
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
; Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
Keiis'd (Ui the realiii; depos'd the ricrlitful king: 
Sent his poor queen to France from whence she 
I came, 



ITS 



HECOyO PAIiT OF KING HEy^RY TI. 



lAcT in. 



And hlni to Pomfrot; whore, as all yoii know. 
Harmless Richard was murdered traitorously. 

War. Father, the dnkehath told the truth; 
Thus Rot the house of Lancaster the crown. 

York. Which now they hold by force, and not by 
right; 
Ftir Richard, the first son's heir, bcins dead, 
The Issue of the next son should have reiRn'd. 

Ftnl. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. 

I'oi-A-. The third son. duke of Clarence, (from 
whose line 
I claim the crown, Ihad issue— Philipne, a dauKhter, 
Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March; 
Edmund had issue— Roser, earl of March: 
Tvojer had issue— Eilmund. Anne, and Eleanor. 

.5(1?. ThlsEdnnind.in the reign of Bolingbroke, 
As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; 
And lut for Owen Glendower had been king. 
Who kept him in captivity till he died. 
But, to the rest. 

York. His eldest sister, Anne, 

Mv mother, being heir unto the crown, 
Married Richard earl of Cambridge; who was son 
To Edmund Langlev, Edward the Third's fifth sou. 
Ev her I claim the kingdom: she was heir 
To Roger earl of March; who was the son 
Of Edmund Mortimer; who marrlert Philippe, 
Sole daughter unto Lionel duke of Clarence: 
So if the issue of the elder son 
Succeed before the younger, I am king. 

^yar. What plain proceedings are more plain than 
this? 
Henry doth claim the crown from Jolm of Gaunt, 
The fourth son; York claims it from the third. 
Till Lionel's issue fails his should not rcigu: 
It fails not yet; but fllonrishes in thee. 
And in thy sons, fair .slips of such a stock. 
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together; 
And, in this priyate plot, be we the first 
That shall salute our rightful sovereign. 
With honour of his birthright to the crown. 

Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's 
king? 

York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your 
king 
Till I be crown'd; and that my sword be stain'd 
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster; 
And that 's not suddenly to be perform'd: 
But with advice, and silent secrecy. 
Do vou, as I do, in these dangerous days, 
Wiiik at the duke of Suffolk's insolence. 
At Beauford's pride, at Somerset's ambition. 
At Buckingham, and ail the crew of them. 
Till they have snar'd the shepherd ot the flock. 
That virtuous prince, the good duke Huiuphrey: 
'T is that they seek; and they, in seeking that. 
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. 

Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at 
full. 

War. My heart assures me that the earl of War- 
wick 
Shall one day make the duke of York a king. 

York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself,— 
Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick 
The greatest man in England but the king. [Exe. 

SCKNE Til.— The same. A Hall of Jtistice. 

Trumpct.'s sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen Mar- 
garet, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and Salisbury; the 
Duchess of Gloster, Margery Jourdain, Southwell, 
Hume, and Bolingbroke, under guard. 
K. Sen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham, GIos- 
ter's wife: 

In sight of God, and us, your guilt is great; 

Receive the sentence of the law, for sins 

Such as by God's book are adjudged to death. 

You four, from hence to prison back again; 

To Jouvd., &c. 

From thence, unt^the place of execution; 

Tlie witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, 

And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. 

You, madam, for you are more nobly born. 

Despoiled of your honour in your lite. 

Shall, after tliree days' open penance done. 

Live in your country here in banishment. 

With sir John Stanley, in (he Isle of Man. 
Diich. Welcome is banislinieut, welcome were my 

death. 
Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee; 

I cannot justify whom the law condemns.— 

iExeunt the Duchess, and the other prisoners, 
guarded. 

Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 

Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age 

Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground ! 

I beseech your majesty give ine leave to go; 

Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. 
K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster; ere thou 

Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself 
Protector be: and God shall be my hope, 
My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet; 
And go in peace, Humphrey; no less belov'd 
Than when thou wert protector to thy liing. 

Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years 
Should be to be protected like a child. 
God and king Henry govern England's helm: 
Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 

Glo. My staff?— here, noble Henry, is my staff: 
As willingly do I the same resign. 
As ere thy father Henry made it mine; 
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it, 
As others would ambitiously receive it. 
Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone. 
May honourable peace attend thy throne. [Exit. 

Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret 
queen; 
And Humphrey duke of Gloster scarce himself. 
That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls ac once,— 
His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; 
This staff of honour raught;- There let it stand, 
Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 

Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his 
sprays; 
Thus l.u'anor's' pride dies in her youngest days. 

York. Lords, let him go;— Please it your majesty, 
This is the day appointed for the combat; 
And ready are the appellant and defendant, 
The armourer and his man to enter the lists, 
So please your highness to behold the fight. 

Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore 
Lett I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 



K. Hen. O' God's name, see the lists and all things 
fit; 
Here let them end it, and God defend the right! 

York. I never .saw a fellow worse bested. 
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant. 
The servant of this arinourer, my lords. 

Enter, on one side. Horner, and his neighhonrs. 
drinking to him so much that lie is drunk; and 
he enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag fasten- 
ed to it; a drum before him: at the other side, 
Peter, vith a drum and a similar staff; accompani- 
ed by prentices drinking to him. 

1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you 
in a cup of sack. And fear not, neighbour, you shall 
do well enough. 

2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here 's a cup of 
charneco. 

8 Neigh. And here 's a pot of good double beer, 
neighbour: drink, and fear not your man. 

Hor. Let it come, i' faith, and I '11 pledge you all; 
and a fig for Peter! 

1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not 
afraid. 

2. Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: 
fight for credit of the prentice.s. 

Peter. I thank you all: drink, and pray for me. I 
pray you; for I think I have taken my lost draught 
in this world.— Here, Robin, an if I die I give thee my 
apron; and. Will, thou shalt have my hammer:— and 
here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord, 
bless me, I pray God! for I am never able to deal 
with my master, he hath learnt so much fence 
already. 

Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. 
—Sirrah, what 's thy name? 

Peter. Peter, forsooth. 

Sal. Peter? what more? 

Peter. Thump. 

Sal. Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. 

Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon 
my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and my- 
self an honest man: and touching the duke of York, 
I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor 
the king, nor the queen: And therefore, Peter, have 
at thee with a downright blow, as Eevis ot South- 
ampton fell upon Ascapart. 

York. Despatch;- this knave's tongue begins to 
double. 
Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants. 

I Alai xim. They fight, and Peter strikes down 
his master. 

Hor. Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, ^ I confess 
treason. [Dies. 

York. Take away his weapon:— Fellow, thank' God, 
and the good wine in thy master's way. 

Peter. O God! have I overcome mine enemy in this 
presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right! 

K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; 
For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt: 
And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us 
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow. 
Which lie had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. 
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. lE.veunt. 

Scene YV.—Tlie same. A Street. 

Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning cloaks. 

Glo. Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a 
cloud; 
And after summer ever more succeeds 
Barren winter, -with his wrathful nipping cold: 
So cares and joys abound as seasons fleet. 
Sirs, what 's o'clock? 

Seti\ Ten, my lord. 

Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me. 
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess; 
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets, 
■To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 
'I'he abject people, gazing on thy face. 
With envious looks still laughing at thy shame, 
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels. 
When thou didst ride In triumph tlirough the 

streets. 
But soft: I think she comes; and I '11 prepare 
My tear-stain'd eyes to see lier miseries. 

Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a white sheet, with 

papers pinned upon her back, her feet bare, and a 

taper burning m her hand; Sir John Stanley, o 

Sheriff, and Officers. 

Sei-v. So please your gi-ace, we 'U take her from the 
sheriff. 

Glo. No, stir not, for your lives: let her pass by. 

Vuch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame? 
Now thou dost penance too. Look, now they gaze! 
See, how the giddy multitude do point. 
And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! 
Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful loolcs; 
And in thy closet pent up rue my shame. 
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine. 

Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this gnief. 

Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself: 
For, whilst I think I am thy married wife. 
And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
Methinks I should not thus be led along, 
Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back; 
And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice 
To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet groans. 
The ruthless flint doth cut my tendei' feet; 
And wlien I start the envious people laugh, 
And bid me be advised how I tread. 
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? 
Trow'st thou that e'er I '11 look upon the world; 
Or count them happy that enjoy the sun? 
No; dark shall be my light, and night my day; 
To think upon my pomp shall be my hell. 
Sometime I '11 say, I am duke Humphrey's wife; 
And he a prince, and ruler of the land: 
Yet so he rui'd, and such a prince he was. 
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 
Was made a wonder, and a pointing stock. 
To every idle rascal follower. 
But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame: 
Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death 
Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will. 
For SulTolk,— tie that can do all !n all 
With her, that hateth thee, and liates us all,— 
And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, 
Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings. 
And, fly thou how thou canst, they '11 tangle thee; 
But fear not thou until thy foot be snar'd. 
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. 



Glo. Ah. Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry; 
I must offend before I be attainted: 
And had I twenty times so many foes. 
And each of them had twenty times their power, 
All these could not procure me any seath. 
So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 
Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach? 
Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away. 
But I in danger for the breach of law. 
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell: 
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience; 
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. 
Enter a Herald. 

Her. T summon your grace to his majesty's parlia- 
ment, holden at Bury the first of this next month. 

Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before ! 
This is close dealing.— Well, I will be there. 

fRriY Herald. 
My Nell, I take my leave:— and, master sheriff. 
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 

Sher. An 't please your grace, here my commis- 
sion stays: 
And sir ,Tohn Stanley is appointed now 
To take her with him to the isle of Man. 

Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here? 

Stan. So am I given in charge, may 't please your 
grace. 

Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray 
You use her well: 

The world may laugh again; and I may live 
To «lo you kindness, if you do it her, 
And so, sir John, farewell. 

Duch. What, gone, my lord; and bid me not fare- 
well? 

Glo. Witness my tears. I cannot stay to speak. 

[acvmt Gloster orwi Servants. 

Duch. Art thou gone too? All comfort go with 
thee. 
For none abides with me: my joy is— de.ath; 
Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard. 
Because I wish'd this world's eternity. — 
Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence: 
I care not whither, for I beg no favour. 
Only convey me where thou art commanded. 

Stan. Why, madam, that is to the isle of Man; 
There to be used according to your state. 

Duch. That 's bad enough, for I am but reproach: 
And shall I then be used reproachfully? 

Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's 
lady. 
According to that state you shall be used. 

Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare; 
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame! 

Slier. It is my ofBce; and, madam, pardon me. 

Duch. .4y, ay, farewell: thy olfice is dlscharg'd. 
Come, Stanley, shall we go? 

Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this 
sheet, 
And go we to attire you for our journey. 

Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet: 
No, It will hang upon my richest robes, 
And show itself, attire nie how I can. 
Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. \Kxe. 

ACT IIL 
Scene I.— The Abbey at Bury. 

Enter to the Parliament. King Henry, Queen Mar 
garet. Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York, Bucking- 
ham, and others. 

K. Hen. I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come: 
'T is not his wont to be the hindmost man, 
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 

Q. Mar. Can you not see? or will you not observe 
The .strangeness of his alter'd coiintenance? 
With what a majesty he bears himself ; 
How insolent of late he is become. 
How proud, peremptory, and unlike himself? 
We know the time since he was mild and affable; ^ 
And, if we did but glance a far-off look. 
Immediately he was upon his knee. 
That all the court admir'd him for submission; 
But meet him now, and, be it in the morn. 
When every one will give the time of day. 
He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye. 
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee. 
Disdaining duty that to us belongs. • 
Small curs are not regarded when they grin; 
But great men tremble when the lion roars; 
And Humphrey is no little man in England. 
First, note, tliat he is near you in descent: 
And should you fall he is the next will mount. 
Me seemeth then, it is no policy,— 
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears. 
And his advantage following your decease- 
That he should come about your royal person. 
Or be admitted to your higiiness' council. 
By flattery hath he won the commons' heart; 
And, when he please to make commotion, 
'T is to be fear'd they all will follow him. 
Now 't is the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; i 
Suffer them now, and they '11 o'ergrow the garden, 
And choke the lierb.-i for want of husbandry. 
The reverent care I bear unto my lord 
Made me collect these dangers in the duke. 
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear; 
Which fear, if better reasons can supplant, 
I will subscribe and say— I wrong'd the duke. 
My lord of Suffolk,— Buckingham,— and York,— 
Reprove my allegation, if you can; 
Or else conclude my words effectual. 

Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke; 
And had I first been put to speak my mind, 
I think I sliould have told your grace's tale. 
The duchess, by his subornation. 
Upon my life, began her devilish practices: 
Or, if he were not privy to those faults. 
Yet, by reputing of liis high descent, 
f As next the king he was successive heir,) 
And such higli vaunts of his nobility. 
Did instigate the Bedlam brain-sick duchess. 
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; 
And in his simple show he harbours treason. 
The fox barks not when he would steal the Iamb. 
No, no, my sovereign; Gloster is a man 
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. 

Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
Devise strange deaths for small offences done? 

York. And did he not, in his protectorship. 
Levy great sums of money through the realm. 
For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? 
By means whereof the towns each day revolted. 



S(.-EXE I, 



SEcoy/i PAirr of av.vc/ iiKXRy vr. 



173 



£«cft. Tut! These are petty faults to faults un- 
known, 
Which time will bring to light in smooth duke Hum- 
phrey. 
K. Hen. My lords, at once. The care you have or 
us. 
To mow down thorna that would annoy our foot. 
Is worthy praise: But sliall I speak my conscience? 
Our kinsman Glostcr is as innoi-cnt 
From meaniiiK treason to mir royal per.son. 
As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove: 
Tile duke is virtuous, mild; and too well given. 
To dream on evil, or to work mv downfall. 
Q. Mar. Ah, what 's moredangerous than this fond 
affiance ! 
Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd, 
For he's disposed as the hateful r.iven. 
Is he a lamb? his skin is sui'cly lent him, 
For he 's inelin'd as is the ravenous wolf. 
Who cannot steal a shape thiit means deceit? 
Take heed, niv lord; the welfare of us all 
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudtul man. 

Enter Somerset. 
Slim. All health unto mv gracious sovereign! 
K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What news 

from France? 
Som. That all your interest in those territories 
Is utterlj' l)ereft you; all is lost. 
K. Hen Cold news, lord Somerset: But God's will 

be done! 
Yorl: Cold news for me; for I had hope of 
France, 
As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, 
And caterpillerseat my leaves away: 
But I will remedy this gear ere long. 
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. [Aside. 

Knter Gloster. 

Glo. All happiness imto my lord the king! 
Pardon, my liege, that I liave staid so long. 

Siif. Nay, Gloster, know that thou art come too 
soon. 
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: 
I do arrest thee of high treason here. 

Glo. Well, Suffolk's duke, thou shalt not see me 
blush. 
Nor change my countenance for this arrest; 
A heart imspotted is not easily daunted. 
The purest spring is not so free from mud 
As I am clear from treason to my sovei'eign: 
Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? 

Yoi-k. 'T is thought, my lord, that you took bribes 
of France, 
And, being protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay; 
Bj' means whereof his highness hath lost France. 

Glo. Is it but thought so? What are they that 
think it? 
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay. 
Nor ever had oite penny bribe from France. 
So help me God, as I have watcli'd the night,— 
Ay, night by night,— in studying good for England! 
That doit that e'er I wrested from the king. 
Or any gi-oat I hoarded to my use. 
Be brought against me at my trial day! 
No! many a pound of mine own proper store. 
Because I would not tax the needy commons. 
Have I dis-pursed to the garrisons. 
And never ask'd for restitution. 

Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. 

Glo. I say no more than truth, so help me God! 

Yorle. In your protectorship, you did devise 
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of. 
That England was defam'd by tyranny. 

Glo. Why, 't is well known, that whiles I was pro- 
tector 
Pity was all the fault that was in me; 
For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
And lowly words were ransom for their fault. 
Unless it were a bloody murderer. 
Or foul felonious thief, that fleec'd poor passengers, 
I never gave them condign punishment: 
Mui'der, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd 
Above the felon, or what trespass else. 

Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, quickly an^ 
swered : 
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge. 
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
I do arrest you m his highness' name; 
And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
To keep, until your further time of trial. 

K. Hen. My lord of Gloster, 't is my special hope, 
That you will clear youi'self from all suspects; 
My conscience tells me you are innocent. 

Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous. 
Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition. 
And charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand- 
Foul subornation is predominant. 
And equity exil'd your highness' land. 
I know their complot is to have my life; 
And. if my death might make this island happy. 
And prove the period of their tyranny, 
I would expend it with all willingness: 
But mine is made the prologue to their play; 
For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril. 
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, 
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; 
Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue 
The envious load that lies upon his heart; 
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon. 
Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, 
By false accuse doth level at my life: 
And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest. 
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head; 
And, with your best endeavour, have stirr'd up 
My liefest liege to be mine enemy: 
Ay, all of .\ou have laid your heads together. 
My.self had notice of your conventicles. 
And all to make away my guiltless life; 
I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; 
The ancient proverb will be well affected, — 
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. 

Car. My liege, his railing Is intolerable: 
If tliose that care to keep your royal person 
From treason's secret knife, and traitors' rage. 
Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at. 
And the offender granted scope of speech, 
'T will make them cool in zeal unto your grace, 

Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here. 
With Ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd. 



As if she had suborned some to swear 
False ailegnlioiis too'erthrow his state? 

p. Hhir. But I can give the loser leave to chide. 

Gin. Far truer s|)olcc tluiu meant: I lose, indeed;— 
Beshrew the winners, for I hey play'd me false! 
And well such losers may have leave to speak. 

Buck. He '11 wrest the sense, and hold us here all 
day; 
Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. 

Car. Sirs, takeaway the duke, and guard him sure. 

Glo. Ah, thus king Henry tlirows away his crutch. 
Before his legs be tlrm to bear his body: 
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side. 
And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. 
Ah, that m.v fear were false! ah, that it were! 
For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. 

[Exeunt Attendanis loith Gloster. 

K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth 
best. 
Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. 

Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the parlia- 
ment? 

K. Hen. Ay, Margaret ; mv heart is drown'd with 
grief. 
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes; 
My body round engirt with misery; 
For what's more miserable than discontent? 
Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see 
The map of honour, truth and loyalty; 
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come. 
That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. 
What low'ring star now envies thy estate. 
That these gi-eat lords, and Margaret our queen, 
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? 
Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong: 
And as the butcher takes away the calf. 
And binds the wretch, and beats it when It strays, 
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house; 
Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence. 
And as the dam runs lowing up and down. 
Looking the way her harmless young one went. 
And can do nought but wail her darling's loss; 
Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case. 
With sad, unhelpful tears; and with dimm'd eyes 
Look after him, and cannot do him good; 
So mighty are his vowed enemies. 
His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan. 
Say—' Who's a traitor, Gloster he is none.' [h'xit. 

Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's 
hot beams. 
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, 
Too full of foolisli pity, and Gloster's show 
Beguiles him, as tlie mournful crocodile 
With sorrow snares relenting passengers; 
Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering bank. 
With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child, 
That, for the beauty, thinks it excellent. 
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, 
f And yet, herein I Judge mine own wit good,) 
This Gloster should be quickly rid the world, 
To rid us from the fear we have of him. 

Car. That he should die is worthy policy: 
But yet we want a colour for his death: 
'T is meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 

Suf. But, ill my mind, that were no policy: 
The king will labour still to save his life; 
The commons haply rise to save his lite; 
And yet we have but trivial argument, 
Blore than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. 

York. So that by this you would not have him die. 

Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I. 

York. 'T is York that hath more reason for his 
death. 
But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk,— 
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,— 
Wer 't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite. 
As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector? 

Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of 
death. 

Sy/. Madam, 't is true: and wer 't not madness 
then. 
To make the fox surveyor of the fold? 
Who being accus'd a crafty murderer. 
His guilt should be but Idly posted over. 
Because his purpose is not executed. 
No, let him die, in that he is a fox. 
By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, 
(Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,) 
As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. 
And do not stand on quillets, how to slay him: 
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty, 
Sleeping or waking, 't is no matter how, 
So lie be dead; for that is good deceit 
Which mates him first that first intends deceit. 

Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 't is resolutely spoke. 

Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done; 
For things are often spoke, and seldom meant: 
But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,— 
Seeing the deed is meritorious. 
And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, — 
Say but the word, and I will be his priest. 

Car. But I would have him dead, my lord of Suf- 
folk, 
Ere you can take due orders for a priest: 
Say, you consent, and censure well the deed. 
And I '11 provide his executioner, 
I tender so the safety of my liege. 

Suf. Here Is my hand, the deed is worthy doing. 

p. Jlfar. And so say I. 

York. And I: and now we three have spoke it. 
It skills not greatly who Impugns our doom. 
Enter a Messenger. 

3Iess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain, 
To signify, that rebels there are up, 
And put the Englishmen uiiro the sword: 
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, 
Before the wound do grow incurable; 
For being green there is great hope of help. 

Car. A breach that craves a quick expedient stop! 
What counsel give you in this weighty cause? 

York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither; 
'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd; 
Witness the fortune he hath had in'France. 

Som. If York, with all his far-fet policy. 
Had been the regent there instead of me. 
He never would have staid in Prance so long. 

York. No, not to lose it all as thou hast done: 
I rather would have lost my lire betimes. 
Than bring a burden of dishonour home, 
By staying there so long, till all were lost. 
Show me one scar character'd on thv skin: 
Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win. 



Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging 
fire. 
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with: 
No more, good York;— sweet Somerset, be still: 
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there. 
Might h.applly have prov'd far worse than his. 

York. What, worse than naught? nay, then a shame 
take all! 

Som. And in til" nuiiilier thee, that wishest shame! 

Car. My lonl <,f 'i',,il;, try what your fortune is. 
The uncivil Ki-rni's i>l' Ireland are in arms. 
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen: 
To Ireland will you lead a band of men. 
Collected choicely, from each county some. 
And try your hap against the Irishmen. 

Y^ork. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. 

Suf. Why, our authority is his consent; 
And what we do e.stabli.sh he confirms: 
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 

I'oWi;. I am content: Provide me soldiers, lords. 
Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. 

Suf. A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd. 
But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. 

Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him. 
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. 
And .so break off; the day is almost spent: 
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. 

York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days. 
At Bristol I expect my .soldiers; 
For there I '11 ship them all for Ireland. 

Suf. I '11 see it truly done, my lord of York. 

(Exeunt all but York. 

York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful 
thoughts. 
And change misdoubt to resolution: 
Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art 
Resign to death, it ii not worth the enjoying: 
Let palefac'd fear keep with the mean-born man, 
And find no harbour in a royal heart. 
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on 

thought; 
And not a thought but thinks on dignity. 
My brain, more busy than the labouring spider. 
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
Well, nobles, well, 't is politicly done. 
To send me packing with an host of men: 
I fear me you but warm the starved snake. 
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your 

hearts. 
'T was men I lack'd, and you will give them me: 
I take it kindly; yet, be well assur'd 
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
Whiles I in Ireland nouiish a mighty band, 
I will stir up in England some black storm 
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell: 
And this fell tempest shall notecase to rage 
Until the golden circuit on my head. 
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, 
Do calm the fur.v of this mad-bred flaw. 
And, for a minister of my intent, 
I have seduc'd ahead-strong Kentishman, 
John Cade of Ashford, 
To make commotion, as full well he can. 
Under the title of John Mortimer. 
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 
Oppose himself against a troop of Kernes; 
And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts 
Were almost like a sharpquill'd porcupine: 
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen him 
Caper upright like a wild Morisco, 
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. 
Pull often, like a shag-hair'd crafty Kerne, 
Hath he conversed with the enemv; 
And undiscover'd come to me again. 
And given me notice of their villainies. 
This devil here shall be my substitute; 
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead. 
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble: 
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind. 
How they affect the house and claim of York. 
Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortur'd; 
I know no pain they can inflict upon him. 
Will make him say— I mov'd him to those arms. 
Say, that lie thrive, (as 't is great like he will,) 
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, 
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd: 
For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, 
And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit. 

Scene II.— Bury. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter certain Murderers, hastily. 

1 Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know 
We have dispaich'd the duke, as he commanded. 

2 3Iur. O, that it were to do!— What have we done? 
Didst ever hear a man so penitent? 

Enter Suffolk. 
1 M^ir. Here comes my lord. 
Suf. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing? 
1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead. 
Suf. Why that is well said. Go, get you to my 
house; 
I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
The king and all the peers are here at hand:— 
Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well. 
According as I gave directions? 
1 Mur. 'T is, mj' good lord. 

Suf. Away, be gone ! [Exeunt Murderers. 

Enter King Henry, Queeii Margaret, Cardinal Beau- 
fort, Somerset, Lords, and others. 
K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight : 
Say, we intend to try his grace to-day. 
If he be guilty, as 't is published. 
Svf. I '11 call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. 
K. Hen. Lords, take your places:— And, I pray you 
all 
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster, 
Than from true evidence, of good esteem, 
He be approv'd in practice culpable. 

Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail. 
That faultless may condemn a nobleman! 
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion! 
K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words con- 
tent me much. — 

Re-enter Suffolk. 
How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest 

thou? 
Where is our uncle? what "s the matter, Suffolk? 
Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead. 
Q. Mar. Marry, God fore fend! 

Car. God's secret judgment;— I did dream to-night 
The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. 

[The King swoons. 



174 



SECOXD PART OF KINO HENRY VI. 



[Act iir. 



Q. Mar. How fares my lord?— Help, lords! the king 

Is (lead. 
Som. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. 
Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help!— O Henry, ope thine 

eyes ! 
Siif. He doth revive again:— Madam, be patient. 
K. Hen. O heavenly God I 
O. Mar. How fares my gracious lord? 
Si(/. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, com- 
fort ! 
K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort 
me? 
Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; 
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren. 
By crying comfort from a hollow breast. 
Can chase away the flrstconeeived sound? 
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words: 
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say; 
Their touch affrights nie as a serpent's .sting. 
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! 
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 
Sits in grini majesty, to fright the world. 
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding: 
Yet do not go a%vay:— Come, basilisk. 
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight. 
For in the shade of death I shall find joy; 
In life but double death, now (Jloster's dead. 

Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus? 
Although the duke was enemy to him, 
Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death: 
And for myself, foe as he was to me. 
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans. 
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans. 
Look pale as primrose with biood-drinking sighs, 
And all to have the noble duke alive. 
What know I how the world may deem of me? 
For it is known we were but hollow friends; 
It may be judg'd I made tl>e duke away: 
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, 
And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. 

This get t by his death: Ah me, unhappy ! 

To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy ! 
K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man ! 
Q. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched tlian he is. 

What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? 

I am no loathf me leper, look on me. 

What, art thou ..ke the adder waxen deaf? 

Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. 

Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb? 

Why. then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy: 

Erect his statue then, and worship it. 

And make my Image but an alehouse sign. 

Was I for this nigh wrack'd upon the sea; 

And twice by awkward wind from England's bank 

Brove back again unto my native clime? 

What boded this, but well-forewarning wind 

Did seem to say,— Seek not a scorpion's nest. 

Nor set no footing on this unkind shore? 

What did I then, out curs'd the gentle gusts. 

And he that loos'd them forth their brazen eaves; 

And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore, 

Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? 

Yet .^olus would not he a murderer. 

But left that hateful ofBce unto thee: 

The pretty vaulting sea ref us'd to drown me; 

Knowing that thou would'st have me drown'd on 
shore. 

With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness: 

The splitting rocks cow'rd in the sinking sands. 

And would not dash me with their ragged sides; 

Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they. 

Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 

As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs. 

When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, 

I stood upon the hatches in the storm: 

And when the dusky sky began to rob 

My earnest-gaping sight of tiay land's view, 

I took a costly jewel from my neck,— 

A heart it was, bound in witli diamonds, — 

And threw it towards thy land;— the sea receiv'd It; 

And so I wlsh'd thy body might my heart: 

And even with this I lost fair England's view. 

And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart; 

And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles. 

For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 

How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue 

(The agent of thy foul inconstancy.) 

To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did. 

When he to madding Dido would unfold 

His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy? 

Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like 
him? 

Ah me, I can no more ! Die, Margaret ! 

For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. 

Noise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury. 
Tlie Commons press to the door. 

War. It is reported, mighty sovereign. 
That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd 
By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. 
The commons, like an angry hive of bees. 
That want their leader, scatter up and down, 
And care not who they sting in his revenge. 
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny. 
Until they hear the order of his death. 

K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 't Is too 
true; 
But how he died, God knows, not Henrv: 
Enter his chamber, view iiis breathless'eorpse. 
And comment then upon his sudden death. 

TTar. That shall I do. my liege:— Stay, Salisbury, 
With the rude multitude, till I return. 

[Warwick goes into an inner room, and 
Salisbury retires. 

K. Hen. O thou that judgest all things, stay my 
thoughts; 
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul 
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life ! 
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God; 
For judgment only doth belong to tliee i 
Fain would I go to chafe his palv lips 
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain 
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears; 
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk. 
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling: 
But all in vain are these mean obsequies; 
And to survey his dead and earthy image. 
What were It but to make my sorrow greater? 
T!ie folding doors of an inner chamber are thrcn-n 

open, and Gloster is dtiteoverea cleaa in his bed: 

Warwick and others standing by it. 



War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this 

bod.v. 
K. Hen. That is, to see how deep my grave is 
made: 
For with his soul fled all my worldly solace: 
For seeing him, I see my life in death. 

War. As surely as my oul intends to live 
With that dread King, that took our state upon him 
To free us from liis Father's wrathful curse, 
I do believe that violent hands were laid 
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 

Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! 
What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow? 
War. See, how the blood is settled in his face! 
Oft have I seen a imely-parted ghost. 
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless. 
Being all descended to the labouring heart; ^ 
Who, in the conflict that it liolds with death. 
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy; 
Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er return- 

eth 
To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
But see, his face is black, and full of blood: 
His eye-lialls further out than when he liv'd. 
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man: 
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with strug- 
gling; 
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd 
And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdued. 
Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking; 
His well-proportioned beard made rough and rug- 
ged. 
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
It cannot be but he was murder'd here; 
The least of all these signs were probable. 
Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to 
death? 
Myself and Beaufort had him In protection; 
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 
War. But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's 
foes; 
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep; 
'T IS like .you would not feast him like a friend; 
And 't is well seen he found an enemy. 
Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noble- 
men 
As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. 
War. Who finds tlie heifer dead, and bleeding 
fresh, 
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe. 
But will suspect 't was he that made the slaughter? 
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest. 
But may imacine how the bird was dead, * 
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? 
Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 
Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk; where 's 
your knife? 
Is Beaufort term'd a kite; where are his talons? 

Suf. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men; 
But here 's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease. 
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart 
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge: 
Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwieks'nire, 
That I am faulty m duke Humphrey's death. 

[Exeunt Cardinal, Som., and others. 
War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suftolk 

dare him? 
Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit. 
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller. 
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. 

War. Madam, be still, with reverence may I say; 
t or every word you speak in his behalf 
Is slander to your royal dignity. 

Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour! 
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much. 
Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 
Was graft with crab-tree slip: whose fruit thou art. 
And never of the Nevils' noble race. 

War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee 
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee. 
Quitting tliee thereby of ten thousand shames. 
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech. 
And say— It was thy mother that thou meant'st. 
That thou thyself was born in bastardy: 
And, after all this fearful homage done. 
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell. 
Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men! 

Suf. Thou Shalt be waking while I shed thy blood. 
If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. 

War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence: 
Unworthy though thou art, I '11 cope with thee. 
And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. 

[Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick. 
K. Hen. What stronger breastjilate than a heart 
untainted! 
Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just; 
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel. 
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 

[A noise within. 
Q. Mar. What noise is this? 

Ee-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their weapons 
drawn. 

K. Hen. Why, how now, lords? your wrathful 
weapons diawn 
Here in oiu- presence? dare yoti be so bold?— 
Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? 

Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of 
Bury, 
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 

Noise of a crowd loithin. Re-enter Salisbury. 

Sal. Sirs, stand apart; the king sh.ill know your 
mind.— [Speaking to those within. 

Dread lord, the commons send vou word by me. 
Unless lord Suffolk straight be done to death. 
Or banished fair England's territories. 
They will by violence tear him from your palace. 
And torture him with grievous ling'ring death. 
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died; 
They say, in him they fear your highness' death; 
And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, — 
Free from a stubborn opposite intent. 
As being thought to contradict your liking,— 
Makes them thus forward in his banishment. 
They say, in care of your most royal person, 
That, if your highness should intend to sleep. 
And charge that no man should disturb your rest, 
Ii; pain of your dislike, or pain of death; 
Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict. 
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue, 



That silly glided towards your majesty. 
It were but necessary you were wak'd- 
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber. 
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal: 
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid. 
That they will guard you whe'r vou will or no 
From such fell serpents as falseSuffolk Is; 
With whose envenomed and fatal sting. 
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth. 
They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 

Commons. [Within.} An answer from the king, my 
lord of Salisbury. 

Suf. 'T is like, the commons, rude iinpolish'd hinds. 
Could send such message to their sovereign: 
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, 
To show how quaint an orator you are: 
But all the honour Salisbury hath won. 
Is, that he was the lord ambassador, 
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. 

Commons. [Within.} An answer from the king, oi 
we will all break in. 

K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me, 
I thank them for their tender loving care; 
And had I not been 'cited so by them. 
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; 
For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means. 
And therefore, by His majesty I swear, 
Whose far unworthy deputy t am. 
He shall not breathe Infection in this air 
But three days longer, on the pain of death. 

^ „ „ „ . [Exit Salisbury. 

O. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk! 

K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suj 



folk 



Suf- 



No more, I say; If thou dost plead for him 

Thou wilt but add increase unto mv wrath. 

Had I but said, I would have kept rny word; 

But when I swear, it is irrevocable: 

If, after three days' space, thou here bes't found 

On any ground that I am ruler of. 

The world shall not be ransom for thy life. 

Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go wltli me: 

I have great matters to impart to thee. 

[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, £c. 
Q. Mar. Mischance and sorrow go along with you! 
Heart's discontent, and sour affliction. 
Be playfellows to keep you company! 
There 's two of you; the devil make a third! 
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps! 

Svf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, 
■ And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 

Q. Mar. Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted 
wretch! 
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies? 
Suf. A plague upon them! wherefore should I 
curse them? 
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
I would invent as bitter searching terms. 
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, 
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
With full as many signsof deadly hate. 
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave: 
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words: 
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; 
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract; 
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: 
And even now my burden'd heart would break. 
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink! 
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste! 
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees! 
Their chiefest prospect murdering oasliisks! 
Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings! 
Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss; 
And boding screech-owls make the^oncert full! 
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell— 
Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suftolk; thou torment'st 
thyself; 
And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass. 
Or like an overcharged gun, recoil. 
And turn the force of them upon thyself. 

Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? 
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from. 
Well could I curse away a winter's night. 
Though standing naked on a mountain-top. 
Where biting cold wotild never let grass grow, 
And think it but a minute spent in sport. 
Q. Mar. O, let me entreat tliee, cease! Give me 
thy hand. 
That I may dew it with my mournful tears; 
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place. 
To wash away my woeful monuments. 
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, 

[Kisses his hand. 
That thou might'st think upon these by the seal. 
Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for 

thee ! 
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; 
'T is but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by. 
As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 
I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd, i 

Adventure to be banished myself: 
And banished I am, if but from thee. 
Go, speak not to me; even now be gone. — 
O, go not yet !— Even thus two friends condemn'd 
Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, 
Loather a hundred times to part than die. 
Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee ! 
Suf Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, 
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. 
'T is not the land I care for, wert thou thence; 
A wilderness is populous enough. 
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company: 
For where thou art there is the world itself, 
With every several pleasure in the world; 
And where thou art not, desolation. 
I can no more:— I/ive thou to joy thy life. 
Myself no joy in nought, but that thou llv'st. 

Enter Vaux. 

Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, t 
prithee? 

Vaux. To signify unto his majesty 
That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death: 
For suddenly a grieVous sickness took him, 
That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air. 
Blaspheming God, and cursing men on e.irth. 
Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost 
Were by his side; sometime, he calls tlie king, 
And whispers to his pillow, as to him, 
T'le Pi'crets of nis f>verchai":;et.i soul; 
And I am sent to tell his majesty. 
That even now he cries aloud for him. 



Scene ii.] 



SECOND PAliT OF KING HENRY Vf. 



175 



O. Mar. Go tell this heavy message to the kinp. 

[Exit Vaux. 
All me ! what Is this world? what news are these? 
But wlierefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, 
Omittlne Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? 
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee. 
And with the southern clouds contend In tears; 
Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows? 
Now, get thee liencc: The king, tliou know'st, Is 

coming. 
If thou be found by me thou art but dead. 

Siif. If I depart from thee I cannot live: 
And in thy sight to die, what were it else, 
But like a pleasant slumber In thy lap? 
Here could I breathe my soul into the air. 
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, 
X>ving with mother's dug between its lips: 
Where, from thv sight, I should be raging mad, 
And cry out for tnee to close up mine eyes. 
To have thee with thv lips to stop my mouth; 
So should'st thou either turn my flying soul. 
Or I should breathe it so into thy body. 
And then it iiv'd in sweet Elysium. 
To die by thee were hut to die in .iest; 
From thee to die were torture moi-e than death: 
O, let me stay, befall what mav befall. 

O. 3Tar. Away! though parting be a fretful corsive. 
It IS applied to a deathtul wound. 
To France, sweet Suffolk: Let me hear from thee; 
For wheresoe'er thon art in this world's globe, 
I '11 have an Iris that shall find thee out. 

Suf. I go. 

Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. 

S"f. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask 
That ever did contain a thing of worth. 
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we; 
This way fall I to death. 

Q. Mar. This way for me. 

[Exeunt severally. 

Scene III.— London. Cardinal Beaufort's Bed- 
chamber. 

Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Wnrwick, and others. 

The Cardinal in led; Attendants ivith him. 

K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to 

thv sovereign. 
Car. If thou T^e'st death, I '11 give thee England's 
treasure. 
Enough to purchase such another island. 
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 
K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
Where death's approach is seen so terrible! 
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 
Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
Died he not in his bed? where should he die? 
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no?— 

! torture me no more, I will confess. — 
Alive again? then show me where he Is; 

1 '11 give a thousand pound to look upon him.— 
He hath no eyes, the dust liatli blinded them. — 
Comb down his hair; look ! look ! it stands upright. 
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul !— 
Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary 
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. 

K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 
Look with a gentle eye upon this wreich ! 
O, beat away the busy meddling flend 
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's s6ul, 
And from his bosom purge this black despair! 

War. See, how the pangs of death do make him 
grin. 

Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. 

K. Ben. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure 
be! 
Lord cardinal. If thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.— 
He dies, and makes no sign; O God, forgive him ! 

War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 

K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. — 
Close up his e.ves, and draw the curtain close; 
And let us all to meditation. [Exeiint 

ACT IV. 
Scene I. — Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover. 

Firing heard at sea. Then enter fy-om a boat, a Cap- 
tain, a Master, a Master's-Mate, Walter Whitmore, 
aiid others; with them Suffolk, and other Gentle- 
men, pnsoners. 

Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day 
Is crept into the bosom of the sea; 
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
That drag the tragic melancholy night; 
"Who with their drowsy, slovv, and flagging "wings 
Clip dead nien's graves, and from their misty jaws 
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize; 
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, 
Here shall the.v make their ransom on the sand. 
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. 
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;— 
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;— 
The other, [pointing to SuffolkJ Walter Whitmore, is 
thy share. 
1 Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me know. 
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your 

head. 
Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes 

yours. 
Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand 
crowns. 
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?— 
Cut both the villains' throats,— for die you shall.— 
The lives of those which we have lost in fight 
Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum? 

1 Gent. I '11 give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. 

2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it 

straight. 
Whit. I lost mine eye In laying the prize aboard. 
And therefore to revenge it shaft thou die; [To Suf. 
And so should these, if I might have my will. 
Cap. Be not so rash; take ransom, let liim live. 
Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman; 
Rate me at what thou wilt thou shalt be paid. 
Whit. And so am I; my name Is Walter Whit- 
more. 
How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death 
affright? 
Suf. Thy name affrights me, In whose sound Is 
death. 
A cunning man did calculate my birth. 
And told me that by Water I should die. 
Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded; 



Thv name Is Gualtier, being rightly sounded. 

Whit. Onaltier, or Walter, which it Is I care not; 
Never yet did base dishonour blur our name, 
But with our sword we wip'd away the blot; 
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge. 
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd. 
And I proclalm'd a coward through the world! 

. [iMys hold on Suffolk. 

Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince. 
The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. 

Wliit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags! 

Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke; 
Jove sometime went disguis'd. and why not I? 

Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. 

Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood. 
The uonourable blood of Lancaster, 
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. 
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup? 
Bare headed plodded by my toot-cloth mule. 
And thought thee happy, when I shook my head? 
How often hast thou w aited at my cup. 
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, 
When I have feasted with queen Margaret? 
Remember it, and let it make thee orest-faU'n; 
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride: 
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood. 
And duly waited for my coming forth? 
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf. 
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. 

Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn 
swain? 

Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. 

Suf. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so art 
thou. 

Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's 
side 
Strike off his head. 

Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. 

Cap. Yes, Poole. 

Suf. Poole? 

Cap. Poole! Sir Poole! lord! 
Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt 
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. 
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth. 
For swallowing the treasure of the realm: 
Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the 

ground: 
And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's 

death. 
Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain. 
Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again: 
And wedded be thou to the hags of liell. 
For daring to affy a mighty lord 
TJnto the daughter of a worthless king. 
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
By devilish policy art thou grown great, 
And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd 
With gobbets of th.v mother's bleeding heart. 
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France: 
The false revolting Normans, thorough thee. 
Disdain to call us lord: and Picardy 
Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts. 
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 
The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all. 
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, 
As hating thee, are rising up in arms: 
And now the house of York— thrust from the crown, 
By shameful murder of a guiltless king. 
And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,— 
Burns with revenging flre; whose hopeful colours 
Advance our halt-faced sun, striving to shine. 
Under the which is writ Invitis nubihus. 
The commons here in Kent are up in arms: 
And, to conclude, i-eproach, and beggary. 
Is crept into the palace of our king. 
And all by thee:— Away! convey him hence. 

Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder 
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! 
Small things make base men proud: this villain here, 
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
Than Bargulus the strong lllyrian pirate. 
Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. 
It is impossible that I should die 
By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me: 
I go of message from the queen to France; 
I charge thee waft me safely cross the channel. 

Cap. Walter. 

Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. 

Suf. Pene gelidus timor occupat artus:—'t is thee I 
fear. 

Whit. Thou Shalt have cause to fear before I leave 
thee. 
What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 

1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him 
fair. 

Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, 
Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. 
Far be it we should honour such as these 
With humble suit; no, rather let my head 
Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any. 
Save to the God of heaven, and to my king; 
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole 
Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. 
True nobility is exempt from fear:— 
More can I bear than you dare execute. 

Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 

Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can. 
That this my death may never be forgot!— 
Great men oft die by vile bezonians: 
A Roman sworderand banditto slave 
Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand 
Stabb'd Julius Csesar; savage islanders, 
Pompey the great: and Suffolk dies by pirates. 

[Exit Suf., with Whit, and others. 

Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set, 
It is our pleasure one of them depai-t:— 
Therefore come you with us, and let him go. 

1 Exeunt all bjit the first Gentleman. 
Re-enter WTiitmore, with Suffolk's body. 

Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie. 
Until the queen his mistress bury it. [E.cit. 

1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! 
His body will I bear unto the king: 
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; 
So will the queen, that living held him dear. 

[Exit, with the body. 

Scene II.— Blackheath. 
Enter George Bevis and John Holland. 
Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of 
a lath; the}' have been up these two days. 
John. They have the more need to sleep now then. 



Geo. I tell thee. Jack Cade the clothier means to 
dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new 
nap upon it. 

John. So he had need, for 't is threadbare. Well, I 
say it was never merry world in England since 
gentlemen came up. 

Geo. O miserable age! Virtue Is not regarded In 
handicrafts-men. 

John. The nobility think scorn to go In leather 
aprons. 

Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good 
workmen. 

John. True. And yet it Is said, Labour In thy voca- 
tion: which is as much to say as, let the magistrates 
be labouring men; and therefore should we be mag- 
istrates. 

Geo. Thou hast hit it: for there 's no better sign of 
a brave mind than a hard hand. 

Jolm. I see them ! I see them ! There *s Best's 
son, the tanner of Wingham;— 

Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to 
make dog's leather of. 

John. And Dick the butcher, — 

Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and 
iniquity's throat cut like a calf. 

John. And Smith the weaver. 

Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. 

John. Come, come, let 's fall In with them. 
Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the butcher, Smith the 
weaver, and others in great number. 

Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our supposed 
father,— 

Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. 

[A.'iide. 

Cade. — for our enemies shall fall before us, inspired 
with the spirit of putting down kings and princes,— 
Command silence. 

Dick. Silence ! 

Cade. My father was a Mortimer,— 

Dick. He was an honest man, and a good brick- 
layer. [Aside. 

Cade. My mother a Plantagenet,— 

Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife. [Aside. 

Cade. M.v wife descended of the Lacies,— 

Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and 
sold many laces. [Aside. 

Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with 
her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. 

[Aside. 

Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. 

Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable; 
and there was he born, under a hedge; for his 
father had never a nouse but the cage. [Aside. 

Cade. Valiant I am. 

Smith. 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant. 

Cade. I am able to endure much. 

Dick. No question of that; for I have seen him 
whipped three market days together. [Aside. 

Cade. I fear neither sword nor flre. 

Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is 
of proof. [Aside. 

Dick. But methinks he should stand in fear of flre, 
being burnt in the hand for stealing of sheep. [Aside. 

Cade. Be brave then; for your captain is brave, 
and vows reformation. There shall be in England, 
seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny: the three- 
hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make 
it felony to drink small beer: all the realm shall be 
in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go 
to grass. And, when I am king, (as king I will 
be) 

All. God save your majesty! 

Cade. 1 thank you, good people:— there shall be 
no money; all shall eat and drink on my score; 
and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they 
may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 

Dick. The first thing we do, let 's kill all the law- 
yers. 

Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a la- 
mentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb 
should be made parchment? that parchment, being 
scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some say the 
bee stings: but I say 't is the bee's wax, for I did but 
seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man 
since. How now? who 's there? 

Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham. 

Smith. The clerk of Chatham: he can write and 
read, and cast accompt. 

Cade. O monstrous! 

Smith. We took him setting of boy' copies. 

Cade. Here 's a villain! 

Smith. H' as a book in his pocket with red letters 
In't. 

Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer. 

Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write 
court-hand. 

Cade. I am sorry for 't: the man is a proper man, 
of mine honour: unless I find him guilty he shall not 
die.— Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: 
What is thy name? 

Clerk. Emmanuel. 

Dick. They use to write It on the top of letters;— 
'T will go hard with you. 

Cade. Let me alone:— Dost thou use to write thy 
name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest 
plain-dealing man? 

Clerk. Sir. I thank God I have been so "well brought 
up that I can write my name. 

All. He hath confessed: away with him; he 's a 
villain and a traitor. 

Cade. Away with him. I say: hang him with his 
pen and inkhorn about his neck. 

[E.veunt some with the Clerk. 
Enter Michael. 

Mich. Where 's our general? 

Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 

Mich. Fly, fly, fly ! sir Humphrey Stafford and his 
brother are hard by, with the king's forces. 

Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I '11 fell thee down: 
He shall be encountered with a man as good as 
himself: He is but a knight, is 'a? 

Mich. No. 

Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight 
presently: Rise up sir John Mortimer. Now have at 
niin. 

Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford, and William his 
brother, unth drum and Forces. 

Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 
Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down. 
Home to your cottages, forsake this groom; 
The king is merciful, if you revolt. 



176 



SECOND PART OF KINU IIENEY VT. 



[Act ly. 



W. Staf. But anRry, wrathfvil, and inclln'd to blood, 
If voii go forward: tliereforc yield, or die. 

dadc. As for those silken-coated slaves, I pass not; 
It is to vou. Rood people, tiiat I si>eal<. 
Over wiioni, in time to eonie, I hope to reign; 
For I :\m riglitfiil lielr unto the crown. 

Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer; 
.\nd tliou thyself a shearman, art thou not? 

Cade. And .\dani was a gardener. 

n: staf. And what of that? 

Cade. Mairy this:— Edmund Mortimer, earl of 
March. 
Married the duke of Clarence' daughter:— Did lie 
not? 

Staf. Av, sir. 

Cade. By her he had two children at one birth. 

W. .Sfa/. That 's false. 

Cade. Ay, there 's the question; but, I say, 't is 
true. 
The elder of them, being put to nurse, 
■Was by a beggar-woman stolen away; 
And, Ignoiant of his birth and parentage. 
Became a bricklayer when he came to age: 
His son am I; deny it if you can. 

Dick. Nay, 't Is too true; therefore he shall be 
king. 

Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's 
house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify 
it; therefore, deny it not. 

Staff. And will you credit this base drudge's words. 
That speaks he knows not what? 

All. Av, marry, ^vlll we; therefore get ye gone. 

W. Staff. Jack Cade, the duke of York hatli taught 
vou this. 

Cade. He lies, for I Invented it myself. [Aside. 

—Go to, sirrah: Tell the king from me, that, for his 
father's sake, Henry tlie Fifth, in whose time boys 
went to span-counter for French crowns, I am con- 
tent he shall reign; but I '11 be protector over him. 

Dick. And, furthermore, we '11 have the lord Say's 
head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. 

Cade. And good reason, for thereby is England 
mained, and fain to go witli a staff, but that my 
puissance holds it up. B'ellow kings, I tell you, that 
that lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, and 
made it an eunuch: and more than that, lie can 
speak French, and therefore he is a traitor. 

Staff. O gross and miserable ignorance! 

Carte. Nay, answer, if you can: The Frenchmen are 
our enemies: go to then. I ask but this,— can he 
that speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good 
counsellor, or no? 

AH. No, no; and therefore we '11 have his head. 

W. Staff. Well, seeing gentle words will not pre- 
vail. 
Assail them with the army of the king. 

Staf. Herald, away: and, throughout evei-y town. 
Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; 
That those which fly before the battle ends 
May, even in their wives' and children's sight. 
Be hang'd up for example at their doors: 
And you that be the king's friends follow me. 

[E.veunt the tivo StaflEords, and forces. 

Cade. And you that love the commons follow me. 
Now show yourselves men, 't Is for liberty. 
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman: 
Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon; 
For thev are thrifty honest men, and such 
As would (but that they dare not) take our parts. 

I>ick. They are all in order, and march towards us. 

Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most 
out of order. Come, march forward. [Exeunt. 

Scene 111.— Another part of Blackheatli. 

Alarum. The two parties enter and fight, and both 
the StaflCords are slain. 

Cade. Where's Dick the butcher of Ashford? 

Dick. Here, sir. 

Cade. They tell before thee like sheep and oxen, 
and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in 
thine own slaughter-house: tlierefore thus will I re- 
ward thee,— The Lent shall be as long again as it is; 
and thou shall have a licence to kill for a hundred 
lacTclng one. 

Dick. 1 desire no more. 

Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no le»s. 
This monument of the victory will I bear; and the 
bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do 
come to London, where we will have the mayor's 
sword borne before us. 

Dick. It we mean to thrive and do good, break open 
the gaols, and let out the prisoners. 

Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's 
march towards London. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter King Henry, reading a supplication; the Duke 

of Buckingham and Lord Say with him: at a dis- 
tance. Queen Margaret, mourning over Suffolk's 

hea^. 

Q. Mar. Oft have I heard that grief soften's the 
mind, 
And makes it fearful and degenerate; 
Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. 
But who can cease to weep, and look on this? 
Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast; 
But Where's the body that I should embrace? 

Buck. What answer makes your grace to the re- 
bels' supplication? 

K. Hen. I '11 send some holy bishop to entreat: 
For God forbid, so many simple souls 
Should perish by the sword! And I myself, 
Bather than bloody war shall cut them short. 
Will parley with Jack Cade, their general. 
But stay, I '11 read it over once again. 

Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely 
face 
Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me: 
And could it not enforce them to relent. 
That were unworthy to behold the same? 

K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have 
thy head. 

Say. Ay, but I hope yoin- highness shall have his. 

K. Hen. How now, madame? 
Still lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death? 
Ifear me, love. If that I had been dead. 
Thou wouldest not have mourned so much for me. 

Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die 
for thee. 

Enter a Messenger. 

K. Hen. How now! what news? why com'st thou 
in such haste? 



Mess. The rebels are in Sonthwark. Fly, my lord! 
Jack Cade proclaims himself lord M(n-Mmer, 
Descended from the duke of Clarence' house; 
.\nd i';ills your gi"aoe usurper, openly. 
Ami v<iws to crown hiiuself in Westminister. 
His iirniy is a ragged multitude 
Of hinds ami peasants, rude and merciless; 
Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death 
Hath given them heart and courage to proceed; 
All scholars, lawyers, coin*tIers, gentlemen. 
They call false caterpillars, and intend their death. 

K. Hen. O graceless men! they know not what 
they do. 

Buck. My gracious lord, retire to KiUlngworth, 
Until a power be rals'd to put them down. 

Q. Mar. Ah! were the duke of Suffolk now alive. 
These ICenti.sh rebels would be soon appeas'd. 

iC. H'-n. Lord Say, the traitors Iiate thee. 
Therefore awa.v with us to Klllingworth. 

Sa y. So might your giace's person be in danger: 
The sight of me is odious in tlieir eyes; 
And therefore in this city will I stay, 
And live alone as secret as I may. 

Enter another Messenger. 

2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge; 
The citizens fly and forsake tlieir houses; 
The rascal people, thirsting after prey. 
Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear 
To spoil the city and your royal court. 

Buck. Then linger not, my lord; away, take horse. 

K. Hen. Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will suc- 
cour us. 

Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is dec^as'd. 

K. Hen. Farewell, my lord: [to Lord Say] trust not 
the Kentisli rebels. 

Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. 

Sajf. The trust I have is in mine innocence. 
And therefore am I bold and resolute, [Exeunt. 

SceskY.— The same. Tfie Tower. 

Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the walls. Then 
enter certain Citizens below. 

Scales. How now ! is Jack Cade slain? 

1 Cit. No, my lord, noi' likely to be slain; for they 
have won thebridge, killing all those that withstand 
them: The lord mayor craves aid of your honour 
from the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels. 

Scales. Such aid as I can spare you shall command; 
But I am troubled here with them myself: 
The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. 
But get you to Smithfleld, and gather head. 
And thither I will send you Matthew Gough: 
Fight for your king, your country, and your lives; 
And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt. 

Scene Vl.—The same. Cannon-street. 

Enter Jack Cade, and his Followers. He strikes his 
staff on London-stone. 

Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, 
sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command, 
that, of the city's cost, the pissing-couduit run noth- 
ing but claret wine this fu'st year of our reign. And 
now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any that 
calls me other than lord Mortimer. 

Enter a Soldier running. 

Sold. Jack Cade! Jack Cade! 

Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him. 

Smith. If this fellow be wise, he 'U never call you 
Jack Cade more: I think he hath a very fair warn- 
ing. 

Dick. My lor^, there 's an army gathered together 
in Smithfleld. 

Cade. Come then, let 's go fight with them: But, 
first, go and set London-bridge on fire; and, if you 
can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let 's away. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VII.— T^ie same. Smithfleld. 

Alarum. PSnter. on one side. Cade and his company; 

on the other. Citizen's, and the King's Forces, head- 
ed by Matthew Gough. They fight; the Citizens are 

routed, and Matthew Gough is slain. 

Cade. So, sirs:— Now go some and pull down the 
Savoy; others to the inns of court; down with them 
all. 

Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 

Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that 
word. 

Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come 
out of your mouth. 

John. Mass, 't will be sore law then; for ho was 
thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 't is not whole 
yet. [Aside. 

Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for his 
breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside. 

Cade. 1 have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, 
burn all the records of the realm; my mouth shall 
be the parliament of England. 

John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, un- 
less his teeth be puil'd out. [Aside. 

Cade. And henceforward, all things shall be in 
common. 

Enter a Messenger. 

3Iess. My lord, a prize, a prize! here 's the lord 
Say, which sold the towns in France; he that made 
us pay one and twenty fifteens, and one shilling to 
the pound, the last subsidy. 

Enter George Bevis, teith the Lord Say. 

Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. 
—Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! 
now art thou within point blank of our jurisdiction 
regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty, for 
giving up of Normandy unto monsieur Basimecu, 
the dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee, b.v 
these presence, even the presence of lord Mortimer, 
that I am the besom that must sweep the court 
clean of such filth as thou art. Thou hast most 
traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm, in 
erecting a grammar-school: and whereas, before, our 
forefathers had no other books but the score and 
the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used; and, 
contrary to the king, his crown and dignity, thou 
hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy 
face, that thou hast men about thee that usually 
talk of a noun, and a verb; and such abominable 
words as no Christian ear can endure to hear. Thou 
hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor men 
before them about matters they were not able to 
answer. Moreover, thou hast put them in prison; and 
because they could not read, thou hast hanged them; 



when, mdeed, only for that cause thev have been 
most worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a foot-cloth, 
dost thou not? 

Say. What of that? 

Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thv horse 
wear a cloak, when honester men than tholi go in 
their hose and doublets. 

Dick. And work in their shirt too; as myself, for 
example, that am a lutcher. 

Say. You men of Kent,— 

Dick. What say you of Kent? 

Say. Nothing but this; 'T is bona terra, mala gens. 

Cade. Away with him, away with him! he speaks 
Latin. 

Say. Here me but speak, and bear me where you 
will. 
Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ. 
Is term'd the civll'st place of all this isle: 
Sweet is the country, because full of riches; 
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy; 
Which makes me hope you are not void of pitv. 
I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy; 
Yet, to recover them, would lose m.v life. 
Justice with favour have I always done; 
Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. 
When have I aught exacted at your hands? 
Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you. 
Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, 
Because my book preferr'd me to the king, 
And seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
Knowledge the wing wherewitli we fly to heaven. 
Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, 
You cannot but forbear to murder me. 
This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings 
For your behoof,— 

Cade. Tut! when struck'st thou one blow in the 
field? 

Say. Great men have reaching hands: oft have I 
struck 
Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. 

Oeo. O monstrous coward! what, to come behind 
folks? 

Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your 
good. 

Cade. Give him a box o' the ear, and that will make 
'em red again. 

Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes 
Hatli made me full of sickness and diseases. 

Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and the 
pap of hatchet. 

Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man? 

Say. The palsy, and not fear, provokes me. 

Cade. Nay, he nods at us; as who should say, I 'II 
be even with you. I '11 see if his head will stand 
steadier on a pole, or no: Take him away, and be- 
head him. 

Say. Tell me, wherein have I offended most? 
Have I affected wealth, or honour; speak? 
Are my chests flU'd up with extorted gold? 
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold? 
Whom have I iujur'd, that ye seek my death? 
These hands are free from guiltless blood-shedding. 
This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. 
O, let me live! 

Cade. 1 feel remorse in myself with his words: but 
I '11 bridle it; he shall die, an it be but for pleading 
so well for his life. Away with him! he has a fa- 
miliar under his tongue; he speaks not o' God's 
name. Go, take him away, I say, and strike off his 
head presently; and then break into his son-in-law's 
house, sir James Cromer, and strike off his head, 
and bring them botli upon two poles hither. 

All. It shall be done. 

Say. Ah, countrymen! if when you make your 
prayers, 
God should be so obdurate as yourselves. 
How would it fare with your departed souls? 
And therefore yet relent, and save my life. 

Cade. Away wlti him, and do as I command ye. 
[E.reunt some, to/f/iLord Say.] The proudest peer in 
the realni shall not wear a head on his shoulders, 
unless he pay me tribute; there shall not a -maid be 
married, but she shall pay to me her maidenhead ere 
they have it: Men shall hold of me in capite; and we 
charge and command that their wives be as free as 
heart can wish, or tongue can tell. 

Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, and 
take up commodities upon our bills? 

Cade. Marry, presently. 

All. O brave! 
Re-enter Rebels with the head-) of Lord Say and his 
Son-in-law. 

Cade. But is not this braver?— Let them kiss one 
another, for they loved well when they were alive. 
Now part them again, lest the.y consult about the 
giving up of some more towns in France. Soldiers, 
defer the spoil of the city until night: for with these 
borne before us, instead of maces, will we ride 
through the streets; and, at every corner, have them 
kiss.— Away! [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII.— Southwark. , 

jClarum. Enter Cade and all his Rahhlement. 
Cade. Up Fish-street! down St. Magnus' corner! 
kill and knock down! throw them into Thames!— 
[A parley sounded, then a retreat.] What noise is this 
I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or par- 
ley, when I command them kill? 

Enter Buckingham a>ul Old Clifford with Forces. 

Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb 
thee: 
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king. 
Unto the commons, whom thou hast misled; 
And here pronounce free pardon to them all 
That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. 

Clif. What say ye, countrymen? will ye relent, . 
And yield to mercy, whilst 't is offer'd you; 
Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths? 
Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon. 
Fling up his cap, and say— God save his majesty! 
Who hateth him, and honours not his father, 
Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake. 
Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 

All. God save the, king! God save the king! 

Cade. 'What, Buckingham, and Clifford, are ye so 
brave?— And you, base peasants, do ye believe him? 
will you needs be hanged with your pardons about 
your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke tiirough 
London gates, that you should leave me at the White 
Hart in Southwark? I thought ye would never have 
given out these arms, till you had recovered your 
ancient freedom: but you are all recreants and 



Scene viii.] 



SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



177 



dastards; and delight to live in slavei'v to the 
nobility. Let them bieak your backs with burdens, 
take j'oui' houses over your heads, ravish your 
wives and dauKhters before your faces: For nie,— I 
will make shift tor one; and so— God's curse light 
upon you all! 

All. We '11 follow Cade, we'll follow Cade. 

Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the fifth. 
That thus you do exclaim you '11 go with him? 
Will he conduct you through the heart of France, 
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes? 
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to; 
Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil, 
Unless by robbing of your friends, and us. 
Were 't not a shame that whilst you live at jar, 
The fearful French, whom you late vanriulsiied, 
Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you? 
Methinks, alread.v. In this civil broil, 
I see them lording it in London streets, 
Crying— FiMaoo.' unto all they meet. 
Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry, 
Thau you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy. 



Clif. Ho 's fled, my lord, and all his powers do 

yield; 
And humbly thus, with halters on their necks. 
Expect your highness' doom, of life or death. 
K. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting 

gat('s, 
To entertain my vows of thanks and praise!— 
Soldiers, tliis daj' have you redeem'd .your lives. 
And sliow'd how well you love your prince and 

country: 
Continue still in this so good a mind. 
And Henry, though lie be infortunate. 
Assure yourselves, will never be unlcind; 
And so, with thanlis, and pardon to you all, 
I do dismiss you to your several countries. 
All. God save the king! God save the king! 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Please It your grace to be advertised. 
The duke of York is newly come from Ireland: 
And with a puissant and a mighty power, 
Of Gallowglasses, and stout Kernes, 



brown bill, and, many a time, when I have been dry, 
and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of 
a quartpot to drink in: And now the word sallet 
must serve me to feed on. 

Enter Iden, with Servants. 

Iclen. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court, 
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? 
This small inheritance my father left me 
Contenteth me, and 's wortli a monarchy. 
1 seek not to wax great by others' waning; 
Or gather wealth 1 care not with what envy; 
Sufflceth that I have maintains my .state, 
And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. 

Cade. Here 's the lord of the soil come to seize me 
for a stray, for entering his fee simple without leave. 
Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand 
crownsof the king by carrying my head to him; but 
I '11 make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow 
my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part. 

Men. Why, rude companion, whatso'er thou be, 
I know thee not: Why then should I betray thee? 




[ Third Part of King Henry F/.] 



Q. Mar. {Putting a paper crown on his head.) Ay, marry, now looks he like a king ! 



[act 1.— scene IV.] 



To France, to France, and get what you have lost; 
Spare England, for It is your native coast: 
Henry hath money, you are strong and manly; 
God on our side, doubt not of victory. 

All. A Clifford ! a Clifford ! we '11 follow the king, 
and Clifford. 

Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro 
as this multitude? The name of Henry the fifth hales 
them to a hundred mischiefs, and makes them leave 
me desolate. I see them lay tlieir heads together to 
surprise me; my sword make way for me, for here Is 
no staying. — In despite of the devils and hell, have 
through the very middest of you ! and heavens and 
honour be witness, that no want of resolution In me, 
but only my followers' base and ignominious trea- 
sons, makes me betake me to my heels. lExit. 

Buck. What, is he fled ? go some, and follow him; 
And he that brings his head unto the king 
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.— 
Follow me, soldiers; we '11 devise a mean 
To reconcile you all unto the king. {E-veunt. 

Scene IX.— Killingworth Castle. 

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and Somerset, 
on the terrace of the Castle. 

K. Hen. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly 
throne, 
And could command no more content '•Jian I? 
Mo sooner was I crept out of my cradle, 
But I was made a king, at nine months old: 
Was never subject long'd to be a king. 
As I do long and wish to be a subject. 

Enter Buckingham and Clifford. 
Buok. Health and glad tidings to your majesty ! 
K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, Is the traitor Cade sur- 
prls'd? 
Or Is he but retir'd to make him strong? 

Enter, below, a great mtniber (-/Cade's followers, 
vjtth halters about their necks. 



Is marching hitherward in proud array; 

And still proclaimeth, as he comes along. 

His arms are only to remove from thee 

The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 

K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and 
Yorkdistress'd; 
Like to a ship, that, having 'scap'd a tempest, 
Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate: 
But now is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd; 
And now is York in arms to second him. 
I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him; 
And ask him, what 's the reason of these arms. 
Tell him, I '11 send duke Edmund to tlie Tower;— 
And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither. 
Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 

Som. My lord, 

I '11 yield myself to prison willingly. 
Or unto death, to do m.v country good. 

K. Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms; 
For he Is fierce, and cannot brook hard language. 

Buck. I will, my lord; and doubt not so to deal 
As all things shall redound unto your good. 

K. Hen. Come, wife, let 's in, and learn to govern 
better; 
For yet may England curse my wretched reign. 

\Exeunt. 

Scene X.— Kent. Iden's Gardeh. 
Enter Cade. 
Cade. Fie on ambition ! fie on myself, that have a 
sword, and yet am ready to famish ! 'These five 
days have I hid me In tliese woods; and durst not 
peep out, for all the country is lay'd for me. But 
now am I so hungry that if t miuht have a lease of 
my life for a thousand years, I could stay no longer. 
Wherefore, on a brick wall have I climbed into this 
garden; to see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet 
another while, which is not amiss to cool a man's 
stomach this hot weather. And I think this word 
sallet was born to do me good: tor, many a time, 
but for a sallet ray brain-pan had been cleft with a, 



Is 't not enough to break Into my garden, 
And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds. 
Climbing my walls In spite of me the owner. 
But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms? 

Cade. Brave thee? ay, by the best blood that ever 
was broach'd, and beard thee too. Look on me well: 
I have eat no meat these five da.vs: yet, come thou 
and thy five men, and If I do not leave you all as 
dead as a door nail, I pray God I may never eat 
grass more. 

Iden. Nay, It shall ne'er be said, while England 
stands, 
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, 
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man. 
Oppose thy steadfast gazing eyes on mine. 
See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. 
Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; 
'Thy hand is but a finger to my fist; 
Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon; 
My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast; 
And if my arm be heaved in the air. 
Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth. 
As for words, wliose greatness answers words. 
Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 

Cade. By my valour, the most complete champion 
that ever I heard. — Steel, if thou turn the edge, or 
cut not out the burly-boned clown In chines of beef 
ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech Jove on my 
>;nees thou mayst be turned to hobnails. [Tliey fight. 
Cade falls.'] O, I am slain! famine, and no other, 
hatli slain me: let ten thousand devils come against 
me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost, 
and I 'd defy them all. Wither, garden; and be 
henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell In 
this house, becuise the unconquered soul of Cade 
Is fied. 

Iden. Is 't Ca.le that I have slain, that monstrous 
traitor^ 
Sword, I wiU hallow thee for this thy deed. 
And hang thoe o'er my tomb, when I am dead: 
T^e'er shp Jl this blood be wip'd from thy point; 



2^'2_ 



178 



SECOND PART OF KINO IIENIiY VI. 



[Act v. 



But thou Shalt wear It as a herald's coat. 
To emblaze the honour that thy master got. 

Cade. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory: 
Tell Kent from me she hath lost her best man, and 
exhort all the world to be cowards; for I, that never 
feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by val- 
our. [Dies. 

Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my 
Judge. 
Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee: 
And as I thrust thy body In with my .sword, 
So wish I, 1 might thrust thy soul to hell. 
Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels 
Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave. 
And there cut off thy most ungracious head; 
Which J win bear in triumph to the king. 
Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. 

[Kxit, dragying out the body. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— The same. Fields heween Dartford and 

Blackheath. 

Tlie King's Camp on one side. On the other, enter 

York attended, with drum and colours ; liis Forces 

at some distance. 

York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his 
right. 
And plucli the crown from feeble Henry's head: 
Ring, liells, aioiul; burn, bonfires, clear and bright; 
To entertain great England's lawful king. 
Ah, sancta majestas .' who would not buy thee dear? 
Let them obey that know not how to rule; 
This hand was made to handle nought but gold: 
I cannot give due action to my words. 
Except a sword or sceptre balance it. 
A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul. 
On which I '11 toss the tleur-deluce of France. 

Enter Buckingham. 
Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturl5 me? 
The king hath sent him. sure: I must dissemiile. 

Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well. 

York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy 
greetl-ng. 
Art tliou a messenger, or come of pleasure? 

Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, 
To know the reason of these arms in peace; 
Or why, thou, being a subject as I am. 
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 
Shouid'st raise so great a power without his leave, 
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 

York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great. 
O, I could hew up roclcs, and flght with flint, 
I am so angry at these abject terms; 
And now, fike Ajax Telamonius, 
On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury ! 
I am far better born than is the king: 
More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts: 
But I must make fair weather yet awhile. 
Till Henry be more weak, and [ moi'e strong. — 

{All the preceding is spoken aside. 
Buckingham, I prithee pardon me. 
That I have given no answer all this while; 
My mind was troubled witli deep melancholy. 
The cause why I have brought this army hither. 
Is, to remove proud Somerset from the king. 
Seditious to his grace, and to the state. 

Buck. That Is too much presumption on thy part: 
But if thy arms be to no other end. 
The king hath yielded unto thy demand; 
The dulce of Somerset is in the Tower. 

York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? 

Buck. Upon mine lionour, he is prisoner. 

York. 'Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers. 
Soldiers, I thank you ail; disperse yourselves; 
Meec me to-morrow in Saint George's field. 
You shall have pay, and everything you wish. 
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
Command my eldest son, nay, ail my sons, 
As pledges of my fealty and love, 
I '11 send them all as willing as I live; 
Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have 
Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 

Buck. York, I commend this kind submission: 
We twain will go into his highness' tent. 
Enter King Henry, attended. 

K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm 
tons. 
That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm? 

York. In all submission and humility, 
York doth present himself unto your highness. 

K. Hen. "Then what irvtend these forces thou dost 
bring? 

York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence; 
And flght against that monstrous rebel. Cade, 
Who since I heard to be discomfited. 

Enter Iden, with Cade's head. 

Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition. 
May pass into the presence of a king, 
Lo, I present your gi-ace a traitor's head. 
The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 

K. Hen. The head of Cftde?— Great God, how just 
art thou! — 
O, let me view his visage being dead. 
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 
Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? 

Iden. I was, an 't like your majesty. 

K. Hen. How art thou call'd? and what is thy de- 
gree? 

Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name; 
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 

Buck. So please It you, my lord, 't were not amiss 
He were created knight for his good service. 

K. Hen. Iden, kneel down: {He kneels] Rise up a 
knight. 
We give thee for reward a thousand marks; 
And will that thou henceforth attend on us. 

Id^n. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
And never live but true unto his liege! 

K. Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with 
the queen; 
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. 
Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset. 

Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his 
head, 
But boldly stand, and front him to his face. 

York. How now! Is Somerset at lllierty' 
Then, York, unloose thy long imprison'd thoughts, 
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. 
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?— 
False king! why hast thou broken faith with me. 



Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? 

King did I call thee? no, thou art not king; 

Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, 

Whicli dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. 

That head of thine doth not become a crown; 

Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff. 

And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. 

That gold must round engirt these brows of mine; 

Whose smile and frown, llkelo Achilles' spear. 

Is able with the change to kill and cure. 

Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up. 

And with the same to act controlling laws. 

Give place; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 

O'er him whom heaven created for thy ruler. 

Som. O monstrous traitor !— I arrest thee, York, 
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown: 
Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace. 

York. Would'st have me kneel? lust let me ask of 
these. 
If they can brook I bow a knee to man. 
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my ball; 

[ Exit an Attendant. 
I know, ere they will have me go to ward, 
They '11 pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. 

Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, 
[Exit Buckingham. 
To say, if that the bastard boys of York 
Shall he the surety for their traitor father. 

York. O blood bespotted Neapolitan, 
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge ! 
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, 
Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those 
That for my surety will refuse the boys. 
Enter'EdwsirA and Richard Plantagenet, with Forces, 

at one side; at the other, with Foi'ces also. Old Clif- 
ford and his Son. 
See, where they come; I '11 warrant they '11 make it 
good. 

Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their 
bail. 

Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king ! 

[Kyieels. 

York. I thank thee, Clifford: Say, what news with 
thee? 
Nay, do not fright us with an angi-y look: 
We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again; 
For thy mistaking so we pardon thee. 

Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake; 
But thou mistak'st me much to think I do:— 
To Bedlam with him ! is the man grown mad? 

K. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious hu- 
mour V 
Makes him oppose himself against his king. 

Clif. He is a traitor; let him to the Tower, 
And chop away that factious pate of his. 

Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not oliey; 
His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. 

York. Will you not, sons? 

Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 

Rich. And If words will not, then our weapons shall. 

Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here ! 

York. Look In a glass, and call thy Image so; 
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. 
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, 
"That, with the very shaking of their chains. 
They may astonish these fell lurking curs; 
Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. 

Brums. EJnter Warwick and Salisbury, with 
Forces. 

Clif. Are these thy bears? we '11 bait thy bears to 
death. 
And manacle the bear-ward in their chains. 
If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting place. 

Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur 
Run back and bite, because he was wibheld; 
Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw. 
Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cried: 
And such a piece of service will you do, 
If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. 

Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul Indigested lump. 
As crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! 

York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. 

Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you biu-n your- 
selves. 

K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to 
bow? 
Old Salisbury,- shame to thy silver hair. 
Thou mad mlsleader of thv brain-sick son !— 
What, wilt thou on thy deathbed play the ruffian. 
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles? 
O, where Is faith? O, where Is loyalty? 
If It be banish'd from the frosty head. 
Where shall it find a harbour in the earth?— 
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war. 
And shame thine honourable age with blood? 
Why art thou old and want'st experience? 
Or wherefore dost abuse It If thou hast It? 
For shame! in duty bend thy knee to me. 
That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 

Sal. My lord, I have conslder'd with myself 
The title of this most renowTied duke; 
And in my conscience do repute his gi-ace 
The rightful heir to England's royal seat. 

K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me? 

Sal. I have. 

IC. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such 
an oath? 

Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin; 
But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath. 
Who can be bound by any solemn vow 
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man. 
To force a spotless virgin's chastity. 
To reave the orphan of his patrimony. 
To wring the widow from her custoni'd right; 
And have no other reason for this wrong 
But that he was bound by a solemn oath? 

O. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 

K. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm him- 
self. 

York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou 
hast, 
I am resolv'd for death, or dignity. 

Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. 

War. You were best to go to bed, and dream 
again. 
To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 

Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm 
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; 
And thixt I 'II write upon thv burgonet. 
Might I but know thee by thy household badge. 

War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest. 
The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, 
This day I '11 wear aloft my burgonet, 



(As on a mountain top the cedar shows. 
That keeps his leaves In spite of any storm,) 
Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 

Clif. And from thy burgonet I '11 rend thy bear, . 
And tread it under foot with all contempt. 
Despite the bear- ward that protects the bear. 

Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father. 
To quell the rebels, and their 'complices. 

Rich. Fie! charity, for shame! speak not In spite, 
For you shall sup with Jesu Christ tonight. 

Y. Clif. Foul stigmatlck, that's more than thou 
canst tell. 

Rich. If not in heaven, you '11 surely sup in hell. 
[E.veunt severalty. 

Scene II.— Saint Alban's. 

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick. 

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 't Is Warwick calls! 
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear. 
Now, when the angry trumpet sounds alarum, 
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, 
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me! 
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, 
Wanvick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 

Enter York. 
How now, my noble lord? what, all afoot? 

York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed; 
But match to match I have encounter'd him. 
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 
Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. 

E7iter Clifford. 
War. Of one or both of us the time has come. 
York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other 
chase. 
For I myself must hunt this deer to death.. 
War. Then, nobly, York; 't is for a crown thou 
flght'st. 
As I Intend, Clifford, to thrive today. 
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassali'd. [Exit. 
Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou 

pause? 
York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, 
But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 
Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and es- 
teem. 
But that 't is shown ignobly, and in treason. 

York. So let it help me now against thy sword. 
As I in justice and true right express it! 
Clif. My soul and body on the action both!— 
York. A dreadful lay!— address thee instantly. 

[They fight, and Clifford falls. 

Clif. La fin couronne Ics ceuvres. [Dies. 

York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art 

still. 

Peace with his soul, heaven. If it be thy will. [Exit. 

Enter Young Clifford. 

Y. Clif. Shame and confusion! all is on the rout; 
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell. 
Whom angry heavens do make their minister. 
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
Hot coals of vengeance!— Let no soldier fly: 
He that is truly dedicate to war 
Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself 
Hoth not essentially, but by circumstance. 
The name of valour.— O, let the vile world end, 

[ Seeing his dead father. 
And the premised flames of the last day 
Knit earth and heaven together! 
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, 
Particularities and pettyjsounds 
Tocease! Wast thou ordaln'd,' dear father. 
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
The sliver livery of advised age. 
And in thy reverence, and thy chair days, thus 
To die in ruffian battle?— Even at this sight 
My heart Is turn'd to stone: and. while 't Is mine. 
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares: 
No more will I their babes: tears virginal 
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire; 
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims. 
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity: 
Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
Into as many gobbets will I cut it. 
As wild Medea young Absyrtus did: 
In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; 

[Taking vp the body. 
As did .ffineas old Anchlses bear. 
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; 
But then jEneas bare a living load. 
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit. 

Enter Richard Plantagenet, and Somerset, fighting, 
and Somerset is killed. 

Rich. So, He thou there;— , 

Fer, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign. 
The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset 
Hath made the wizard famous in his death. 
Sword, hold thy temper: heart, be wrathful still: 
Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. lExtt. 

Alarums: Excvrsions. Enter King Henry, Queen 
Margaret, and others, retreating. 

Q. Mar. Away, my lord! you are slow; for shame' 

awaj'! 
K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? good Mar- 
garet, stay. 
Q. Mar. What are you made of? you '11 not tight, 
norfiy: 
Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence. 
To give the enemy way; and to .secure us 
By what we can, which can no more but fly. 

[Alarum afar off. 
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
Of all our fortunes: but If we haply scape, 
(As well we may, if not through your neglect,) 
We shall to London get, where you are lov'd; 
And where this breach, now in our fortunes made. 
May readily be stopp'd. 

Enter Young Clifford. 
Y. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief set> 
I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly; 
But fly you must; uncur.nble discomfit 
Reigns in the hearts of all our jiresent parts. 
Away, for your relief! and we will live 
To see their day, and them our fortune give: 
A.way, my lord, away! [_Exeuni. 



Scene iii.l 



THIHD PAliT OF KING JTEXliY VI. 



179 



Scene UI.— Fields near Saint Alban's. 

Alarum: Retreat. FloKrisfi; t/ien en^'r York, Richard 
Plantaeenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, ivitli drtim 
and colotirs. 

York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him?— 
That winter lion, who in rage forgets 
Aged contusions and all brush of time: 
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth. 
Repairs him with occasion? This happy day 
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot 
If Salisbury be lost. 

Rich. My noble father. 

Three times to-day I help hini to Us horse, 



Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off. 

Persuaded him from any further act; 

But still where danger was still there I met him; 

And like rich hangings In a homely house. 

So was his will In his old feeble body. 

But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 

Enter Salisbury. 

Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought to- 
day; 
By the mass, so did we all.— I thank you, Richard; 
God knows how long it is I have to live; 
And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day 
You have defended me from imminent death. 



Well, lords, we have not got that which we have: 
'T is not enough our foes are this time fled. 
Being opposites of such repairing nature. 

York. I know our safety is to follow them; 
For, as I he.ar, the king is fled to London, 
To call a present court of parliament. 
Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth: 
What says lord Warwick'^ shall we after them? 

War. After them! nay, before them, if we can. 
Now, by my hand, lords, 't was a glorious day: 
Saint Alban's battle won by famoiis York, 
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. 
Sound, drum and trumpets:— and to London all: 
And more such days as these to us befall! \,Exeunt 



THIRD PART OF 

KING HENRY VI, 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Kino Henry VI. 

Edward, Prince q^Wales, his son. 
Lewis XI. King o/ France. 
Duke of Somerset, ^ 

Duke of Exeter, J Lords on 

E.\RL of Oxford, I King 

Earl of Northumberland, | Heni'y's 
Earl of Westmoreland, , side. 
Lord Clifford, J 

Richard Plantagenet, Duke o/York. 
Edward. Earl o/March, after- ) his 
wards King Edward IV., J son. 



Edmund. Earl o/Rutland, 
6e. 'RGE, afterwards Duke of 
Clarence. 



his 
sons. 



Richard, afterwards Duke of Gloster, 
son of Plantagenet. 

Duke of Norfolk, ] 

Marquis of Montague, 

Earl of Warwick, I of the Duke of 

Earl OF Pembroke, ( York's party. 

Lord Hastings, 

Lord Stafford, -J 



Sir .ToHN Mortimer, ) uncles to the Duke 
Sir Hugh Mortimer, S of York. 
Henry, Earl o/ Richmond, a youth. 
Lord Rivehs, brother to Lady Grey. 
Sir William Stanley. 
Sir John Montgomery. 
Sir John Somerville. 
Tutor to Rutland. 
Mayor of York. 
Lieutenant of the Tower. 
A Nobleman. Two Keepers. A Hunts- 
man. 



A Son that has killed his Father. 

A Father that has killed his Son. 

Queen Margaret. 

Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Ed- 
ward VI. 

Bona, sister to the French Queen. 

SoldierSy and other Attendants on King 
Henry and King Edward, Messengers, 

SCENE.— During part of the third Act, 
in France; during all the rest of the 
Play, in England. 



ACT I. 

Scen'e I.— London. The l^arliament-House. 

Dryfms. Some Soldiers of York's Party break in. 
Then enter the Duke of York, Edward. Richard, 
Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and others, with 
white roses in their hats. 

War. I wonder how the king escap'd our hands. 
York. While we pursued the horsemen of the 
north. 
He silly stole away, and left his men: 
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, 
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 
Cheer'd up the drooping ai'my; and himself. 
Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all abreast, 
Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in, 
Wei-e by the swords of common soldiers slain. 

Edw. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Buckingham, 
Is either slain or wounded dangerous: 
I cleft his beaver, with a downright blow; 
That this is true, father, behold his blood. 

[Shoiving his bloody sword. 
STont. .\nd, brother, here 's the earl of Wiltshire's 
blood, [To Yoriz, shoioing his. 

Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. 
Rich. Sneak thou for me, and tell them what I 
did. [Throioing down th" Duke of 

Somerset's head. 
York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons.— 
But is 3'our grace dead, my lord of Somerset? 
Norf. Such hope have all the line of John of 

Gaunt! 1 

Rich. Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's head, i 
War. And so do I, victorious prince of York. I 

Before I see thee seated in that throne 
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close. 
This is the palace of the fearful king. 
And this the regal seat: possess it, York: 
For this is thine, and not king Heniy's heirs'. 

York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will; 
For hither we have broken in by force. 
Norf. We'll assist you; he that flies shall die. 
York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk, — Stay by me, my 
lords;— 
And. soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. 
War. And when the king comes offer him no vio- 
lence. 
Unless he seek to thrust you out by force. 

[They retire. 
York. The queen, this day, here holds her parlia- 
ment. 
But little thinks we shall be of her council: 
By words, or blows here let us win our right. 
Rich. Arm'd as we are, let 's stay within this house. 
War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd. 
Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king; 
And bashful Henry depos'd, whose coxvardice 
Hath made us by-words to our enemie.s. 

York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; 
I mean to take possession of iny right. 

War. Neither the klne, nor he that loves him best. 
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
Dare stir a wing if Warwick shake his bells. 
I '11 plant Plantagenet, root him up who dai'es;- 
Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. 

[Warwick leads York to the throne, -leho seats 
himself. 

Flourish. Enter King Heni-y, Clifford, Northumber- 
land, 'Wpstmoreland, Exeter, and others, with red 
roses in their hats. 

K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, 
Even in the chair of state ! belike, he means, 
Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer. 
To aspire unto the ci-own, and reign as king. 
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father; 
And thine, lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd 

revenge 
On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends. 

North. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on me I 

CVf. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn In 
steel. 

West. What, shall we suffer this? let 's pluck him 
down: 
My heart, for .-iiiger burns, I cannot brook it. 

;.. lien. Uc> p3.cicnt, ccntlc c.".rl of V.'rstmorelaua. 



Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he; 
He durst not sit there had your father liv'd. 
My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
Let xis assail the family of York. 

North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be It so. 

K. Hen. Ah, know you not the city favors them. 
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? 

Exe. But when the duke is slain they '11 quickly fly. 

K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's 
heart. 
To make a shambles of the parliament-house : 
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, 
Shall be the war that Henry means to vise.— 

[They advance to the Duke. 
Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne. 
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; 
I am thy sovereign. 

York. I am thine. 

Exe. For shame, come down; he made thee duke of 
York. 

York. 'T was my inheritance, as the earldom was. 

Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 

War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown, 
In following this usurping Henry. 

Clif. Whom should he follow but his natural king? 

War. True, Clifford; and that 's Richard, diUce of 
York. 
■ K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my 
throne? 

York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself. 

War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king. 

West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster; 
And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. 

War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget 
That we are those whioh chas'd you from the fleld. 
And slew your fathers, and with colors spread 
Marched through the city to the palace gates. 

North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; 
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 

West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons. 
Thy kinsman and thy friends, I '11 have more lives 
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 

Clif. Urge it no more: lest that, instead of words, 
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger 
As shall revenge his death before I stir. 

War. Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless 
threats! 

York. Will you, we show our title to the crown? 
If not, our swords shall plead it in the fleld. 

K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? 
Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York: 
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March: 
I am the son of Henry the Fifth, 
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop. 
And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. 

War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. 

K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I; 
When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. 

Rich. You are old enough now, and yet methinks 
you lose:— 
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 

Edw. Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. 

Mont. Good brother, [to York] as thou lov'st and 
honour'st arms. 
Let 's flght it out, and not stand cavilling thus. 

Rich. Sounddrums and trumpets, and the king will 
fl.v, 

York. Sons, peace! 

K. Hen. Peace thou! and give king Henry leave to 
speak. 

War. Plantagenet shall speak flrst :— hear him, 
lords; 
.4nd be you silent and attentive too. 
For he that interrupts him shall not live. 

K. Hen. Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly 
throne. 
Wherein my gi-andfather and mv father sat? 
No: fir.st shall war unpeople this'mv realm; 
Ay, and their colours— often borne in France, 
And now in England, to our lieart's great sorrow.— 
Shall be my winding sheet.— Whv faint you. lords? 
My title's good, and better far than his. 

War. Prove it, Henry, and tlioii shalt be king. 

K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the 

crown. 
York. 'T was by rebellion against his king. 

K. Hen. I I<now nnt what to .sav; mv title's wea'.:. 
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? 



York. What then? 

K. Hen. An it he may, then am I lawful king: 
For Richard, in the view of many lords, 
Reslgn'd the crown to Henry the Fourth; 
Whose heir my father was, and I am his. 

York. He rose against him, being his sovereign. 
And made him to resign his crown perforce. 

War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd. 
Think you 't were prejudicial to- his crown? 

Exe. No; for he could not so resign his crown. 
But that the next heir should succeed and reign. 

K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter? 

Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 

York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? 

Exe. My conscience tells me he is lawful king. 

K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him. 

North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st. 
Think not that Henry .shall be so depos'd. 

War. Depos'd he shall be. in despite of all. 

North. Thou art deceiv'd: 't Is not thy southern 
power. 
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,— 
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud.— 
Can set the duke up, in despite of me. 

Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong. 
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: 
May that ground gape, and swallow me alive. 
Where I shall keel to him that slew my father! 

K. Hen. OCiifford, how thy words revive my heart! 

York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown: — 
What mutter you, or what conspire .you, lords? 

War. Do right unto this princely duke of York; 
Or I will fill the house with armed men, 
And over the chair of state, where now he sits. 
Write up his title with usurping blood. 

\He stamps, and the Soldiers show themselves. 

K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear but one 
word ;— 
Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king. 

York. Confirm the crown to me, and lo mine heirs, 
And thou shalt reign in quiet whilsst thou liv'st. 

K. Hen. I am content: Richard Plantagenet, 
En,ioy the kingdom after my decease. 

Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son! 

War. What good is this to England and himself! 

West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry! 

Clif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us! 

West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 

North. Nor L 

Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. 

West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king. 
In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. 

North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, 
And die in bands for this unmanly deed! 

Clif. In dreadful war may'st thou be overcome! 
Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd! 

[Extunt North., Clif., and West. 

War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. 

Exe. The.v seek levenge, and therefore will not 
yield. 

K. Hen. Ah, Exeter! 

War. Why"should you sigh, my lord? 

K Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but n'ly son, 
Wliom I unnaturally shall disinherit. 
But. be it as it may:— I here entail 
The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever; 
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, 
To honour me as thy king and sovereign; 
And neither by treason, nor hostility. 
To seek to put me down, and reign thvself. 

York. This oath I willingly take, and will perform. 
[Coming from the throne. 

War. Long liveking Henry!— Plantagenet, embrace 
him. 

K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy forward 
sons! 

York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. 

Exe. Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them foes! 
[Senet. r/ie Lords comeforu-ard. 

York. Farewell, my gracious lord; I 'II to my castle. 

War. And I '11 keep London, with my soldiers. 

Nnrf. And I to Norfolk, with my followers. 

Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I ca me. 
[E.rcunt York, and his !^ons. Warwick, Norfolk, 
Montague. S"ldiers, and Attenriimis. 

K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to tlic court. 



H 



180 



lACT I. 



Enter Queen Margaret and the Prince of Wales. 

Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray 
her anger: 
I 'II steal away. 

K Hen. Exeter, so will I. [Gompr. 

Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee. 

A'. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. 

Q. Mar. Who can he patient in such extremes? 
All, wretched man! 'would I had died a maid, 
Ami never seeti llu'e, never liorne tliee son, 
seeing Ihou ;i,ist provcl so uuiialural a father! 
Hatli'lie deserv'd to lo<e liis lih-thrinht thus? 
HailKt thou but lov'd lilin lialC so well as I; 
Or felt that pain which I did lor him once; 
Or nourlsh'd him, as I did with my blood; 
Tliou wouWst have left tliy dearest heart-blood 

there. 
Rather than have made that shvage duke thine heir, 
And disinherited thine only son. 

Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me: 
If you be king, why should not I sucCfSed? 

K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet 
son; 
The earl of Warwick and the duke enforc'd me. 

Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be 
forc'd? 
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! 
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me; 
And given unto tlie house of York such head, 
.\s thou siialt reigu but by their sufferance. 
To entail him and liis heirs unto the crown. 
What is it, but tfl make thy sepulchre, 
Aiul creep into it far before thy time? 
Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais; 
Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas; 
The duke is made protector of tiie realm; 
And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds 
The trembling lamb environed with wolves. 
Had I been tliere, which am a silly woman, 
The soldiers sliould have toss'd me on their pikes 
Before I would have granted to that act. 
But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: 
And. seeing thou dost", I here divorce myself. 
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, 
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd. 
Whereby my son is disinherited. 
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours, 
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread: 
And spread they shall be; to thy foul disgrace, 
And utter ruin of the house of York. 
Thus do I leave thee:— Come, son, let 's away; 
Our army 's ready; come, we '11 after them. 

K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hen r me speak. 

Q. 3Iar. Thou hast spoke too much already; get 
thee gone. 

K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with 
me? 

Q. 3Tar. Ay, to be murther'd by his enemies. 

Prince. When I return with victory from tlie field 
I 'II .see your grace: till then, I '11 follow her. 

Q. Mar. Come, son, away; we may not linger tints. 
lEa-eunt Queen Margaret and the Prince. 

K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and to her 
son. 
Hath made her break out into terms of rage! 
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke; 
Whose haughty spirit, wintred with desire. 
Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle, 
Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! 
The loss of those three lords torments my heart: 
I 'U write unto them, and entreat them fair; — 
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 

Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. lE.ve. 

Scene II.— A Soom in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield, 
in Yorkshire. 

Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague. 
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. 
E'lw. No, I can better play the orator. 
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 

Enter York. 

York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a strife? 
Wiiat is your quarrel? how began it first? 

Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. 

Torlc. About what? 

Rich. About that which concern.s your grace, and 
us: 
The crown of England, father, which is yours. 

York. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be aead. 

Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death. 

Ed>u. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: 
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe 
It will outrun you, father, in the end. 

York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. 

Edw. But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: 
I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. 

Rich. No; God forbid your grace should be for- 
sworn. 

York. I shall be if T claim by open war. 

Rich. I 'II prove ;he contrary, if you 'U hear me 
speak. 

York. Thou canst not, son^ it is impossible. 

Rich, .\n oath is of no moment, being not took 
Before a true and lawful magistrate. 
That hath authority over him that swears: 
Henry had none, but did usurp the place; 
Then, seeing 't was he that made you to depose. 
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think 
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; 
Within whose circuit is Elysium, 
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest, 
Until the white rose that I \vear be dyed 
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 

York. Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. 
Brother, thou shalt to London presentl.v. 
And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. 
Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, 
And tell him privily of our intent. 
You, Edward, shall unto my IoimI Cobham, 
With whom the Kentish men will willingly rise: 
In I hem I trust; for they are soldier.s. 
Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. 
While yon are thus employ'd, what resteth more. 
But tliat I seek occasion how to rise. 
And yet the king not privy to my drift. 
Nor any of the house of Lancaster? 

Enter a Messenger. 
Cut, stay; What news? why coni'st thou in such 
po.st? 



Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and 
lords. 
Intend here to besiege you In your caslle: 
.She is hard by with twenty thousand men; 
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. 

York. Ay, with my sword. What! thlnk'st thou 
that we fear them? 
Edwaid and Richard, you shall stay with me. 
My brotlier Montague shall post to London: 
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest. 
Whom we have left protectors of the king. 
With powerful policy strengthen themselves. 
And trust not simple Henry, nor iiis oaths. 

Mont. Brother, I go; I '11 win them, fear It not: 
And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [JExit. 
Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. 
I'oj'i'. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine 
uncles! 
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; 
The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 
Sir John. She shall not need, we '11 meet her In the 

field. 
York. What, with five thousand men? 
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. 
A woman's general; what should we fear? 

{A march afar off. 
Edw. Iheartheirdrums; let 's set our meninorder; 
And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. 
York. Five men to twenty!— though the odds be 
great. 
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. 
Many a battle have I won in France, 
When as the enemy hath been ten to one; 
Why should I not now have the like success? 

lAlarinn. Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Plains near Sandal Castle. 

Alarums: E.ccursions. Enter Rutland, and his 

Tutor. 

Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? 
Ah, tutor! look where bloody Clifford comes! 
Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 

Clif. Chaplain, away, thy priesthood saves thy life. 
As for the brat of this accursed duke. 
Whose father slew my father, he shall die. 

T%d. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 

Clif. Soldiers, away with him. 

Tut. Ah, Clifford! murther not this innocent child, 
Lest thou be hated both of God and man. 

[E:rit, forced off fi?/ Soldiers. 

CTi/. How now! is he dead already? Ori'aitfear 
That makes him close his eyes?— I '11 open them. 

Rut. So looks the pent-up Hon o'er the wretch 
That trembles under his devouring paws: 
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey; 
And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. 
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword. 
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. 
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die: 
I a5n too mean a subject for thy wrath; 
Be fhou reveng'd on men, and let me live. 

Clif, In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's 
blood 
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 
enter. 

Rut. Then let my f.nther's blood open it again; 
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 

Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine 
Were not revenge sufficient for me; 
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves. 
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains. 
It could not slake mine ire, nor ea.se my heart. 
The sight of any of the house of York 
Is as a fury to torment my soul; 
And till I root out their accursed line, 
And leave not one alive, I live In hell. 
Therefore— [Lifting his hand. 

Rut. O, let nie pray before I take my death:— 
To thee I pray: Sweet Clifford, pity me ! 

Clif. Such jjity as my rapier's point affords. 

Rut. I never did thee harm: Why wilt thou slay 
me? 

Clif. Thy father hath. 

Rut. But 't was ere I was born. 

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me; 
Lest in revenge thereof, — sitli God Is just, — 
He be as miserably slain -ts I. 
Ah, let me live in prison all my days; 
And when I give occasion of offence, 
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 

Clif. No cause? 
Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. 

[Clifford stabs htm. 

Rut. Diifaciant,la?'diss'immasitistatnoe/ [Dies. 

Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! 
And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, 
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. [Ex. 

Scene lY.— The same. 

Alarum. Enter York. 

York. The army of the queen hath got the field; 
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; 
And all my followers to the eager foe 
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind. 
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. 
My sons — God knows, what hath bechanced them: 
But this I know,— they have demean'd themselves 
Like men born to renown, by life, or death. 
Three times did Richard make a lane to me; 
And thrice cried,— ' Courage, father ! fight it out !' 
And full as oft came Edward to my side. 
With purple faulchlon, painted to the hilt 
In blood of those that had encounter'd him: 
And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
Richard cried,— 'Charge ! and give no foot of 

ground !' 
And cried,—' A crown, or else a glorious tomb ! 
A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre !' 
With this, we charg'd again: Ijut, out, alas! 
We bodg'd again; as I have .seen a swan 
With bootless labour swim against the tide. 
And spend her strength with over-matching waves. 

[A short alarum within. 
Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue; 
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury: 
And were I strong I would not shun their fury: 
The sands are number'd that make up my life; 
Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 
Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumberland, 
and Soluiers. 



Come, bloody Clifford,— rough Northumberland,— 
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: 
I am your butt, and I abide your shot. 

I^'orth. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 

Clif. Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm. 
With downright payment, show'd unto my father. 
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, 
Ann made an evening at the noontide prick. 

York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth 
A bird that will revenge upon you all: 
And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven. 
Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 
Whj; come you not? what ! multitudes, and fear? 

Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further; 
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; 
So desperate tiiieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 

York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again. 
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; 
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face; 
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with coward 

ice, 
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. 

Clif. I will not bandy with thee word for word 
But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. 

t /iravs, 

Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand 
causes, 
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life;— 
Wrath makes nim deaf: speak thou, Northumber. 
land. 

North. Hold, Clifford; do not honour him so much 
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: 
What valour were it when a cur doth grin 
For one to thrust his hand between his teeth. 
When he might spurn him with his foot away? 
It is war's prize to take all vantages; 
And ten to one is no impeach of valour. 

[Then '"M hands on York, who strupgles. 

Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. 

North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 

[York is taken pr isonrr. 

York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd 
booty; 
So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. 

North. What would your grace have done unto him 
now? 

Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumber- 
land, 
Come, make him stand upon this molehill here; 
That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, 
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. 
What! was it you that would be England's king? 
Was 't you, that revell'd in our parliament. 
And made a preachment of your high descent? 
Where are your mess of sons, to bade you now? 
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? 
And where 's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice 
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? 
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? 
Look, York; I stain'd this napkm with the blood 
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point. 
Made issue from the bosom of the boy: 
And, if thine e.ves can water for his death, 
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
Alas, poor York! but that I hate thee deadly 
I should lament thy miserable state. 
I prithee, grieve to make me merry, York. 
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails. 
That not a tear can fail for Rutland's death? 
Why art thou patient, man? thou should'st be mad; 
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dunce. 
Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; 
York cannot speak unless he weai-a crown. 
A crown for York;— and, lords, bow low lo him. 
Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. 

[Putting a vaper crown on his head. 
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! 
Ay, thisjs he that took king Henry's chair; ■ 
And this is he was his adopted heir. 
But how Is it that great Plantagenet 
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? 
As I bethink me you should not be king 
Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. 
And win you pale your head in Henry's glory. 
And rob his temples of the d'adem. 
Now in his life, against your holy oath? 
O, 't is a fault too, too unpardonable! 
Off with the crown; and, with the crown, his head; 
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. 

Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 

Q. Mar. Nay, sta.v; let 's hear the orisons he makes. 

yorA;. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves 
of France, 
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! 
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex. 
To triumph, like an Amazonian trull. 
Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! 
But that thy face is, vizor-like, unchanging. 
Made impudent with use of evil deeds, ' 

I would assay, proud queen, to make thee hlush: 
To tell thee whence tiiou cam'st, of whom tleriv'd. 
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not 

shameless. 
Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, 
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem, 
Y?t not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? 
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen; 
Unless the adage must be verified. 
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. 
'T is beauty that doth oft make women proud; 
But God he knows thy share thereof is small: 
'T is virtue that dotl make them most admir'd; 
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 
'T is government that makes them seem divine; 
The want thereof makes thee abominable: 
Thou art as opposite to every good 
As the Antipodes are unto us 
Or as the south to the septentrion. 
O. tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide! 
How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child 
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal. 
And yet be seen to bear a wonuin' face? 
Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; 
Thou, stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 
Bid'st thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: 
Would'st have me weep? why, now thou hast thy 

will: 
For raging wind blows tip Incessant showers. 
And when the rage allays the rain begins. 
These tears are juy sweet Rutland's obsequies; 



SCBNE IV.l 



THinn PART OF KINO HENRY VI. 



181 



And every drop cries vengeance for his deatii, 
■Gainst tlieo, fell Clifford, and thee, false French wo- 
man. 

North. Be^hrew nie, l>nt Ills passions move me so 
That liardly c in I checii ni> e>es fxom tears. 

York. Tliat lace of his the luinjiry cannibals 
Would not have touch'd, would not havestaln'd with 

blood: 
But you are more inhuman, more inex'jrable, 
O, ten times more, tiiaii tit^a'ts of Hyrcania. 
See, rutiitess queen, a iiaplt-^s taflier's tears: 
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet bo.v. 
And I with tears do wash the bloo<l away. 
Keep thou the napkin, and go hoasfof this: 

[Tie gives back the handkerchief. 
And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right. 
Upon my smil, the hearers will .shed tears; 
Yea, even my foes will shed fast falling teai-s. 
And say,— Alas, it wasa piteous deedl — 
There, take the crown, and with thecrown my curse; 
And in thy need such comfort come to thee 
As now I re,ip :it ihv too cruel hand! 
Hard-hiarted C'lifl'ord, take me from the world; 
My soul to heaven, luy blood upon your heads! 

Xorth. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, 
1 should not for my life but weep with him. 
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 

Q. Mar. Wh.at, weeping-ripe, niv lord Northumber- 
land? 
Think but upon the wrong he did us all. 
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. 

Clif. Here 's for my oath, here 's for my father's 
death. [Stabbing him. 

Q. Mar. And here 's to right our gentle-hearted 
king. [Stabbing }ii7n. 

York. Open thy gale of mercy, gracious God! 
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. 

[Dies. 

Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates; 
So York may overlook the town of Y'ork. [Exeunt. 

ACT 11. 

SCE.NE I. — A plain near Mortimer's Cross, in Here- 
fordshire. 

Drums. Enter Edward and Richard, loith their 
Forces, marching. 

Edii: I wonder how our princely father 'scap'd; 
Or whether he be 'scop'd away or no. 
From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; 
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; 
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; 
Or, had-he 'scap'd, methlnks, we should have heard 
The happy tiding of his good escape. 
How fares my brother? why is he so sad? 

Hich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd 
"Where ottr right valiant father is become. 
I saw him in the battle range about; 
And watch 'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. 
Jlerhought. he bore him in tlie thickest troop 
As doth a lion in a herd of neat; 
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs; 
Svho having phich'd a few, and made them cry, 
Tlie rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
So far'd our father with his enemies: 
So fled his enemies my warlike father; 
Methinks, 't is prize enough to be his son. 
See how the morning opes her golden gates. 
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun. 
How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
Trinim'd like a yotinker, prancing to liis love! 

I'dw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do 1 see three suns? 

Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; 
Not separated with the racking clouds, 
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 
See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss. 
As if they vow'd some league inviolable: 
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
In this the heaven figures some event. 

Edw. 'T is wondrous strange, the like yet never 
heard of. 
I think it cites us, brother, to the field; 
That we. the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
Each one already blazing by our meeds. 
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together. 
And overshine the earth, as this the world. 
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
TJron mv target three fair shining suns. 

liich. Nay, bear three daughters;— by your leave I 
speak it. 
You love the breeder better than the male. 

Enter a Messenger. 
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell 
Some dreadful story hanging oh thy tongue? 

Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful lookez'-on. 
When as the noble duke of York was slain, 
Your princely father, and my loving lord. 

Edw. O, speak no more ! for I have heard too 
much. 

Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 

Mess. Environed he was with many foes; 
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy 
Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. 
But Hercules himself must yield to odds; 
And many strokes, though with a little axe. 
Hew down and fell the hardest-tiniber'd oak. 
By many hands your father was subdued; 
But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 
Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen: 
Who crown'd the gracious duke, in high despite; 
Laugh'd in his face; and, when with grief he wept. 
The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, 
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: 
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, 
Tliey took his head, and on the gates of York 
They set the same; and there it doth remain, 
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. 

Kdiv. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon, 
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay ! 
O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain 
The flower of Europe for his chivalry; 
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him. 
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee ! 
Now my soul's palace is become a prison: 
Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my body 
Might in the ground be closed up in rest: 
For never henceforth shall I joy again. 
Never, O never, shall I see more joy. 

Rich. I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture 
Scarce serves to quench my furtiace-burnlng heart: 
Nor ran my tongue unload my heart's great ourtheu; 
For selfsame wind, that I sliould speak withal, 



Is kindling coals that flre all my breast. 

And burn me up with flames that tears would quench. 

To weep is to make less tlie drjitli of grief: 

Tears, then, for babes; bli.ws ami revenge for me ! — 

Richard, I liear thy name, I 'II veiige thy death, 

Or die renowned by attempting it. 

Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with 
thee; 
His dukedom and his chair with mo is left. 

Rich. Nay, If thou be that princely eagle's bird. 
Show thy descent b.v gazing 'gainst the sun: 
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; 
Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 

March. Enter Warwick and Montague, ivith 
Forces. 
War. How now, fair lords? What fare? wliat news 

abroad? 
Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if w<! should recount 
Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance 
Stab poniards in our flesh, till all were told. 
The words would add more anguish than the wounds. 

valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. 

Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet 
Which held thee dearly as his soul's redemption. 
Is bv the stern lord Clifford done to death. 

War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears: 
And now, to add more measure to your woes, 

1 come to tell you things sith then befallen. 
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought. 
Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, 
Tidings', as swiftly as the post could run. 

Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. 

I then in London, keeper of the king, 

Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, 

,\nd very well appointed, as I thought, 

Mareh'd towards St. Alban's to Intercept the queen. 

Bearing the king in my liehalf along: 

For by "my scouts I was advertised 

That she was coming with a full intent 

To dash our late decree in parliament. 

Touching king Henry's oath and your succession. 

Short tale, to make,— we at St. Alban's met. 

Our battles joiu'd, and both sides fiercely fought: 

But, whether 't was the coldness of the king. 

Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen. 

That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; 

Or whether 't was report of her success; 

Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour. 

Who thunders to his captives— blood and death, 

I cannot .iudge: but, to conclude with truth. 

Their weapons like to lightning came and went; 

Our soldiers— like the night-ovvl's lazy flight. 

Or like a lazy thresher with a flail, — 

Fell gentlv down, as if they struck their friends. 

I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, 

W^ith promise of high pay and great rewards: 

But all in vain; they had no heart to fight. 

And we, in them, no hope to win the day. 

So that we fled: the king unto the queen; 

Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself. 

In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you; 

For in the marches here, we heard, you were 

Making another head to fight again. 

Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War- 
wick? 
And when came George from Burgundy to England? 

TTar. Some six miles off the duke is with the sol- 
diers: 
And for your brother, he was lately sent 
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, 
With aid of soldiers to this needful war. 

Rich. 'T was odds, belike, when valiant Warwick 
fled: 
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit. 
But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. 

War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; 
For thou Shalt know, this strong right hand of mine 
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head. 
And wring the awful sceptre friun his fist; 
'W'ere he as famous and as bold in war. 
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and prayer. 

Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick, blame me not; 
'T Is love I bear thy glories makes me speak. 
But, in this troublous time, what's to be done? 
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel. 
And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, 
Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? 
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
'Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? 
If for the last, say,- Ay, and lo it, lords. 

War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you 
out; 
And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen. 
With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, 
And of their feather many more proud birds. 
Have wrought the easy melting king like wax. 
He swore consent to your succession. 
His oath enrolled in the parliament; 
And now to London all the crew are gone. 
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside 
May make against the house of Lancaster. 
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: 
Now. if the help of Norfolk, and myself. 
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, 
Amongst the loving Welehmen canst procure. 
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand. 
Why, Via! to London will we march amain; 
And once again bestride our foam.lng steeds. 
And once again cry— Charge upon our foes! 
But never once again turn back and fly. 

Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick 
speak: 
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day 
That cries— Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. 

Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; 
And when thou fail'.^t (as God forbid the hour!) 
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend! 

War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; 
The next degree is England's royal throne: 
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd 
In every borough as we pass along; 
And he that throws not up his cap for joy 
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, 
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown. 
But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 

Rich. 'Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as 
steel, 
(As thou hast shown It flinty by thy deeds,) 
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. 

Edw. Then strike up drums;— God, and Saint 
George, for us! 



Enter a Messenger. 

War. How now? what news? 

jli( S.S-. The duke of Xurfolk sends you word b.v me. 
The qiieen is (-oiriim' u iili a pui.ssant ho.st; 
And ciavi's your company tor speedy counsel. 

War. Wily then it sorts, brave warriors; Let 'a 
away. [Eaeunt. 

Scene ll.-Bpfore York. 

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince 
of Wales, Clfl'ord, and Northumberland, with 
Forces. 

Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of 
York. 
Yonder 's the head of that arch-enemy 
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: 
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? 

K. Htn. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their 
wrack; — 
To see this sight, it irks my very soul. 
Withhold revenge, dear God! 't is not my fault, 
Nor wittingly have I infring'd my vow. 

Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity 
And harmful pity must be laid aside. 
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? 
Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
Whose hand Is that the forest bear doth lick? 
Not his that spoils her young before her face. 
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? 
Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 
The smallest worm will turn being trodden on; 
And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. 
Ambitious York flid level at thy crown. 
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows: 
He, but a duke, would have his son a king. 
And raise his issue, like a loving sire: 
Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, 
Didst yield consent to disinherit him. 
Which argued thee a most unloving fathev. 
Unreasonable creatures feed their young; 
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes. 
Yet, in protection of their tender ones. 
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings 
Which sometimes they have used with fearful flight,) 
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest. 
Offering their own lives in their young's defence? 
For shame, my liege, niake them your precedent! 
Were it not pity that this goodly boy 
Should lose his iiirthright by his father's fault; 
And long hereafter say unto his child,— 
'What my great-grandfather and grandsire got. 
My careless father fondly gave away?' 
Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; 
And let his manly face, which promiseth 
Successful fortune, .steel thy melting heart 
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. 

K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, 
Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear 
That things 111 got had ever bad success? 
And happy always was it for that son. 
Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? 
I 'U leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; 
And 'would my father had left me no more! 
For all the rest is held at such a rate 
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, 
Than In possession any jot of pleasure. 
Ah, cousin York! 'would thy best friends did know 
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! 

Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foes are 
nigh. 
And this soft courage makes your followers faint. 
Yott promised knighthood to our forward son; 
Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently. 
Edward, kneel down. 

K. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; 
And learn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right. 

Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, 
I '11 draw it as apparent to the crown. 
And in that quarrel use it to the death. 

Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness: 
For, with a band of thirty thousand men. 
Comes Warwick backing of the duke of York; 
And In the towns, as they do march along. 
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: 
Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. 

Clif. I would your highness would depart the field; 
The queen hath best success when you are absent. 

Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and let us to our fortune. 

K. Hen. Why, that 's my fortune too; therefore I'll 
stay. 

North. Be it with resolution then to fight. 

Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords. 
And hearten those that fight in your defence: 
Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, 'Saint 
George!' 

March, .ffnfer Edward, George, Richard, Warwick. 
Norfolk, Montague, end Soldiers. 

Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for 
grace. 
And .set thy diadem upon my head; 
Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? 

Q. Slar. Go rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! 
Becomes It thee to be thus bold in terms. 
Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? 

Ediv. I am his king, and he should bow his knee; 
I was adopted heir by his consent: 
Since ivhen, his oath is broke; for, as I hear. 
You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, 
Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament. 
To blot out me and put his own son in. 

Clif. And reason too; 
Who should succeed the father but the son? 

Rich. Are you there, butcher?— O, I cannot speak! 

Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee. 
Or any he the proudest of thy sort. 

Rich. 'T was you that kill'd young Rutland, was It 
not? 

Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 

Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the 
flght. 

War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the 
crown? 

Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! 
dare you speak? 
When you and 1 met at St Alban's last. 
Your legs did better service tha:i your hands. 

War. 'Then 'twas myiurn tofly,audnow 'tisthine. 

Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. 



THIBT) PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



[Act h. 



War. 'T was not your valour, Clifford, drove me 
thence. 

North, No, nor your ninnhood that durst make you 
stay. 

Rieh. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; 
Rreak off the parley; for scarce I can refrain 
The execution of my big-swoln heart 
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 

Clif. 1 slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child? 

Rich. Ay. like a dastard, and a treacherous coward 
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; 
But, ere sunset, I '11 make thee curse the deed. 

A'. Heti. Have done with words, my lords, and ri rr 
me speak. 

Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thv lips. 

A. Hen. I prithee, give no limits to my tongue; 
I am a king, and privlleg'd to speak. 

Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting 
here 
Cannot be cur'd by words; therefore be still. 

Rich. Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: 
Bv Him that made us all, I am resolv'd 
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 

£dw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right or no? 
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day. 
That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. 

War. If thou deny,their blood upon thy head; 
For York in justice puts his armour on. 

Prince. It that be right which Warwick says Is 
right. 
There is no wrong, but everything is right. 

Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; 
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 

Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sice nor dam; 
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatick, 
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided. 
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. 

Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt. 
Whose father bears the title of a king, 
(As if a channel should be called the sea,) 
Sham'st tliou not, knowing whence thou are ex- 

traught. 
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? 

Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand 
crowns. 
To make this shameless callet know herself. 
Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou. 
Although thy husband may be Menelaus; 
And ne'er was Agamenmon's brother wrong'd 
By that false woman as this king by thee. 
His father revell'd in the lieart of France, 
And tani'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop; 
And had he match'd according to his state. 
He might have kept that glory to this day: 
But when he took a beggar to his bed. 
And gvac'd thy poor ^ire with his bridal day. 
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, 
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, 
But heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? 
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept: 
And we, in pity of the gentle king. 
Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 

Geo. But when we saw our sunshine made thy 
• spring. 
And that thy summer bred us no increase, 
We sec the axe to thy usurping root: 
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves. 
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike. 
We '11 never leave till we have hewn thee down. 
Or bath'd th.v growing witli our heated bloods. 

Edw. And. in this resolution, I defy thee; 
Not willing any longer conference. 
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak. 
Sound trumpets! — let our bloody colours wave!— 
And either victory, or else a grave. 

Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 

Edw. No, wrangling woman; we 'U no longer stay; 
These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. 

lExetmt, 

Scene in.— ^ field of battle between Towton and Sax- 
ton in Yorkshire. 
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick. 

War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, 
I lay me down a little while to breathe: 
For sti'okes receiv'd, and many blows repaid. 
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinewsof theirstrength. 
And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile. 
Enter Edward, running. 

Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle 
death! 
For this world trowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. 

War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of 
good? 

Enter George. 

Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; 
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows its; 
What counsel give you, whither shall we fly? 

Edw. Bootless is flight; they follow us with wings: 
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. 
Enter Richard. 

Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn 
thyself? 
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, 
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance: 
And, in the very pangs of death, he crv'd, — 
Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, — 
' Warwi:;k, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' 
So underneath the belly of their steeds. 
That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood. 
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. 

War. Then let the earth be drunken witli our 
blood: 
I '11 kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, 
Walling our lo.sse.s, whiles the foe doth rage; 
And look uioon, as if the tragedy 
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? 
Here on my knee I vow to God above, 
I 'li never pause again, never stand still. 
Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine. 
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 

Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; 
And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine; 
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, 
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee. 
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings! 
Beseeching thee, if with thy will It stands 
That to my foes this body nuist be prey. 
Yet that the brazen gates of heaven may ope. 
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! 



Now, lords, take leave until we meet again. 
Where'er it be, in heaven, or in earth. 

Rich. Brother, give me thy hand;— and, gentle War- 
wick, 
Let me embrace thee In my weary arms: 
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe. 
That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 

War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, fare- 
well. 

Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops. 
And give them leave to fly that will not stay; 
And call them pillars that will stand to us; 
And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards 
As victors wear at the Olympian games: 
This may plant courge in their quailing breasts; 
For yet is nope of life, and victory. 
Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exe. 

Scene TV.— The same. Another Part of the Field. 
Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. 

Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: 
Suppose this arm is for the duke of York, 
And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, 
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone; 
This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; 
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; 
And here 's the heart that triumphs in their death. 
And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and broth- 
er. 
To execute the like upon thyself; 
And so, have at thee. 

[Theyjxght. Warwick emfers; C\iKor<\ flies. 

Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; 
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. \_Exe.unt. 

Scene V.— Another part of the Field. 
Alarum. Enter King Henry. 
K Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war. 
When dying clouds contend witli growing light; 
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails. 
Can neither call It perfect day nor night. 
Now sways It this way, like a mighty sea, 
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind; 
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea 
Foro'd to retire by fury of the wind : 
Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind: 
Now, one the better; then, another besr; 
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered: 
So is the equal poise of this fell war. ^ 

Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
To whom God will, there be the victor.v! 
For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too. 
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both 
They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
'Wou'.d I were dead! if God's good will were so: 
For what is in this world but grief and woe? 
O God! niethinks It were a happy life. 
To be no better than a homely swain: 
To sit upon a hill, as I do now. 
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point. 
Thereby to see the minutes how they run: 
How many make the hour full complete, 
How many hours bring about the day. 
How many days will flnisli up the year. 
How many years a mortal man may live. 
When this is known, then to divide the times: 
So many hours must I tend my flock; 
So many hours must I take my rest; 
So many hours must I contemplate; 
So many hours must I sport myself; 
So many days my ewes have been with young; 
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; 
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece; 
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, 
Pass'd over to the end they were created. 
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! 
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
■To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? 
O, yes it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. 
And to conclude,— the shepherd's homely curds, 
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. 
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade. 
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys. 
Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
His viands sparkling in a golden cup. 
His body couched in a curious bed. 
When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. 

Alarum. Enter a Son that has hilled his Father, 
dragging in the d.ead body. 

Son. ni blows the wind that profits nobody. 
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight. 
May be possessed with some store of crowns: 
And I, that haply take them from him noiv. 
May yet ere niglit yield both my life and them 
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. 
Who 's this?— O God ! it is my father's face. 
Whom in this conflict I unawares have kiU'd. 
O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
From London by the king w.ns I press'd forth; 
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man. 
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; 
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life. 
Have by my hands of life bereav'd him. 
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! 
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! 
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; 
And no more words, till they have flow'd their flU. 

K. JJen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times ! 
Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens. 
Poor harmless lambs abide tlieir enmity. 
Weep, wretched man, I '11 aid thee, tear for tear; 
And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war. 
Be blind with tears, and ijreak o'ercharg'd with 
grief. 
Enter a Fatlier, tc/io has killed his Son, with the 
body inhis arms. 

Tath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, 
Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold; 
For I have bought it with an hundred blows. 
But let me see:--is this our foemnn's face? 
Ah, no. no, no, it is mine only son ! 
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, 
Throw up thine eye; see, see, Avhat sho^wers arise. 
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart. 
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! 
O, pity, God, this miserable age ! 



What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, 
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural 
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! 
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, 
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late ! 
K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than conrmon 
grief! 
O, that my death woiild stay these ruthful deedsl 

pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity I 

The red rose and the white are on his face, 
The fatal colours of our striving houses: 
The one, his purple blood right well resembles; 
The other, his pale cheeks, methlnks, present: 
Wither one rose, and let the other floui'ish ! 
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 

Son. How will my mother, for a father's death. 
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied? 

Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son. 
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied? 

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woeful 
chances. 
Mis-think the king, and not be satisfied ! 

Son. Was ever son so rued a father's death? 

Fath. Was ever father so bemoan 'd a son? 

K. Hen. Was ever king so griev'd for subjects' woe? 
Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. 

Son. I '11 bear thee hence, where I may weep mv 
fill. [Exit, with the hodi'i. 

Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy winding- 
sheet; 
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre; 
For fi-om my heart thine image ne'er shall go. 
My sighing breast shall lie thv funeral bell; 
And so obsequious will thy father be. 
Sad for the loss of thee, having no more. 
As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 

1 'II bear thee hence; and let them fight that will. 
For I have murther'd where I should not kill. 

[Exit, with the body, 
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with 
care. 
Here sits a king more wofiil than you are. 

Alarums: Excursions. £nfer Queen Margaret, Prince 
of Wales, and Exeter. 

Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends are fled, 
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: 
Away ! for death doth hold us in jursuit. 

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick 
post amain : 
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds 
Having the fearful flying hare in sight. 
With flery eyes, sparkling for very wrath. 
And bloody steel grasp'd In their ireful hands,' 
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. 

Exe. Away; for vengeance comes along with them: 
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; 
Or else come after, I 'II away before. 

K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exe- 
ter; 
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
Whither the queen intends. Forward; awa" ! 

[Exei-nt. 

Scene YL— The same. 
A lotid Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. 
Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it die.s. 
Which, whiles it lasted, gave king Henry light. 

0, Lancaster ! I fear thy overthrow. 

More than my body's parting with my soul. 
My love and fear glued many friends to thee: 
And, now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. 
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York, 
The common people swarm like summer flies: 
And whither ny the gnats but to Hie .sun? 
And who shines now but Henry's enemies? 

Phoebus ! hadst thou never given consent 
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds. 
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth: 
And Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do. 
Or as thy father, and his father, did. 

Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
They never then had sprung like summer flies; 

1, and ten thousand in this luckless realm. 
Had left no mourning widows for our death. 
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. 
For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air? 

And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? 
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds: 
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight; 
The foe is merciless, and will not pity; 
For at their hands I have deservd no pity. 
The air hath got into my deadly wounds. 
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint; 
Come, York and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; 

1 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. 

[He faints. 

Alarum and retreat. Enter Edward, George, Rich- 
ard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. 

Ediv. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids ' 
us pause. 
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. 
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen; 
That led calm Heni-y, though he were a king. 
As doth a sail, fiU'd with a fretting gust. 
Command an argosy to stem the wiives. 
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? 

War. No, 't is Impossible he should escape: 
For, though before his face I speak the words. 
Your brotiier Richard mark'd him for the grave: 
And, wheresoe'er he is, lie 's siuely dead. 

[Clift'ord groans, and dies. 

Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy 
leave? 

Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's de- 
parting. 

Edw. See who it Is; and, now the battle 's ended. 
If friend, or foe, let him be gently used. 

Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; 
Who, not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth. 
But set his murthering knife unto the root 
From whence that l;ender spray did sweetly sprinp ,— 
I mean, our princely father, duke of York. 

War. From off tlie gates of York fetch down the 
head. 
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; 
Instead whereof let this .supply tlie room; 
Measure for measm'e must be answered. 

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to ouir 
house. 
That nothing sung but death to us and ours: 



Scene vi.l 



THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. 



183 



I 



Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, 
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 

[Attenclnnts hrtng the hnd]i Jonvard. 

War. I think his understanding is bereft:— 
Speak, CliU'did, dost tliou know who speaks to 

thee?- 
Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life. 
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. 

Rich. O, would he did] and so, perhaps, lie doth; 
'T is but his policy to counterfeit. 
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
Which in the time of death he gave our father. ' 

Geo. It so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. 

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. 

Eda\ Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. 

War. ClilT(>rd, devise excuses for thy faults. 

Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. 

Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. 

Edw. Tliou pltied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. 

Geo. ^Yhere 's captain Margaret, to fence you now? 

War. They mock thee, Clifford! swear as thou 
wast wont. 

Rich. What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes 
hard 
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath: 
I know by that he 's dead: And, by my soul. 
If this right hand would buy two hours' life. 
That I in all despite might rail at him. 
Tills hand should chop it off; and with the Issuing 

blood 
Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst 
York and young Rutland could not satisfy. 

War. Ay, but he 's dead: Off with the traitor's 
head. 
And rear it In the place your father's stands. 
And now to London with triumphant march. 
There to be crowned England's royal king. 
From whence shall ^^■arwick cut the sea to France, 
And ask the. lady Bona for thy queen: , 

So Shalt thou sinew both these lands together; 
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread 
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise«gain; 
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, 
Yet look to have them biiz, to offend thine ears. 
First, will I see the coronation; 
And then to Brittany I '11 cross the sea. 
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 

Edic. Even as thou wilt, sweet War\\'ick, let it be: 
For in thy shoulder do I build my seat; 
And never will I undertake the thing 
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. 
Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster; 
And George, of Clai-ence; Warwick, as ourself. 
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. 

Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George of Glos- 
ter: 
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. 

War. Tut, that 's a foolish observation; 
Richard, be duke of Gloster. Now to London, 
To see these honours in possession. {Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene l.—A Chase in. the No) th o/ England. 

Enter Two Keepers, loith cross-bmvs in their hands. 

1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we '11 shroud 

ourselves; 
For through this laund anon the deer will come; 
And in this covert will we make our stand, 
Culling the principal of all the deer. 

2 Keep. I '11 stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 

1 Keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow 
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is. lost. 

Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: 
And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 
I '11 tell thee what befell me on a day. 
In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 

2 Keep. Here comes a man, let 's stay till he be past. 

Enter King Henry, disguised, with a prayer-book. 

K.Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure 
love. 
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. 
No, Harry, Harry, 't is no land of thine; 
Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee. 
Thy balm wash'd off. wherewith thou wast anointed: 
No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, 
No humble suitors press to speak for right. 
No, not a man comes for redress of thee; 
For how can I help them, and not myself? 

1 Keep, Ay, here 's a deer whose skin 's a keeper's 
fee: 
This is the OMorwiam king; let 's seize upon him. 

K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities: 
For wise men say it is the wisest course. 

2Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. 

1 Keep. Forbear a whlle;~we '11 hear a little more. 
K. Ren. My queen and son are gone to France for 

aid; 
And, as I hear, the gi-eat commanding Warwick 
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
To wife for Edward: If this news be true. 
Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; 
For Warwick is a subtle orator. 
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. 
By this account, then, Margaret may win him; 
For she 's a woman to be pitied much: 
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; 
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; 
The tiger will be mild while she doth mourn; 
And Nero will be tainted with remorse. 
To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. 
Ay, but she 's come to beg; Warwick, to give: 
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry; 
He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. 
She weeps, and says— her Henry is depos'd; 
He smiles, and says— his Edwai-d is install'd; 
That she poor wretch for grief can speak no more: 
Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, 
Inferreth arguments of mighty strength; 
And, in conclusion, wins the king from her, 
With promise of his sister, and what else. 
To strengthen and support king Edward's place. 
O Margaret, thus 't will be; and thou, poor soul. 
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn. 

2 Keep. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and 

queens? 
K. Ben. More than I seem, and less than I was bom 
to: 
A man at least, for less I should not be; 
And men may talk of kings, and why not I? 
Z Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. 
K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. 



2 Keep. But if thou be a king, where is thy crown- 

K. Hen. My crown is In my heart, not on my head; 
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones. 
Nor to be seen; my crown is call'd content; 
A crown it Is that seldom kin^s enjoy. 

2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with con- 
tent, 
Your crown content and you must be contented 
To go along with us: fo'-, as we think, 
You are the king king Edward hath depos'd; 
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, 
Will apprehend you as his enemy. 

K. Hen. But did you never swear and break an 
oath? 

2 Keep. No, never such an oath; nor will not now. 

K. Hen. Where did you dwell when I was king of 
England? 

2 Keep. Here In this country where v.e now re- 
main. 

K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old; 
My father, and my grandfather, were kings; 
And you were sworn true subjects unto me: 
And. tell me then, have you not broke your oaths? 

1 Keep. No; 
For we were subjects but while you were king. 

K. Hen. Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? 
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear. 
Look, as I blow this feather fi'om my face. 
And as the air blows it to me again. 
Obeying with my wind when I do blow. 
And yielding to another when it blows, 
Commanded always by the greater gust; 
Svtch is the lightness of you common men. 
But do not break your oaths; for, of that sin 
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; 
And be you kings; command, and I '11 obey, 

1 Keep. We are true subj'ects to the king, king 
Edward. 

K. Hen. So would you be again to Hem-y. 
If he were seated as king Edward is. 

1 Keep. We charge you, in God's name, and in the 
king's. 
To go with us unto the officers. 

K. Hen. In God's name, lead; your king's name be 
obey'd: 
And what God will that let your king perform; 
And what he will I humbly yield unto. {E.veiint. 

Scene II.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Edward, Gloster, Clarence, and Lady 
Grey. 

K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at St. Alban's field 
This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain. 
His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror: 
Her suit is now, to repossess those lands; 
Which we in justice cannot well deny, 
Because in quarrel of the house of Yoi'k 
The worthy gentleman did lose his life. 

Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; 
It were dishonour to deny it her. 

K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I '11 make a pause. 

Glo. Yea! is it so? 
I see the lady hath a thing to pri'ant. 
Before the king will grant her humble suit. 

Clar. He knows the game: How true he keeps the 
wind! [Aside. 

Glo. Silence! [Aside. 

K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; 
And come some other time, to know our mind. 

L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay; 
May it please your highness to resolve me now; 
And what your pleasure is shall satisfy me. 

Glo. [Aside.] Ay, widow? then I '11 warrant you all 
your lands, 
An if what pleases him shall pleasure you. 
Fight closer, or, good faith, you '11 catch a blow. 

Clar. I fear her not unless she chance to fall. 

Glo. God forbid that! for he '11 take vantages. 

[Aside. 
K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow? 

tell me. 
Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. 

[Aside. 
Glo. Nay, whip me then; he '11 rather give her two. 

[A.':ide. 
L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. 
Glo. You shall have four, if you '11 be ruled by him. 

K Ediv. "T were pity they should lose their fath- 
er's lands. 

L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. 

K. Edw. Lords, give us leave: I '11 try this widow's 
wit. 

Glo. Ay, good leave have you; for you will have 
leave 
Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. 

[Gloster and Clarence retire to the other side.] 

K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your 

children? 
L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. 
K. Edw. And would you not do much to do them 

good? 
X. Gh-ey. To do them good I would sustain some 

harm. 
K.Edw. Then getyour husband's lands, todothem 

good. 
L. Grey. Therefore I came unto vour majesty. 
K. Edw. I '11 tell you how these lands are to be got. 
L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' 

service. 
jK'. Edw. What service vrtlt thou do me. If I give 

them? 
L. Grey. What you command that rests in me to do. 
K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to mv boon. 
L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. 
K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to 

ask. 
L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace com- 
mands. 
Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears the 

marble. [Aside. 

Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt. 

[Aside. 
L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my 

task? 
K. Edw. An easy task; 't is but to love a king. 
L. Grey. That 's soon perform'd, because I am a 

subject. 
K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely 

give thee. 



L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand 

thanks. 
Glo. The match Is made; she seals it with acurt'sy. 

[Aside. 
K. Edw. But stay thee, 't Is the fruits of love I 

mean. 
L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. 
K. Edw. Ay, but 1 fear me, in another sense. 
What love think'st thou I sue so much to get? 
L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, my 
prayers; 
That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. 
K. Adw. No, by my troth, I dirt not mean such love. 
L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought you 

did. 
K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my 

mind. 
L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive 
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. 
K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. 
L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in pris- 
on. 
K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy hus- 
band's lands. 
L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my 
dower* 
For hv that loss I will-not purchase them. 
K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children 

misrhtily. 
L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them 
and me. 
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination 
Accords not with the sadness of my suit; 
Please you dismiss me, either with ay or no. 

K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt say ay to my request: 
No, if thou dost say no to my demand. 
L. Grey. Then. no. my lord. My suit is at an end. 
Glo. 'The widow likes him not, she knits her brows. 

[Aside. 
Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. 

\Aside. 
K. Edw. [A.iide.] Her looks do argue her replete 
with modesty; 
Her words do show her wit incomparable. 
All her perfections challenge sovereignty: 
One way, or other, she Is for a king; 
And she shall be my love, or else my queen. 
Sav, that king Edward take thee for his queen? 
L. Grey. 'T is better said than done, my gracious 
lord: 
I am a subject fit to jest withal. 
But far unfit to be a sovereign. 

K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee, 
I .speak no more than what my soul intends; 
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. 

L. Gi-ey. And that is more than I will yield unto: 
I know I am too mean to be your queen: 
And yet too good to be your concunine. 
K. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen. 
L. Grey. 'T will grieve your grace my son should 

call you father. 
jr. Edw. No more than when my daughters call 
thee mother. 
Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children: 
And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor. 
Have other some: why, 't is a happy thing 
To be the father unto many sons. 
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. 
Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. 

[A.'tide. 
Clar. When he was made a shriver, 't was for shift. 

[Aside. 
K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two 

have had. 
Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. 
K. Edw. You 'd think it strange if I should marry 

her. 
Clar. To whom, my lord? 

K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. 

Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. 
Clar. That 's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 
Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 
K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both 
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. 

Enter a Nobleman. 

Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, 
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. 

K. Edw. See that he be convcy'd unto the Tower: 
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him. 
To question of his apprehension. 
Widow, go you along;— Lords, use her honourably. 
[Exeunt King Edward, Lady Grey, Clarence, 
and Lord. 

Glo. Ay, j-^iward will use women honourably. 
'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all. 
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring. 
To cross me from the golden time I look for! 
And yet, between mv soul's desire and me, 
(The lustful Edward's title buried,) 
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies. 
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: 
A cold premeditation for my purpose! 
Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty; 
Like one that stands upon a promontory. 
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, 
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye; 
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence. 
Saying, he '11 lade it dr.v to have his way: 
So do I wish the crown, being so far off: 
And so I chide the means that keep me from it; 
And so I say, I '11 cut the causes oft; 
Flattering me with impossibilities. 
My eye 's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, 
trhiess my hand and strength could equal them. 
Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; 
What other pleasure can the world afford? 
I '11 make my heaven in a lady's lap, 
And deck my body in gay ornaments. 
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. 
O miserable thought! and more unlikely 
Than to accomplish twenty golden crownsi 
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: 
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws 
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe 
"To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; 
To make an envious mountain on my back, 
Where sits deformity to mock my body; 
To shape my legs of an unequal size; 
To disproportion me in every part, 
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, 
That carries no Impression like the dam. 
And am I then a man to be belov'd? 



J84 



THJRT) PA JIT OF K/.VG II EX II Y VI. 



lACT IV. 



O. monstrous fa<ilt, to harbour such a thoughtl 

Then, since this earth affords no joy to nie 

But to command, to dunk, to oVrliear such 

As are of better person tli.ni myself, 

I '11 nuike mv heaven to dicam upon the crown; 

And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, 

Until my mis-shap'd Iniuk. that bears this head, 

Be round impaled with a Klorious crown. 

And yet I know not how to pet the crown, 

For liianv lives stand between me and home; 

And I.— like one lost in a thorny wood. 

That rents the thorns, and is nrit with the thorns, 

Seeking a wa.v, and strayiui; from llie way; 

Not knowing how to fln<i tlic oiien air, 

But tolling desperately to find it out,— 

Torment myself to catch the English cro'vn: 

And from that torment I will free myself, 

Or hew mv way out with a bloody axe. 

Whv, I can smile, and niurther whiles I smile; 

And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart; 

And v,et my cheeks with artificial tears. 

And frame mv face to all occasions.' 

I 'II drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; 

I '11 slay more gazers than the basilisk; 

I '11 play the orator as well as Nestor; 

Deceive more silly than Ulysses could; 

And, like a Sinon, take another Troy: 

I can add colours to the cameleon; 

Change shapes with Proteus, for advantages, 

And set the murtherous Maehiavel to school. 

Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? 

Tut: were it further off I '11 pluck it down. \_Exlt. 

Scene III.— France. A Room in the Palace. 

Flourish. fMter Lewis the French King, and Lady 
Bona, attended; the King takes his state. Then 
enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward Aer son, and 
the Earl of Oxford. 

K. Leiv. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret, 

IRising. 
Sit down with us; It ill-befits thv state , 
And birth that thou should'ststand, while Lewis doth 
sit. 
Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France: now Margaret 
Must strike her sail, and learn awhile to serve, 
Where kings command. I was, I must confess, 
Great Albion's queen in former golden days: 
But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
And with dishonour laid me on the ground; 
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, 
And to my humble seat conform myself. 
K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this 

deep despair? 
Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with 
tears, 
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd In 
cares. 
K. Lew. ^Vhate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, 
And sit thee by our side: yield not thy neck 

[Seats her by him. 
To.fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
Still ride in triumph over all mischance. 
Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; 
It shall be eas'd if France can yield relief. 
Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my drooping 
thoughts. 
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. 
Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, 
That Henry, sole possessor of m.v love, 
Is, of a king, become a banlsh'd man. 
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn; 
While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York, 
Usurps the regal title, and the seat 
Of England's true anointed lawful king. 
"This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret, 
With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir. 
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; 
And if thou fail us all our hope is done: 
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; 
Our people and our peers are both misled, 
Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight. 
And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. 
K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm the 
storm. 
While we bethink a means to break it off. 
Q. Mar. The more we stay the stronger grows our 

foe. 
K. Lew. The more I stay the more I '11 succour 

thee. 
Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow: 
And see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. 
Enter Warwick, attended. 
K. Lew. What 's he approacheth boldly to our pre- 
sence? 
Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest 

friend. 
K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings 
thee to France? 
[Descending from his state. Queen Margaret rises. 

Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; 
For this is he that moves both wind and tide. 

War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, 
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
I come, in kindness and unfeigned love. 
First, to do greetings to thy royal person; 
And then to crave a league of amity: 
And lastly, to confirm that amity 
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair si.ster. 
To England's king in lawful marriage. 
O. Mar. If that go forward Henry's hope is done. 
War. And, gracious madam, [to Bonajin our king's 
behalf, 
I am commanded, with your leave and favour, 
Humbi.v to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart; 
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears. 
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. 

Q. Mar. King Lewis, and lady Bona, hear me speak. 
Before you answer Warwick. His demand 
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, 
But from deceit, bred by necessity; 
For how can tyrants safely govern home, 
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? 
To prove him tyrant, this reason may sutflce, 
That Henry Ilveth still: but were he dead. 
Yet here prince Edv/ard stands, king Henry's son. 
Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and mar- 
riage 
Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour: 
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile. 
Yet heavens are Just, and time suppresseth wrongs. 



War. Injurious Margaret! 

P-ince. And why not queen? 

War. Because thy father Henry did usurp; 
And thou no more art prince than she is queen. 

O.ef. Then War uic-k disannuls grea I .Inhn of Gaunt, 
Which did subdue the greatest part nt' Spain; 
And, after Jolin of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; 
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
Who by his prowess conquered all France: 
From these our Henry lineally descends. 

War. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth discourse 
You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? 
Methinks, these peers of Fiance should smile at that. 
But for the rest, you tell a pedigree 
Of threescore and two years; a sill.v time 
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 

Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy 
liege. 
Whom thou obey'dst thirty and six years. 
And not bewray thy treason with a blush? 

War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right. 
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? 
For shame! leave Henry and call Edward king. 

Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom 
Mv elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, 
Was done to death? and more than so, my father. 
Even in the downfall of his meilow'd 3'ears, 
When nature brought him to the door of death? 
No, Warwick, no; while Ute upholds this arm. 
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 

War. And I the house of York. 

K. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and Ox- 
ford, 
Vouchsafe at our request to stand aside. 
While I use further conference with Warwick. 

Q. 3Iar. Heaven grant that Warwick's words be- 
witch him not! 

[Retiring with the Prince and Oxford. 

K. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy 
conscience. 
Is Edward your true king? for I were loth. 
To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 

War. Thereon I pawnmy credit and mine honour. 

K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye? 

War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. 

K. Lew. Then further, all dissembling set aside. 
Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
Unto our sister Bona. 

War. Such it seems 

As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
Myself have often heard him say, and swear, 
That this his love was an eternal plant, ^ 
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground. 
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun; 
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain. 
Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. 

K. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. 

Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine:— 
Yet I confess, [to War.] that often ere this day. 
When I have heard your king's desert recounted, 
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 

K. J.ew. Then, Warwick, thus,— Our sister shall be 
Edward's; 
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
Touching the jointure that youi'king must make, 
Which with her dowry shall becounterpois'd: 
Draw ne.ir, queen Margaret, and be a witness 
That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 

Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. 

Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device 
By this alliance to make void my suit; 
Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend, 

K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margaret: 
But if your title to the crown be weak. 
As may appear by Edward's good success, 
Then 't is but reason that I be releas'd 
From giving aid, which late I promised. 
Yet shall j'ou have all kindness at my hand 
That your estate requires, and mine can yield. 

TFar. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease; 
Where, having nothing, nothing he can lose. 
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, 
You have afather able to maintain you; 
And better 't were you troubled him than France. 

Q. 3Iar. Peace, Impudent and shameless Warwick, 
peace; 
Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings! 
I will not hence till with my talk and tears. 
Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold 
Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love; 
For both of you are birds of self-same feather. 

[A horn sounded within. 

K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for 
you; 
Sent from your brother, marquis Montague. — 
These from our king unto your majest.v;— 
And, madame, these for you; from whom— I know 
not. 
[To Margaret. Thei/ all read their letters. 

O.vf. I like It well, thatom- fair queen and mistress 
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. 

Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were 
nettled: 
I hope all 's for the best. 

K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news? and yoiu's, 
fair queen? 

Q. Mar. Mine such as fill my heart with unhop'd 
joys. 

TFar. Mine full of sorrow and heart's discontent. 

K. Lew. What! has your king married the lady 
Grey? 
And now, to soothe your forgery and his. 
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? 
Is this the alliance that he seeks with France? 
Dare he persume to scorn us in this manner? 

Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before: 
This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty. 

War. King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of heaven, 
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss. 
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's; 
No more my king, for he dishonours me; 
But most himself, if he could see his shame. 
Did I forget, that b.v the house of York 
My father came untimely to his death? 
Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece? 
Did I Impale him with the regal crown? 
Did I put Henry from his native right; 
And am I guei'don'd at the last with shame? 
Shame on himself: for my desert is honour. 



And to repair my honour lost for him, 
I here renounce him, and return to Henry: 
Jly noble queen, let former grudges pass. 
And henceforth I am thy true servitor; 
I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona, 
And replant Henry in his former state. 
Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd my 
hate to love; 
And I forgive and quite forget old faults. 
And joy tnat thou Ix'com'st king Henry's friend. 

TFar. So much his friend, a.v, his unfeigned friend. 
That if king Lewis vouclisafe to furnish us 
With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
I '11 undertake to land them on our coast. 
And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
'T is not his new-made bride shall succour him: 
And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me. 
He 's very likely now to fall from him; 
For matching more for wanton lust than honour. 
Or than for strength and safety of our country. 

Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be reveng'd. 
But by thy help to this distressed queen? 
Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry 
live. 
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? 
Bona. My quarrel and this English queen's are one. 
War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. 
K. Lew. And mine with hers, and thine, and Mar- 
garet's. 
Therefore, at last, I firmly am resolv'd. 
You shall have aid. 
Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once. 
K. Lew. Then England's messenger, return in 
post; 
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king. 
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, 
To revel It with him and his new bride: 
Thou seest what 's past, go fear thy king withal. 
Bona. Tell him, m hope he '11 prove a widower 
* shortly. 
I '11 wear the willow garland for his sake. 
Q. Mar. Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid 
aside. 
And I am ready to put armour on. 
War. Tell him from me, that he hath done me 
wrong: 
And therefore I '11 uncrown him, ere 't be long. 
There 's thy reward; be gone. [Exit Mess. 

K. Lew. But.Warwick, thou. 

And Oxford, with five thousand men. 
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle: 
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. 
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt; 
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? 

War. This shall assure my constant loyalty: 
That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
I 'II join mine eldest daughter and m.v joy 
To him forthwith in hol.v wedlock bands. 
Q. Mar. Yes, 1 agree, and thank you for your mo- 
tion: 
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous. 
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick; 
And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable. 
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 

Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; 
And here, to pledge m.v vow, I give my hand. 

[He gives his hand to Warwick. 
K. Lew. Why stay we now? These soldiers shall 
be levied. 
And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, 
Shall waft them over with our roval fleet. 
I long till Edward fall by war's niischance. 
For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 

[Erciinf all b>it Warwick. 
War. I came from Edward as^mbassador. 
But I return his sworn and mortal foe: 
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, 
But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
Had he none else to make a stale but me? 
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown. 
And I '11 be chief to bring him down again: 
Not that I pity Henry's misery. 
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I.— London. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Montague, and 
others. 

Glo. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you 
Of this new marriage with the lady Grey? 
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? 

Clar. Alas, you know, 't is far from "hence to France; 
How could he stay till Warwick made return? 

Soni. M.y lords, forbear this talk; here comes the 
king. 
Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; Lady Grey, 

as Queen; Pembroke, Stafford, Hastings, and 

others. , 

Glo. And his well-chosen bride. 

Clar. I mind to tell him plainl.v what I think. 

K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like yoa 
our choice, 
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? 

Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of 
Warwick; 
Which are so weak of courage and in judgment. 
That they '11 take no offence at our abuse. 

K. Edw. Suppose they take offence without a cause. 
They are but L^w1s and Warwick: I am Edward. 
Your king and Warwick's, and must have m.v will. 

Glo. And you shall have your will, because our 
king; 
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 

K. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended 
too? 

Glo. Not I: 
No; God forbid that I should wish them sever'd 
Whom God hath join'd together: ay, and 'twere pity 
To sunder them tnat yoke so well together. 

K. Edw. Setting your scorns and your misllke 
aside. 
Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey 
Should not become my \vlfe. and England's queen: 
And you too, Somerset and Montague, 
Speak freely what you think. 

Clar. Then this is mine opinion, that king Lewis 
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him 
About the marriage of the lady Bona. 

Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, 
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. 



Scene i.l 



Til inn PART OF KING HENIiY VI. 



185 



K. Edw. What, if both Lewis ami Warwic-k be ap- 
peas'd 
By sucli invention as lean devise? 
Mont. Yet, to have join'd witli France in such alli- 
ance. 
Would more have sti'engthen'd this our common- 
wealth 
'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred mar- 
riage. 
Hnst. Why, knows not J[ontac;He that of itself 
England is safe, if true within itself? 
Mont. Yes, but the safer when it is back'd with 

France. 
Hast. 'T is ijetter using France than trusting- 
France: 
Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas. 
Which he hath given fur fence impregnable. 
And with their lielps only defend ourselves; 
In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies. 
Clar. For this one speech, lord Hastings well de- 
serves 
To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. 



!C. li'dw. Now, messenger, what letters or what 
news 
From France? 

Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters; and few 
words. 
But such as 1, without your special pardon. 
Dare not relate. 

K. F.dtr. Go to, we pardoi\ thee; therefore, in brief: 
Tell me thcirwordsas near as ihou canst guess them. 
What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters? 

Mess. At my depart, these were his very words: 
' Go tell false Edward, the supposed king. 
That Lewis of l''rance is sending over maskers 
To revel it with him and his new bride.' 

K. Edu: Is Lewis so brave? belike, he thinks me 
Henry. 
But what said lady Bona to my marriage? 

Jl/ess. These were her words, utter'd with mild dis- 
dain: 
'Tell him, in hope he '11 prove a widower shortly, 
I '11 wear the willow garland for his sake.' 

K. Edw. I blame her not, she could say little less; 



But, ere I go, Hastings, and Montague, 
Kcsolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest. 
An' near to Warwick tjy Viliiod, and by alliance- 
'i'ell me, if villi lovr Warwick more than me? 
If it be HO, then biilli ik'part t.. hliu; 
1 i-ather wish .you foes tiiau hollow friends; 
But if you mind to hold your true obedience, 
Give me a.ssurance \vith some friendly vow, 
•That I may never have you in suspect. 

Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves true! 

ilast. And Hastings, as he favours Ed ward's cause! 

K. tdw. Now, brother Richard, will yon stand by 
us? 

Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. 

K. Edw. Why so; then am 1 sure of victory. 
Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour. 
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. [Exe. 

Scene 11.— A Plain in Warwickshire. 

Enter Warwick and Oxford, ivith French and other 

Forces. 

War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; 




[King Eichard III.} Glo. Hay it naked to the deadly stroke, and humbly beg the death upon my knee. [//« lays his breast open.] [act i.— scene ii.l 



K. Edw. Ay, what of that? It was my will and 
grant; 
And, for this once, my will shall stand for law. 

Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not done 
well 
To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales 
Unto the brother of your loving bride; 
She better would have fitted me, or Clarence: 
But In your bride you bury brotherhood. 

Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir 
Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son. 
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. 

K. Ediv. Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife 
That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. 

Clar. In choosing for yourself you show'd your 
judgment; 
Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
To play the broker in mine own behalf; 
And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. 

K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, 
And not be tied unto his brother's will. 

Q. Eliz. My lords, before It pleas'd his majesty 
To raise my state to title of a queen. 
Do me but right, and you must all confess 
That I was not ignoble of descent. 
And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
But as this title honours me and mine. 
So > om- dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing. 
Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. 

K. Edit'. My love, forbear to fawn upon their 
frowns: 
"^Vhat danger or what sorrow can befall thee, 
So long as Edward is thy constant friend. 
And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? 
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
Unless they seek for hatred at mv hands: 
■Wliich if thev do. yet will I keep"thee safe. 
And they shall feel the vengeance of mv wrath. 

Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the more. 

[A.fide. 
Enter a Messenger. 



She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? 
For I have heard that she was there in place. 
Mess. 'Tell him,' quoth she, 'my mourning weeds 
are done. 
And I am ready to put armour on.' 

K. Edw. Belike she minds to play the Amazon. 
But what said Warwick to these injuries? 

Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty 
Than all the rest, dlseharg'd me with these words: 
'Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong. 
And therefore I 'U uncrown him, ere 't be long.' 
K. Ediv. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud 
words? 
Well, I will arm me, being thus forwarn'd: 
They shall have wars, and pay for their presump- 
tion. 
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? 
Mess. Ay, gi'aeious sovereign; they are so link'd in 
friendship 
That young prince Edward man-ies Warwick's 
daughter. 
Clar. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have, the 
younger. 
Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast. 
For I will h=nce to Warwick's other "daughter; 
That, though I want a kingdom, yei: in marriage 
I may not prove inferior to yourself. 
You that love me and Warwick, follow me. 

IBxit Clarence, and Somerset /oKoios. 
Glo. Not L 
My thoughts aim at a further matter; I 
Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown. [Aside. 
K. Ediv. Clarence and Somerset botli gone to 
Warwick! 
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen; 
And haste is needful in this desperate case. 
Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf 
Go leyj' men, and make prepare for war. 
They are already, or quickly will be landed: ' 

Myself in person will straight follow you. 

[E.veimt Pembroke and Stafford. 



The common people by numbers swarm to us. 

Enter Clarence and Somerset. 
But, see, where Somerset and Clarence come; 
Speak suddenly, my lords; are we all friends? 

Clar. Fear not that, my lord. 

War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War. 
wick; 
And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice. 
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
Ha'ih pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; 
Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother. 
Were biit a feigned friend to our pi-oceedings: 
But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be 

thine. 
And now what rests, but, in night's coverture. 
Thy brother being carelessly encanip'd. 
His soldiers lurking in the towns about. 
And but attended liy a simple guard. 
We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? 
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy: 
That as Ul.vsses, and stout Diomede, 
With .slight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, 
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds; 
So we, well cover'd wiili the nii-'ht's black mantle. 
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard 
And seize himself: I say not, slaughter him. 
For I intend but only to surin-ise him. 
You that will follow me to this attempt 
Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. 

[They all cry Henry. 
Why, then, let 's on our way in silent sort: 
For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! 

Scene III.— Edward's Camp near Warwick. 
Enter certain Watchmen to guard the King's tent. 

1 Watch. Come on, my jtiastei-s, each man take his 

stand; 
The king, bv this, is set him down to sleep. 

2 Watch. What, will he not to bed? 

1 Watch. "Why, no: for he liath made a solemn vow 



> -> 



166 



Tllinn PART OF KIXG JIE.VRY VI. 



LACT IV. 



Never to lie and take his natural rest 

Till Warwick, or himself, be miite suppress'd. 

2 Wntvh. To-morrow, then, belike, shall be the day, 
If Warwick be so near as men report. 

3 Watch, nut sav, I pray, what nobleman is that 
That wUh the king here resteth In his tent? 

1 Watch. 'T Is the lord Hastings, the king's chlefest 

friend. 
,S Watch. O, is it so? But why commands the king 
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him. 
While he himself keeps in the cold field? 

2 Watch. "T Is the more honour, because more dan- 

gerous. 
S Watch. Av; but give me worship, and quietness, 
I like it better than a dangerous honour. 
If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
'T is to be doubted he wotild waken him. 

1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up his pass- 

age. 

2 Watch. Av; wherefore else guard we his royal 

tent. 
But to defend his person from night-foes? 
Enter Warwick, Clarence, Oxford, Somerset, arid 
Forces. 
War. This is his tent; and see, where stands his 
guard. 
Courage, mv masters; honour now, or never! 
But follow fiie, and Edward shall be ours. 

1 Watch. Who goes there? 

2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest. 

[Warwick and the i-est, cry a//— Warwick! Warwick! 
and set upon the guard; who fly, crying — Arm! Arm! 
Warwick and the rest.foUoiving them. 
The drum beating, and trumpets sounding, re-enter 

Warwick, and the rest, bringing the King out in a 

gown, sitting in a chair: Gloster and Hastings fly. 

Som. What are they that fly there? 

War. Richard and Hastings: let them go, here's 
the duke. 

K. Edw. The duke! why, Warwick, when we part- 
ed last, 
Thou call'dst me king. 

War. Ay, but the case is altered: 

When you disgrac'd me in my ambassade, 
Then I degraded you from being king. 
And come now to create you duke of York. 
Alas! how should you govern any kingdom. 
That know not how to use ambassadors; 
Nor how to be contented with one wife; 
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly; 
Nor how to study for the people's welfare; 
Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? 

K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence,art thou here too? 
Nav, then I see that Edward needs must down. 
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, 
Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, 
Edward will always hear himself as king: 
Tliough fortune's malice overthrow my state, 
Mv mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. 

War. Then, for his mind, be Edward England's 
king: [Takes off his croion. 

But Henry now shall wear the English crown. 
And be true king indeed; thou but the shadow. 
Mv lord of Somerset, at my request, 
See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd 
Unto m.v brother, archbishop of York. 
When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, 
1 '11 follow you, and tell what answer 
Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him: 
Now, for awhile, farewell, good duke of York. 

K. Edw. What fates impose that men must needs 
abide; • 

It boots not to resist both wind and tide. 

[E-Tit King Edward, led out; Somerset with him. 

O-ij. What now remains, my lords, for us to do, 
But march to London with our soldiers? 

TTar. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do; 
To free king Henry from imprisonment. 
And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. 

Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden 
change? 

O. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn 
What late misfortune Is befall'n king Edward? 

Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against 
Warwick? 

O. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. 

Riv. Then is my sovereign slain? 

Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner; 
Either betray'd-by falsehood of his guard, 
Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares: 
And, as I further have to understand. 
Is new committed to the bishop of York, 
Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. 

Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief: 
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may; 
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. 

Q. Eliz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's de- 
cay. 
And I the rather wean me from despair. 
For love of Edward's offspring In my womb: 
This is it that makes me bridle passion 
And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; 
Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear. 
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs. 
Lest with my siglis or tears I blast or drown 
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. 

Ri'v. But_, madam, where is Warwick then become? 

Q. Eliz. I am informed that he comes towards Lon- 
don, 
To set the crown once more on Henry's head: 
Guess thou the rest; king Edward's friends must 

down. 
But, to prevent the tyrant's violence, 
(For trust not him that hath once broken faith,) 
1 '11 hence forthwith unto the sanctuai'y. 
To save at least the heir of Edward's right; 
There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. 
Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly; 
If Warwick takes us we are sure to die. [Exeunt. 

Scene v.— a Park near Middleham Castle in York- 
shire. 

Enter Gloster, Hastings, Sir William Stanley, and 
others. 

Olo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William Stan- 
ley, 
Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, 
Into this chlefest thicket of the park. 



Thus stands the case: You know our king, my broth- 
er. 
Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
He hath good usage ana great liberty; 
And often, but attended with weak guard. 
Comes hunting this way to disport himself. 
I have advertls'd him by secret means, 
That if, about this hour, he make this way. 
Under the colour of his usual game, 
He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, 
To set him free from his captivity. 

Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman. 
Hunt. This way, my lord; for this way lies the 

game. 
K. Edw. Nay, this way, man; see where the hunts- 
men stand. 
Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest. 
Stand you thus close to steal the bishop's deer? 

Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste; 
Your horse stands ready at the park corner. 
K. Edw. But whither shall we then? 
Hast. To Lynn, my lord; and ship from thence to 

Flanders. 
Glo. Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my 

meaning. 
K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. 
Glo. Bui wherefore stay we? 't is no time to talk. 
K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou 

go along? 
Hunt. Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. 
Glo. Come then, away; let 's have no more ado. 
Jl. Edw. Bishop, farewell: shield thee from War- 
wick's frown; 
And pray that I may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. 

Scene VL—A Room in the Tower. 

Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, Somerset, 

young Richmond, Oxford, Montague, Lieutenant 

of the Tower, and Attendants. 

K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and 
friends 
Have shaken Edward from the regal seat, 
And turn'd my captive state to liberty. 
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto ,ioys. 
At our enlargement what are thy due fees? 

Lieu. Subjects ma.y challenge nothing of their 
sovereigns; 
But, if an humble prayer may prevail, 
I then crave pardon of your majesty. 

K. Hen. For what, lieutenant? for well using me? 
Nay, be thou sure, I '11 well requite thy kindness, 
For that it made mj' Imprisonment a pleasure: 
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds ^ 

Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts. 
At last, by notes of household harmony. 
They quite forget their loss of liberty. 
But, Warwick, after God, thou sett'st me free, 
And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; 
He was the author, thou the instrument. 
Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite. 
By living low where fortune cannot hurt me; 
And that the people of this blessed land 
May not be pimish'd with my thwarting stars; 
Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, 
I here resign my government to thee. 
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 

War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous; 
And now may seem as wise as virtuous, 
By spying and avoiding fortune's malice. 
For few men rightly temper with the stars: 
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, 
For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. 

Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, 
To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, 
Adiudg'd an olive-branch, and laurel crown, 
As likely to be blest in peace, and war; 
And therefore I yield thee my free consent. 

War. And I choose Clarence only for protector. 

K. Hen. Warwick and Clarence, give me both your 
hands; 
Now join your hands, and with your hands your 

hearts. 
That no dissension hinder government: 
I make you both protectors of this land; 
While I myself will lead a private life. 
And in devotion spend my latter days. 
To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. 

W.ir. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's 
will? 

Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield consent; 
For on thy fortune I repose myself. 

War. Why then, though loth, yet must Ibe content: 
We'll yoke together, like a double shadow 
To Henry's body, and supply his place: 
I mean, in beaiing weight of government, 
While he enjoys the honour, and the ease. 
And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful, 
Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor, 
And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 

Clar. What else? and that succession be deter- 
mined. 

War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his 
part. 

K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs. 
Let me entreat, (for I command no more,) 
That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward,! 
Be sent for, to return from France with speed: 
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
My joy cf liberty is half eclips'd. 

Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed. 

K. Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is tnat. 
Of whom you seem to have so tender care? 

Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich- 
mond. 

K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope: If secret 
powers [Lays his hand on his head. 

Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, 
This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. 
His looks are full of peaceful majestj-. 
His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown. 
His hand to wield a sceptre; and himself 
Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne. 
Make much of him, my lords; for this is he 
Must help you more than you are hurt by me. 
Enter a Messenger. 

War. What news, my fiiend? 

Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother, 
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 

War. Unsavoury news: But how made he escape? 

Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke of Gloster, 
And the lord Hastings, wlioal tended hlra 
In secret an\bushon the forest side. 



And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him; 
For hunting was his daily exercise. 

War. My brother was too careless of his charge. 
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
A salve for any sore that may betide. 

[Ex-eunt King Henry, War., Clar., Lieut., and 
Attendants. 

Som. My lord, I like not this flight of Edward's: 
For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help; 
And we shall have more wars before 't be long. 
As Henry's late presaging prophecy 
Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Rich- 
mond; 
So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts 
What may befall him, to his harm and ours: 
Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst. 
Forthwith we '11 send him hence to Brittany, 
Till storms be past of civil enmity. 

Oxf. Ay; for if E^lward repossess the crown, 
'T is like that Richmond with the rest shall down. 

Som. It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. 
Come, therefore, let 's about it speedily. [Exexmt. 

Scene Yll.— Before York. 
Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastings, and Forces. 
K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and 
the rest. 
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends. 
And says, that once more I shall interchange 
My waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas. 
And brought desired help from Burgundy. 
What then remains, we being thus arriv'd 
From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, 
But that we enter as into our dukedom? 

Glo. The gates made fast !— Brother, I like not this; 
For many men that stumble at the threshold 
Are well foretold that danger lurks within. 
K. Edw. Tush, man! abodements must not now 
affright us: 
B,v fair or foul means we must enter in. 
For hither will our friends repair to us. 
Hast. My liege, I '11 knock once more to summon 
them. 
Enter on the walls the Mayor of York, and his 
brethren. 
May. My lords, we were forewarned of yourcoming. 
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves; 
For now w- o we allegiance unto Henry. 

K. Edw. ut, master mayor, if Henry be your king, 
Yet Edwaril at the least, is duke of York. 
3Iay. True, my good lord; I know you for no less. 
K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my 
dukedom. 
As being well content with that alone. 

Glo. But when the fox hath once got In his nose, 
He '11 soon And means to make the bodj' follow. 

[Aside. 
Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a 
doubt? 
Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends. 
Jl/aj/. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be 
open'd. [E.veunt from above. 

Glo. A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded ! 
Hast. The good old man would fain that all were 
well. 
So 't yreve not 'long of him: but, being enter'd, 
I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
Both him and all his brothers unto reason. 

Re-enter the Mayor, and two Aldermen, below. 
K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must not 
be shut. 
But in the night, or in the time of war. 
What ! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; 

. [Takes his keys. 
For Edward will defend the town, and thee. 
And all those friends that deign to follow me. 
Drum. Enter Montgomery, and Forces, marching, 
Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery, 
Our trusty friend, unless I be decelv'd. 
K. Edw. Welcome, sir John ! But why come you In 

arms? 
Mont. To help king Edward in his tin>e of stoijn, 
As every loyal subject?ought to do. 
K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery: But we now 
forget 
Our title to the crown; and only claim 
Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. 

Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again: 
I came to serve a king, and not a duke. 
Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. 

[A march heg^in. 
K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, awhile; and we '11 
debate 
By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. 
Mont. What talk you of debating? in few words, 
If you '11 not here proclaimyourself our king, 
I 'II leave you to your fortune; and be gone. 
To keep them back that come to succour you: 
Why should we fight if you pretend no title? 
Gio. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice 

points? 
K. Ediv. When we grow stronger, then we '11 make 
our claim: 
Till then, 't is wisdom to conceal our meaning. 
Hast. Away with scrupulous wit ! now arms must 

rule. 
Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. 
Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ; 
The bruit whereof will bring you many friends. 

K. Ediv. Then be it as you will: For 't is my right. 
And Henry but usurps the diadem. 

Mont, Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself; 
And now will I be Edward's champion. 
Hast. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here pro- 
claim'd: 
Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 

[Gives him a paper. Flourish. 
Sold. [Reads.} ' Edward the Fourth, by the grace 
of God, Icing of England and France, and lord of 
Ireland,' &c. 
Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's 
right. 
By this I challenge him to single fight. 

[Th rows dow7i his gauntlet. 
All. Long live Edward the Fourth ! 
K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery:— and thanks 
unto you all. 
If fortune serve me I '11 requite this kindness. 
Now, for this night, let 's harbour here in York: 
And, when the morning .sun shall laise his car 
Above the border of this horizon, 



Scene vii/ 



Till n I) PAliT OF KTXG HEXHY TV. 



We '11 forward towards Warwick, and his mates; 

For, well I wot that Henry is no soldier. 

Ah, froward Clarence !— how evil it beseems thee 

To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother ! 

Yet, as we may, we 'II meet both thee and Warwick. 

Come on, brave soldiers; doubt not of the day; 

And that once gotten doubt not of large pay. [Kxe. 

Scene VIII.— London. A Boom in the Palace. 

Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, Montague- 
Exeter, and Oxford. 

War. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgla, 
With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, 
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow .seas. 
And with his troops doth march amain to London; 
And many giddy people flock to him. 

0.rf. Let 's levy men, and beat him back again. 

Clar. A little Are Is quickly trodden out; 
■UTiich being suffer'd rivers cannot quench. 

War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends. 
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; 
Those will I muster up: and thou, son Clarence, 
Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, 
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee: 
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find 
Men well inclln'd to hear what thou command'st: 
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd, 
In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. 
My sovereign, with the loving citizens. 
Like to his island girt in with the ocean. 
Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, 
Shall rest in London, till we come to him. 
Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. 
Farewell, my sovereign. 

K. Ben. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true 
hope. 

Clar. In sign of truth I kiss your highness' hand. 

K. Ben. Well minded Clarence, be thou fortunate. 

3Iont. Comfort, my lord;— and so I take my leave. 

Oxf. And thus [kissing Henry's hand] I seal my 
truth, and bid adieu. 

K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, 
And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 

War. Farewell, s'weet lords, let 's meet at Coventr.v. 
[Exeunt War., Clar., Oxf., and Mont. 

K. Ben. Here at the palace will I rest a while. 
Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? 
Methlnks the power that Edward hath in field 
Should not be able to encounter mine. 

Exe. The doubt Is that he will seduce the rest. 

K. Ben. That 's not my fear, my meed hath got 
me fame. 
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands. 
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; 
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds. 
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs. 
My mercy dried their water-flowing tears: 
I have not been desirous of their wealth. 
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies. 
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd; 
Then why should they love Edward more than me? 
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace: 
And when the lion fawns upon the lamb 
The lamb will never cease to follow hlni. 

[Shout within. A Lancaster! a Lancaster! 

Exe. Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these? 
Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Soldiers. 

K. Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him 
hence. 
And once again proclaim us king of England. 
You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow; 
Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry. 
And swell so much the higher by their ebb. 
Hence with him to the Tower: let him not speak. 

[Exeunt some with King Henry. 
And, lords, towards Coventrj' bend we our course, 
Where peremptory Warwick now remains: 
The sun shines hot, and if we use delay 
Cold-biting winter mars our hop'd for hay. 

Glo. Away betimes, before Ills forces join, 
And take the great-grown traitor unawares: 
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— Coventry. 

Enter, upon the walls, Warwick, the Mayor of 
Coventry, two Messengers, and others. 
War. 'Where is the post that came from valiant 
Oxford? 
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? 

1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. 
War. How far off is our brother Montague? 

Where is the post that came from Montague? 

2 Mess. By this at Dalntry, with a puissant troop. 

Enter Sir John Somerville. 
War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? 
And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now? 

Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, 
And do expect him here some two hours hence. 

[Drum h^ard. 
War. Then Clarence is at hand; I hear his drum. 
Som. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies; 
The drum your honour hears marcheth from War- 
wick. 
War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for 

friends. 
Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. 

Drums. Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Forces, 
marching. 

K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a 
parle. 

Glo. See how the surly Warwick mans the walL 

War. O, unbid spite! is sportful Edward come? 
Where slept our scouts, or how are they sedue'd. 
That we could hear no news of his repair? 

K. Edu: Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city 
gates,— 
Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee,— 
Call Edward king, and at his hands beg mercy, — 
And he shall pardon thee these outrages? 

War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces 
hence, — 
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down,— 
Call Warwick patron, and be penitent,- 
And thou Shalt still remain the duke of York? 

Glo. I thought, at least, he would have .said the king; 
Or did he make the jest against his will? 

War. Is not a dvikedom, sir, a goodly gUt? 



Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give; 
I'll do thee service for so good a gift. 

War. 'T was I that gave the kingdom to thy bro- 
ther. 

K. Edn: Why then 't is mine, if but by Warwick's 
gift. 

TTar. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight: 
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; 
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. 

K. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner: 
And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this. 
What is the body when the head is off? 

Olo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, 
But whiles he thought to steal the single ten, 
The,king was silly flnger'd from the deck! 
You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace. 
And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. 

K. Edw. 'T is even so; yet you are Warwick still. 

Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, 
kneel down: 
Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. 

IVar. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow. 
And with the other fling it at thy face. 
Than bear so low a sail to strike to thee. 

K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide 
thy friend; 
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, 
Shall, whiles thy head is warm, and new cut off. 
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, 
Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more. 
Enter Oxford, ivith drum and colours. 

War. O cheerful colours! see, where Oxford comes! 

O.vf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! 

[Oxford and his Forces enter the City. 

Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. 

K. EdiK. So other foes may set upon our backs. 
Stand we in good array; for they, no doubt. 
Will issue out again and bid us battle: 
If not, the city, being but of small defence. 
We '11 quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 

War. O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. 
Enter Montague, ivith drum and colours. 

Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! 

[Be and his Forces enter the City. 

Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this 
treason 
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. 

K. Ediv. The harder match'd, the greater victory: 
My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. 
Enter Somerset, with drum and colours. 

Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! 

[He and his Forces enter the City. 

Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, 
Have sold their lives unto the house of York; 
And thou Shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 
Enter Clarence, ivith dru-m and colours. 

War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps 
along. 
Of force enough to bid his brother battle; 
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails, 
More than the nature of a brother's love: 
Come, Clarence, come; thou %vilt if Warwick call. 

Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this 
means? [Taking the red rose out of his cap. 
Look here, I throw my infamy at thee; 
I will not ruinate my father's house. 
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together. 
And set up Lancaster. Why, tro w'st thou, Warwick, 
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural. 
To bend the fatal instruments of war 
Against his brother and his lawful king? 
Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath: 
To keep that oath were more impiety 
Than Jephtha's, when he sacrificed his daughter. 
I am so sorry for my trespass made, 
That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, 
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe; 
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee, 
(As I will meet thee if thou stir abroad,) 
To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. 
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, 
And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. 
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; 
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults. 
For I %vill henceforth be no more unconstant. 

K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more 
belov'd. 
Than if thou never hadst desei v'd our hate. 

Glo. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-hike. 

War. O passing traitor, perjured, and unjust! 

K. Edw. Wliat, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town 
and fight? 
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? 

War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence: 
I will awaj' towards Barnet presently. 
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. 

K. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads 
the way: 
Lords, to the field; Saint George, and victory. 

[March. Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— A Field of Battle near Barnet. 
Alarums and Excursions. Enter King Edward bring- 
ing in Warwick, ivounded. 

K. Edw. So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our 

fear; 
For Warwick was a bug that f ear'd us all. 
Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee. 
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. 

[Exit. 
War. Ah, who'is nigh? come to me friend or foe. 
And tell me who is victor, York, or Warwick? 
Why ask I that? my mangled body shows. 
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows. 
That I must yield my body to the earth. 
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge. 
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle. 
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept; 
Whose top-branch ovcrpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, 
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. 
These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black 

veil. 
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun 
To search the secret treasons of the world: 
The wrinkles in my brows, now flU'd with blood. 
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; 
For who llv'd king but I could dig his grave? 
And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow? 
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! 
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had. 



Even now forsake me; and of all my lands 
Is nothing left me, but my body's length! 
Why, what is pomp, rule, relgri, but earth and dust? 
And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 
Enter Oxford and Somerset. 

Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are 
We might recover all our loss again. 
The queen from France hath brought a puissant 

power; 
Even now we heard the news: Ah, could'st thou fly' 

War. Why, then I would not fly.— Ah, Montague, 
If thou be there, sweet brother, take niv hand. 
And with thy lips keep in mv soul awhile! 
Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst 
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood 
That glues my lips, and will not let me speak. 
Come, quickly, Montague, or I am dead. 

Smn. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath'd his 
last; 
And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, 
And said. Commend me to my valiant brother. 
And more he would have said; and more he spoke 
Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, 
That might not be distinguish'd; but, at last, 
I well might hear deliver'd with a groan, 
O, farewell, Warwick! 

War. Sweet rest to his soul!— 

Fly, lords, and save yourselves; for Warwick bids 
You all farewell, to meet in heaven. [Dies. 

Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! 
[Exeunt, hearing off Warwick's body. 

Scene Hl.—Another part of the field. 

Flourish. Enter King Edward, in triumph; with 
Clarence, Gloster, and the rest. 

K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward 
course. 
And we are gi-ac'd with wreaths of victory. 
But, in the midst of this bright-shining da.v, 
I spy a black, .suspicious, threat'ning cloud. 
That will encounter with our glorious sun, 
Ere he attain his easeful western bed: 
I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen 
Hath rais'd in Gallia have arriv'd our coast, 
And, as we hear, march on to flght with us. 

Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud. 
And blow it to the source from whence it came: 
Thy very beams will dry those vapours up; 
For every cloud engenders not a storm. 

Glo. The queen is valued thirty thousand strong. 
And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her; 
If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd 
Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 

K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving friends. 
That they do hold their course toward Tewkesbury; 
We. having now the best at Barnet lleld. 
Will thither straight, for willingness rids way: 
And, as we march, our strength will be augmented 
In every coimty as we go along. 
Strike up the drum; cry Courage! and away. [Exe, 

Scene IV. — Plains near Tewkesbury. 

March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, 
Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers. 

Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail 
their loss. 
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
What, though the mast be now blown overboard, 
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost. 
And half our sailors, swallow'd in the flood. 
Yet, lives our pilot still: Is 't meet that he 
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, 
With tearful eyes add water to the sea, * 
And gi^-e morestrength to that which hath too much 
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock 
Which industry and courage might have sav'd? 
Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! 
Say. Warwick was our anchor: what of that? 
And Montague our top-mast; what of him? 
Our slaughter'd triends the tackles; what of these? 
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? 
And Somer.set another goodly mast? 
The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? 
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
For once allow'd the skilfiil pilot's charge? 
We will not from the helm, to sit and weep; 
But keep our course, though the rough wind say no. 
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wrack. 
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. 
And what is Edward but a ruthless sea? 
What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit? 
And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock? 
All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
Say, you can swim; alas, 't is but awhile: 
Tread on the sand; why then you quickl.y sink: 
Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off. 
Or else you famish, that 's a threefold death. 
This speak I, lords, to let you understand, 
If case some one of you would fly from us. 
That there 's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers. 
More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks. 
Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided 
'T were childish weakness to lament or fear. 

Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit 
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words. 
Infuse his breast with magnanimity. 
And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. 
I speak not this as doubting any here; 
For did I but suspect a fearful man. 
He should have leave to go away betimes; 
Lest, in our need, he might infect another 
And make him of like spirit to himself. 
If any such be here, as God forbid! 
Let him depart, before we need his help. 

0.rf. Women and children of so high a courage! 
And warriors faint! why, 't were perpetual shame. 
O, brave young prince! thy famous grandfather 
Doth live again in Ihee: Long may'st thou live. 
To bear his image, and renew his glories! 

Som. And he that will not flght for such a hope 
Go home to bed, and. like the owl by day. 
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. 

Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset;- sweet Oxford, 
thanks. 

Prince. And take his thanks that yet hath nothing 
else. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand. 
Ready to flght; therefore be resolute. 

Oxf. I thought no less: it is his policy 
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 



188 



7i-7.V(? niCIIARD III. 



[Act I. 



f!om. But he 's deceived, we are In readiness. 
Q. Mar. This oheers my heart, to see your forward- 
ness. 
0.r/. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge. 

aftti-c/i. Enter, at a ctistnnce. Klnpr Edward, Clarence, 
Grlostei', and Fon^fs. 

K. Edtv. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny 
wood, 
Which, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength, 
Most by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 
I need not add nioi-e fuel to your fire. 
For well I wot ve blaze to burn them out: 
Give slpnal to the fight, and to it, lords. 

Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I 
should say 
My tears gainsay; for ever.v word I speak. 
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. 
Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign. 
Is prisoner to the foe; his state usnrp'd. 
His realm a slaughterhouse, his subjects slain. 
His statutes concell'd, and his ti-easure spent; 
And yonder Is the wolf that makes this spoil. 
You flght in Justice; then, in God's name, lords, 
Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 

[Kvcdnt both armies. 

Scene v.— Another Part of the same. 

Alarums: Exc^rrsions: and afterwards a retreat. 

Then, enter King Edward, Clarence, Gloster, and 

Forces: with Queen Margaret, O.vford, and Somer- 
set, prisoners. 

K.Edw. Now. here a oerlod of tumnltuous broils. 
Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle straight: 
For Somerset, off with his guilty head. 
Go, bear them lience; I will not hear them speak. 

0.vf. For my part, I 'U not trouble thee with words. 

Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. 
[E.reunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. 

Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, 
To meet with Joy in sweet Jerusalem. 

K. Ediv. Is proclamation made, that who finds Ed- 
ward 
Shall have a high reward, and he his life? 

Glo. It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes. 
Enter Soldiers, ivith Prince Edward. 

K. Edn: Bring forth the gallant, let ns hear him 
speak. 
What! can so yonng a thorn begin to prick? 
Edward, wliat satisfaction canst thou make 
For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, 
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? 

Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious 
York! 
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; 
Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou. 
Whilst I pro])ose the self-same words to thee, 
Which, traitor, thou would'st have me answer to. 

g. Mar. Ah. that thy father had been so resolv'd! 
lo. That you might still have worn the petticoat, 
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 

Prince. Let .5;sop fable in a winter's night; 
His currish riddles sort not with this place. 
Oln. By heaven, brat, I 'II plague you for that woi-d. 
0. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. 
Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. 
Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back 

rather. 
K. Ediv. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your 

tongue. 
Clar. Untutor'd lad. thou art too malapert. 
P-ince. I know my duty, you are all undutiful: 
Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George, 
And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all, 
lam yourJjetter, traitors as ye are; 
And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. 
K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. 

[Stabs him. 
Glo. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony. 

LGlo. stabs him, 
Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjnrv. 

[Clar. stabs him. 

g. Mar. O, kill me too! 
lo. Marrv, and shall. [Offers to kill her. 

K. Edw. HoM, Richard, hold, for we have done too 

much. 
Glo. Why should she live to fill the world vnth 

words? 
K. Edw. What! doth she swoon? use means for her 

recovery. 
Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother, 
I 'U hence to London on a serious matter: 
Ere ve come there, be sure to hear some news. 
Clnr. What? what? 

Glo. The Tower! the Tower! [Exit. 

Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, 
boy! 
Canst thou not speak?— O traitors! murtherers!— 
They that stabb'd Csesar shed no blood at all. 
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame. 
It this foul deed were b.v, to equal it. 
He was a man: this. In respect, a child; 
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 



What's worse than murthcrer, that I may name it? 
No, no; my heart ^vlU burst, an if I speak: 
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. 
Butchers and villains, blood.v cannibals! 
How sweet a plant have youiintimely cropp'd! 
You have nochUdreii, butchers! If you had. 
The thought of them would have stirr'd uprenioi'se: 
But. if you ever chance to have a child. 
Look in his youth to have him so cut off. 
As, dcathsmen! you have rid this sweet young 
prince! 

K. Edio. Away with her; go, bear her hence per- 
force. 

Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me 
here; 
Here sheathe thy sword, I 'U pardon thee iriy death: 
What: wilt thoii not?— then, Clarence, do it thou. 

Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. 

Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do 
thou do it. 

Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do 
It? 

Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 
'T was sin before, but now 't is charity. 
What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher, 
Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? 
Thou art not here: Murther is thy alms-deed; 
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er putt'st'back. 

K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. 

Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this 
prince! [Enit, led out forcitily. 

K. Edw. Where 's Richard gone? 

(.:lar. To London, all in post; and, as I guess. 
To make a blood.v supper in the Tower. 

K. Edw. He 's sudden, if a tiling comes in his head. 
Now march we hence: discharge the common sort 
With pay and thanks, and let 's away to London, 
And see our gentle queen how well she fares: 
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI.— London. A Room, in the Tower. 

King Henry is discovered sitting, with a book in his 
hand, the Lieutenant attending. Anter Gloster. 

Glo. Good day, my lord! What, at your book so 
hard? 

K. Hen. Ay, my good lord: My lord, I should say, 
rather: 
'T is sin to flatter, good was little better: 
Good Gloster and good devil were alike. 
And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord. 

Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer. 
[E.rit Lieutenant. 

K. H'n. So flies the reckless shepherd from the 
wolf: 
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, 
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. 
What scene of death hnth Roscius now to act? 

Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; 
The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 

K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a bush. 
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush: 
.A.nd I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, 
Have now the fatal object in my eye. 
Where my poor young was lim'd, was cauglit, and 
kill'd. 

Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, 
Thnt taught his son the office of a fowl; 
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 

K. Hen. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; 
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; 
The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy. 
Thy brother Eward; and thyself, the sea. 
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, npt with words! 
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point. 
Than can my ears that tragic history. 
But wherefore dost thou come? is 't for my life? 

Olo. Think'st thou I am an executioner? 

K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art; 
If murthering innocents he executing, 
Why, then thou art an executioner. 

Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. 

K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst 
presume. 
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine. 
And thus I prophesy,- that many a thousand. 
Which now mistrus't no parcel of m.v fear; 
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, 
And many an orphan's water-standing eye,— 
Men for their sons', wives for their husbands'. 
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,— 
Shall rue the hoin- that ever thou wasr born. 
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign; 
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; 
Dogs howrd,and hideous tempests shook down trees; 
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top. 
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain. 
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope; 
To wit, an indigested and deformed lump. 
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born. 



To signif.v thou com'st to bite the world: 
And, If the rest be true which I have heard, 
Thou cam 'St— 

Glo. I 'U hear no more:— Die, prophet, in thy 
speech: [Stabs him. 

For this, amongst the rest, was I ordam'd. 

K. Hen. A.y. and for much more slaughter after this. 

God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies. 
Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 

Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. 
See how my sword weeps for the poor Icing's death! 

0, may such purple tears be always shed 
From those that wish the downfall of our house! 
If any spark of life be yet remaining, 

Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thitlier, 

[Stabs him again. 

1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. 
Indeed, 't is true that Henr.y told me of; 
For I have often heard my mother say 

1 came into the world with my legs forward: 
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste. 
And seek their ruin that usnrp'd our right? 
The midwife wonder'd: and the women cried, 
'O, Jesus liless us, he is born with teeth!' 
And so I was; which plainly signified 

That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. 

Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, 

Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 

I have no brother, I am like no brother: 

And this word love, which greybeards call divine. 

Be resident in men like one another. 

And not in me; I am myself alone. 

Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light; 

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee: 

Fori will buz abroad such prophecies. 

That Edward shall he fearful of his life; 

And then, to purge his fear, I 'II be thy death. 

King Henry and the prince his son are gone: 

Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, 

Counting myself but bad till I be best. 

I 'II throw thy body in another room. 

And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit. 

Scene yn..— The same. A Room in the Palace. 

King Edward is discovered sitting on his throne; 
Queen Elizabeth, leith the infant Prince, Clarence, 
Gloster, Hastings, and others, near him. 

K. Edn\ Once more we sit in England's royal 
throne, 
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
What valiant roe-men, like to autumn's corn. 
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride! 
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd 
For hardy and undoubted champions: 
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son; 
And two Northumberlands: two braver men 
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound: 
With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon- 
tague, 
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion. 
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, 
And made our footstool of security. 
Come hither. Bess, and let me kiss m.y boy: 
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself 
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night; 
Went all afootin summer's scalding heat. 
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace; 
And of our labours thou shnlt reap the gain. 

Glo. I '11 blast his harvest if your head were laid: 
For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave: 
And heave it shall'some weight, or break my back: 
Work thou the way, and that shall execute. [Aside. 

K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely 
queen. 
And kiss your princelv nephew, brothers both. 

Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty 
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 

Queen. Thanks, noble Clarence: worthy brother, 
thank.s. 

Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou 
snrang'st. 
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit: 
To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master; 
And cried— all hail! when as he meant— all harm. 

[Aside. 

K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights. 
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves. 

Clar. Wliat will your grace have done with Mar- 
garet? 
Reignier, her father, to the king of France 
Hath pa wn'd the Sicils and Jeriisalem, 
And hither have they sent it for her ransom. 

K. Edw. Awa.v with her, and waft her hence to 
France. 
And now what rests, but that we spend the time 
With statelv triumphs, mirthful comic shows, ' 

Such "as befit the pleasure of the court? 
Sound, drums and trumpets!— farewell, sour annoy! 
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. [Exeunt. 



KING RICHARD III. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



King Edward IV. 

Edward, Pi-ince of Wales, af- ) sons to 



, > the 
) King. 

I brothers 
'f to the 
J King. 



terwards King Edward V. 
Richard, T>nke of York, 
George, Dnke o/ Clarence, 
Richard, Duke o/ Gloster, 

afterwards iiing Richard 

in., 

A yo'fng .9ort o/ Clarence. 

Henry. Enrl of Richmond, afterivards 

King Henry VII. 
Cardinal Bouchier, Archbishop of 

Canterbury. 
Thomas Kotheraji, Archbishop of 

York. 



John Morton, Bishop of Ely. 

Duke op Buckingham. 

Duke of Norfolk. 

Earl of Surrey, his son. 

Earl Rivers, brotlier to King Edward's 

Queen. 
Marquis of Dor.set and Lord Grey, 

her sons. 
Earl of O.xford. 
Loud Hastinos. 
Lord Stanley. 
Lord Lovel. 

Sir Thomas Vaughan. 
Sir Richard Ratcliff. 



Sir William Catesby. 
Sir .Tames Tyrrel. 
Sir James Blount. 
Sir Walter Herbert. 
Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of 
the Tower. 

Christopher Urswick, a Priest. > 
Another Priest. 

Lord Mai/or o/' London. 
Sheriff of Wiltshire. 

ELizABiiTH, Queen of Kmg Edward IV. 
Margaret, widow o/King Henry VI. 



Duchess of York, mother to King Ed- 
ward IV., Clarence, and Gloster. 

Lady ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince 
o/ Wales, soil fo King Henry VI.; af- 
terwards married to the Duke of 
Gloster, 

A young daughter of Clarence. 

Lords, and other Attendants; two Gen- 
tlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Cit- 
izens, Murderers, Messengers, Ghosts, 
Soldiers, £-c. 

SCENE.— England. 



Scene 



KING SI CHARD III. 



189 



Scene I.— Loudon. A Street. 
Enter Gloster. 

Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent 
Made glorious summer by this sun of York; 
And all the clouds tliat low'r'd upon our house 
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
Now are our brows bound witli victorious wreaths; 
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; 
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings; 
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; 
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds, 
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries. 
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber. 
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, 
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;— 
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty 
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;— 
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion. 
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
Detorm'd, unflnish'd, sent before my time 
Into this breathing world, scarce'half made up. 
And that so lamely and unfashionable 
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;— 
"Why I, in this weak piping time of peace. 
Have no delight to pass away the time, 
Unless to see my shadow in the sun, 
And descant on mine own deformity. 
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover 
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, 
I am determined to prove a villain, 
And hate the idle pleasiu'es of these days. 
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous. 
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, 
To set my brother Clarence and the king 
In deadly hate the one against the other: 
And, if king Edward be as true and just 
As I am su6tle, false, and treacherous. 
This day should Clarence cIosel.y be mew'd up. 
About a prophecy, which says, that G 
Of Edward's heirs the murtherer shall be. 
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence 
comes. 
Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury. 
Brother, good day: What means this armed guaid 
That waits upon your grace? 

Clar. His majesty. 

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 

Glo. Upon what cause? 

Clar. Because my name is George. 

Glo. -Hack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; 
He should, for that, commit your godfathers:— 
O, belike, his majesty hath some intent 
•That you should be new ehristen'd in the Tower. 
But what 's tlie matter, Clarence? may I know? 

Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest 
As yet I do not: But, as I can learn, 
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; 
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
And says, a wizard told him, that by G ' 
His issue disinherited should be; 
And, for my name of George begins with G, 
It follows in his thought that I am he; 
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these. 
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now. 

Glo. Why, this it is when men are rul'd by women; 
'T is not the king that sends you to the Tower; 
My lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 't is she 
That tempers him to this extremity. 
Was it not she and that good man of worship 
Antony Woodville, her brother there. 
That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower, 
From whence this present day he is deliver'd? 
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe. 

Clar. By heaven, I think there is no man secure 
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds 
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. 
Heard you' not what an humble supijliant 
Lord Hastings was taher for his delivery? 

Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity 
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 
I '11 tell vou "wliat.— I think it is our* way. 
If we will keep in favour with the king. 
To be her men and wear her livery: 
The jealous o'erworn widow, and herself. 
Since that our brother dnbb'd them gentlewomen. 
Are mighty gossips in our monarchy. 

Brah. I beseech your graces both to pardon me; 
His majesty hath straitly given in charge 
That no man shall have private conference. 
Of what degree soever, withiiis brother. 

Glo. Even so; an please your worship, Brakenbury, 
You may partake of anything we say: 
We speak no treason, man: — we say, the king 
Is iWseand virtuous; and his noble queen 
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous:— 
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing 

tongue: 
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefoDcS: 
How say you, sir? can yoti deny all this? 

Brak. With this, my lord, myself hath nought to 
do! 

Glo. Nought to do v.-ith mistress Shore? I tell thee, 
fellow, 
He that doth nought with her, excepting one, 
Were best to do it secretly, alone. 

Brak. What one, my lord? 

Glo. Her husband, knave:— Would'st thou betray 
me? 

Brak. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; and, 
withal. 
Forbear your conference with the noble duke. 

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will 
obey. 

Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must ob 
Brother, farewell: I will tinto the king; 
And whatsoe'er you will employ me in,— 
Were it to call king Edward's widow sister, 
I will perform it, to enfranchise you. 
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood. 
Touches me deeper than you can imagine. 

Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. 

Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; 
I will deliver you or else liefor you: 
Meantime, nave patience. 

Clar. I must perforce; farewell. 

'^ermt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. 



I Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er re- 
turn. 
Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so. 
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven. 
If heaven will take the present at our hands. 
But who conies here? the new-deliver'd Hastings. 

Enter Hastings. 

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! 

Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain! 
Well ai'e you welcome to this open air. 
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? 

Hast, with patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: 
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks 
That were the cause of my imprisonment. 

Glo. No doubt, no doubt, and so shall Clarence too; 
For the.v that were your enemies are his. 
And have prevail'd as much on him as you. 

Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, 
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 

Glo. What news abroad? 

Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home; 
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy. 
And his physicians fear him mightily. 

Glo. Now, by St. Paul, this news is bad indeed. 
O, he hath kept an evil diet tong. 
And over-much consum'd his royal person; 
'T is very grievous to be thought upon. 
Where is he? in his bed? 

Hast. He Is. 

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. 

[Eieit Hastings. 
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die 
Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven. 
I '11 in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments: 
And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
Clarence hath not another day to live: 
Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy. 
And leave the world for me to bustle in! 
For then I '11 marry Warwick's youngest daughter. 
What though I kill'd her husband and her father. 
The readie'st way to make the wench amends 
Is to become her husband and her father: 
The which will I; not all so much for love 
As for another secret close intent. 
By marrying lier, which I must reach unto. 
But yet I run before my horse to market: 
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns; 
When they are gone then must I count my gains. 

[SnY. 

Scene H. — Tlie same. Another Street. 

Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, home 
in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to 
guard it; and Lady Anne as mourner. 
Anne. Set down, .set down, your honourable load, — 
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, — 
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament 
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. 
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! 
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! 
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! 
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost. 
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 
Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these 

wounds! 
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, 
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes: 
O, cursed be the hand that made these holes! 
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it! 
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! 
More direful hap betide that hated wi'etch. 
That makes us wretched by the death of thee, 
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads. 
Or any creeping venom 'd thing that lives! 
If ever he have child, abortive be it. 
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, 
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect 
May fright the hopeful mother at the view; 
And that be heir to his unhappiness! 
If ever he have wife, let her be made 
More miserable by the death of him 
Than I am made by my young lord, and thee! 
Come now, towards Chertsey with your holy load. 
Taken from Paul's to be interred there; 
And, still as you are weary of the weight. 
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. 

\The bearers take up the corpse, and advance. 

Enter Gloster. 

Glo. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. 

Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, 
To stop devoted charitable deeds? 

Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, 
I '11 make a corse of him that disobeys. 

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, antl let the coffin pass. 

Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com- 
mand: 
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast. 
Or, by Saiut Paul, I 'II strike thee to my foot. 
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. 

[The bearers set down the coffin. 

Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? 
Alas, I blame you not ; for yon are mortal. 
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. 
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! 
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body. 
His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. 

Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 

Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and 
trouble us not; 
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 
Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds. 
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. 
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wound's 
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! 
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; 
For 't is thy presence that exhales this blood 
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; 
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural. 
Provokes this deluge most unnatural. 
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! 
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his 

death! 
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murtherer 

dead. 
Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick; 
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, 
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! 

Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity 
Which renders good forbad, blessings for curses. 



Anne. Villain, tliou knovv'st no law of God not' 
man; 
No beast so fierce but knows sovae touch of pity. 

Gto, But I know none, and therefore am no beast. 

Anne. O wonderful, when <levlls tell the truth! 

Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry! 
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman. 
Of these supposed crimes to give me leave. 
By circum.stance, but tn :i(_-(|uii myself. 

Anne. Vouchsafe, diflus'd inlcctiou of a man. 
For these known evils but to give me leave. 
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 

Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have 
Some patient leisure to excuse myself. 

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou 
canst make 
No excuse current, but to hang thyself. 

Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself. 

Anne. And by despairing shalt thou stand excus'd. 
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself. 
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 

Glo. Say, that I slew them not. 

Anne. Then say, they were not slain. 
But dead they are. and, devilish slave, by thee. 

Glo. I did not kill your husband. 

Anne. Why. then he is alive. 

Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. 

Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest; queen Mar- 
gret saw 
Thy murderous faulchlon smoking in his blood; 
The which thou once didst bend against her breast, 
But that thy brothers beat aside the point. 

Glo. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue. 
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. 
That never dream'st on aught but butcheries: 
Did.st thou not kill this king? 

Glo. I grant ye. 

Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant 
me too. 
Thou may'st be damned for that veicked deed! 
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. 

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath 
him. 

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never 
come. 

Glo. Let him thank me that holp to send him 
thither; 
For he was fitter for that place than earth. 

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. 

Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name 
it. 

Anne. Some dungeon. 

Glo. Your bed-chamber. 

Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liestl 

Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 

Anne. I hope so. 

Glo. I know so.— But, gentle lady Anne, 
To leave this keen encounter of our wits. 
And fall somewhat into a slower method, 
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, 
As blameful as the executioner? 

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'dl 
effect. 

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; 
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep. 
To undertake the death of all the world. 
So I might live one hour in your S'weet bosom. 

Anne. It I thought that, I tell thee, homicidev 
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks;. 

Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty'se 
wrack; 
You should not blemish it if I stood by: 
As all the world is cheered by the sun. 
So I by that; it is my day, my life. 

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy 
life! 

Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. 

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. 

Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, 
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee, 

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, 
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. 

Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband. 
Did it to help thee to a better husband. 

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth., 

Glo. He lives that loves thee better than he could. 

Anne. Name him. 

Glo. Plantagenet. 

Anne. Why, that was he. 

Glo. The self same name, but one of better nature. 

Anne. Where is he? 

Glo. Here: [She spits at him.} 

Why dost thou spit at me? 

Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!! 

Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes. 

Glo. Thine eyes, .sweet lady, have infected mine. 

Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee- 
dead! 

Glo. I would the.v were, that I might die at once; 
For now they kill me with a living death. 
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt 

tears; 
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops: 
"These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear. 
No, when m.v father York and Edward wept 
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made. 
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his .sword at him: 
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child. 
Told the sad story of my father's death. 
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep. 
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks. 
Like trees bedash'd %vith rain: in that sad time 
My manly eyes did scorn an liumble tear; 
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale. 
The beauty hath, and made them blind with weep- 
ing. 
Inever sued to friend, nor enemy; 
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; 
But now thy beauty Is proposed my fee. 
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to ■ 
speak. [She looks scornfully at him.. 

Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made 
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; 
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, 
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee. 



190 



KING HI on Ann in. 



[Act I. 



1 lay It naked to thi» deadly stroke, 

And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 

[He lays his hreast open; slie offers at it jvith 
his sword. 
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill kiuR Henry;— 
But 't was thy beauty that provoked me. 
Nay, now despatch; 't was I that stabb'd young 
Edward:— {She again offers at liisbreast. 
But 't was thy heavenly face that set me on. 

[She lets fall the sword. 
Take up the sword again, or take up me. 

.4nne. Arise, ilissembler: though I wish thy death 
I will not be thv executioner. 

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 

Anne. I have already. 
, Glo. That was in thy rage : 

Sneak it again, and even with the word. 
This hand, which for thv love did kill thy love. 
Shall for thy love kill a far truer love; 
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. 

Anne. I would I knew tliy lieart. ' 

Glo. T is figured in my tongue. 

Anne. I fear me, both are false. 

Glo. Then never man was true. 

Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 

Glo. Say then, my peace is made. 

Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter. 

Glo. But shall I live in hope? 

Anne. All men, I hope, live so. 

Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 

Anne. To take, is not to give. 

[She puts on the ring. 

Glo. Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger, 
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; 
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. 
And if thy poor devoted servant may 
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand. 
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 

Anne. What is It? 

Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs 
To him that hath most cause to be a mourner. 
And presently repair to Crosby -house: 
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd. 
At Chertsey monastery, this noble king. 
And wet his grave with my repentant tears, 
I will with all expedient duty see you: 
For divers vinknown reasons, I beseech you 
Grant me this boon. 

Ayine. With all my heart; and much it joys me too 
To see you are become so penitent. 
Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me. 

Glo. Bid me farewell. 

Anne. 'T is more than you deserve: 

But, since you teach me how to flatter you. 
Imagine I have said farewell already. 

[Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkley. 

Glo. Take up the corse, sirs. 

Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? 

Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming. 
[Exeunt the rest, with the corse. 
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? 
Was ever woman in this humour won? 
I '11 have her, but I will not keep her long. 
What ! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, 
To take her in her heart's extremest hate; 
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 
The bleeding witness of her hatred b.v; 
Having God. her conscience, and these bars against 

me. 
And I no friends to back my suit vrithal. 
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks, 
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing ! 
Hal 

Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, 
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewkesbury? 
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, 
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature. 
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal. 
The spacious world cannot again afford: 
And will she yet abase her eyes on me. 
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, 
And made her widow to a woeful bed? 
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? 
On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen thus? 
My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 
I do mistake my person all this while: 
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot. 
Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 
I '11 be at charges for a looking-glass; 
And entertain a score or two of tailors 
To study fashions to adorn my body 
Since I am crept in favour with myself, 
I will maintain It with some little cost. 
But, first, I '11 turn yon' fellow in his grave: 
And then return lamenting to my love. 
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, 
That I may see my sihadow as I pass. lExit. 

Scene in.—The same. A Boom in the Palace. 

Enter Queen Elizabeth. Lord Elvers, and Lord 
Grey. 

Eiv. Have patience, madam; there 's no dnub his 
majesty 
Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 

Grey. In that you brook it ill it makes him worse: 
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort. 
And cheer his grace with quick and merry eyes. 

O. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide on me? 

Grey. No other harm but loss of such a lord. 

gEliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. 
rey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly 
son. 
To be your comforter when he Is gone. 

Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority 
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, 
A man that loves not me, nor none of you. 
Riv. Is it concluded he shall be protector? 
Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet: 
But so it must he if the king miscarry. 

Enter Buckingham and Stanley. 
Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and 

Stanley. 
Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace ! 
Stan. God make your majesty Joyful as you have 

been ! 
Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good mv lord of 
Stanley, 
To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. 
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she 's your wife. 
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd 
I hate not you for her proud arrogance. 



Stan. I do beseech you, either not l)elieve 
The envious slanders of her false iieousers; 
Or, if she be accus'd on true rejjoit. 
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
From wayward sickness, and no grounded ui.Tlice. 

Q. Eliz. Saw you tlie king to-day, my lord of 
Stanley? 

Stan. But now, the duke of Buckingham and I 
Are come from visiting his majesty. 

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords? 

Suck. Madam, good liope: his grace speaks cheer- 
fully. 

Q. Eliz. God grant him health ' did you confer 
with him? 

Buck. Ay, madam: he desires to make atonement 
Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers, 
And between them and r.iy lord chamberlain; 
And sent to warn tiiem to his royal presence. 

Q. Eliz. 'Would all weie welll— but that will never 
be! 
I fear our happiness is at the height. 

Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset. 

Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: 
Who are they that complain unto the king. 
That I, forsootli, am stern and love them not? 
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly 
That fill his ears with such rtissentious rumours. 
Because I cannot flatter, and look fair. 
Smile In men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog. 
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, 
I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, 
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd 
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? 

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your 
grace? 

Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. 
When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong?— 
Or thee?— or thee?— or any of your faction? 
A plague upon you all! His royal grace. 
Whom God preserve better than you would wish! 
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-wliile. 
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. 

Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the mat- 
ter. 
The king, of his own royal disposition. 
And not provok'd by any suitor else; 
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred. 
That in your outward action shows itself 
Against my children, brothers, and myself. 
Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather 
The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. 

Glo. I cannot tell:— The world is grown so bad 
That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: 
Since every Jack became a gentleman. 
There 's many a gentle person made a Jack, 

Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, 
brother Gloster; 
You envy my advancement, and my friends'; 
God grant we never may have need of you! 

Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have need of 
you: 
Our brother is imprlson'd by your means. 
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility 
Held In contempt; while great promotions 
Are daily given, to ennoble those 
That scarce, some two days since, were worth a 
noble. 

Q. Eliz. By Him that rais'd me to this careful 
height 
Prom that contented hap which I enjoy'd, 
I never did incense his majesty 
Against the duke of Clarence, but have been 
An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
My lord, you do me shameful injury 
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. 

Glo. You may deny that you were not the mean 
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 

Riv. She may, my lord; for 

Glo. She may, lord Rivers?— why, who knows not 
so? 
She may do more, sir, than denyingthat: 
She may help you to many fair preferments; 
And then deny her aiding hand therein. 
And lay those honours on your high desert. 
What may she not?— She may,— ay, marry, may she,— 

Riv. What, marry, may she? 

Glo. What, marry, may she? marry -with a king, 
A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too: 
I wis your grandam had a worser match. 

Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne 
Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: 
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty 
Of these gross taunts that oft I have endur'd. 
I had rather be a country servant-maid 
Than a great queen, with this condition. 
To be so baited, scorn 'd, and stormed at: 
Small joy have I in being England's queen. 
Enter Queen Margaret, behind. 

Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech 
him! 
Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. 

Glo. What? threat you me with telling of the king? 
Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said 
I will avouch, in presence of the king 
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
'T Is time to speak, iny pains are quite forgot. 

Q. Mar. Out, devil! I do remember them too well: 
Thoukill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, 
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewkesbury. 

Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband 
king, 
I was a pack horse in his great affairs; 
A weederout of his proud adversaries, 
A liberal rewarder of his friends; 
To roy alize his blood I spilt mine own. 

Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or 
thine. 

Glo. In all which time, you, and your husband 
Grey, 
Were factious for the house of Lancaster;— 
And, Rivers, so were you:— Was not your husband 
In Margaret's battle at St. Alban's slain? 
Let me put in your minds, if you forget. 
What you have been ere this, and what you are; 
Withal, what I have been, and what I am. 

S. Mar. A murtherous villain, and so still thou art. 
lo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warivlck, 
Ay, and forswore himself,— which Jesu pardon!— 

g. Mar. Which God revenge! 
lo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown; 
And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up: 
I would to God my heart were flint like Edward's, 



Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine; 
I am too clnldish-foolish for this world. 

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this 
world. 
Thou cacodiEmon! there thy kingdom is. 

Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days. 
Which here you urge to prove us enemies. 
We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign king. 
So should we you, if you should be our king. 

Glo. If I should be?— I had rather be a pedlar; 
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! 

Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose 
You should enjoy, were you this country's king; 
As little joy you may suppose in me 
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. 

Q. Mar. A little joy en.foys the queen thereof! 
For I am she, and altogether joyless. 
I can no longer hold me patient.— [Advancing. 

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
In sharing that which you have pill'd from me: 
Which of you trembles not that looks on me? 
If not, that I being queen you bow like subjects. 
Yet that by you depos'd you quake like rebels?— 
Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away! 

Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my 
sight? 

Q. 3Iar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; 
That will I make, before I let thee go. 

Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? 

Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banish- 
ment 
Than death can yield me here by my abode. 
A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me, — 
And thou, a kingdom;— all of you, allegiance: 
This soiTow that I have by riglit is yours; 
And all tlie pleasures you usurp are mine. 

Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee. 
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with 

paper. 
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes. 
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout. 
Steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland;- 
His curses, then from bitterness of soul 
Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee; 
And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. 

Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the Innocent. 

Hast. O, 't was the foulest deed, to slay that babe. 
And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of. 

Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was report- 
ed. 

Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it. 

Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see 
it. 

Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all before I 
came, 
Ready to catch each other by the throat. 
And turn you all your hatred now on me? 
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven 
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death. 
Their kingdom's loss, my wotul banishment, 
Sliould all but answer for that peevish brat? 
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?— 
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! 
Though not by w-ar, by surfeit die your king. 
As ours by murther, to make him a king! 
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales, 
For Edward, our son, that was prince of Wales, 
Die in his youth by like untimely violence ! 
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen. 
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! 
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's death 
And see another, as I see thee now, 
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine ! 
Long die tliy happy days before thy dfath; 
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, 
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen ! 
Rivers, and Dorset, you were slanders by,— 
And so wast thou. Lord Hastings,— when my son 
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, 
That none of you may live your natural age, 
But by some unlook'd accident cut off! 

(?!o. Have done thy charm, thou hateful Avither'd 
hag. 

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou 
shalt hear me. 
If heaven have any grievous plague In store. 
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, 
O, let them keep It, till thy sins be ripe. 
And then hurl down their indignation 
On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace ! 
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul ! 
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st. 
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends ! 
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine. 
Unless it be while some tormenting dream 
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
Thou elvlsh-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! 
■Tliou that was seal'd in thy nativity 
The slave of nature, and the son of hell 
Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb! 
Thou loathed Issue of thy father's loins ! ' 

Thou rag of honour ! thou detested 

Glo. Margaret. 

g. ilfar. Richard ! 

lo. Ha? 
Q. Mar. I call thee not. 
Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think 
That thou nadst call'd me all these bitter names. 
Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. 
O, let me make the period to my curse. 
Glo. 'T is done by me; and ends in— Margaret. 
Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against 

yourself. 
Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my 
fortune ! 
WTiy strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider. 
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? 
Fool, fool ! tliou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
The day will come that thou shalt wish for me 
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-backed toad. 
Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse. 
Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. 
Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all mov'd 

mine. 
Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught 

your duty. 
Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me 
duty. 
Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: 
O, seiwe me well, and teach yourselves that duty. 
Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. 
Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert: 
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current: 
O, that your young nobility could judge 



Scene iii.l 



KING RICHARD III. 



191 



What 't were to lose it, and be miserable I 

They that stand high have many blasts to shake 

them: 
And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces. 

Qlo. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, mar- 
quis. 

Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. 

Glo. Ay, and much more: But I was born so high. 
Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top. 
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. 

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade;— alas ! alas! 
Witness my son, now In the shade of death; 
Whose bright outshining beams thy cloudy wrath 
Hath in eternal darkness folded up. 
Your aiery buildeth in our alery's nest: 
OGod, that seest It, do not suffer It; 
As it was won with blood, lost be it so I 

Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity. 

Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me; 
TTncharitablv with me have you dealt, 
And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd. 
My charity is outrage, life my shame,— 
And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage ! 

Bxtek. Have done, have done. 

Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I '11 kiss thy 
hand, 
In sign of league and amity withjhee: 
Now fair befall thee and thy noble house ! 
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood. 
Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 

Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass 
The lips of those that breathe them In the air. 

Q. jflar. I will not think but they ascend the sky. 
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. 

Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog: 

Look, when he fawns he bites; and, when he bites. 
His venom tooth will rankle to the death: 
Have not to do with him, beware of him; 
Sin. death, and hell, have set their marks on him; 
And all their fliinisters attend on him. 

Glo. What does she say, my lord of Buckingham? 

Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. 

Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle 
counsel. 
And soothe the devil that I %varn thee from? 
O, but remember this another day. 
When he shall .split thy very heart with sorrow; 
And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. 
Live each of you the subjects to his hate. 
And he to yours, and all of you to God's! [Rvit. 

Hast. My hair, doth stand on end to hear her 
curses. 

Riv. And so doth mine; I muse why she's at 
liberty. 

Glo. I cannot blame her, by (rod's holy mother; 
She hath had too much wroiig, and I repent 
My part thereof, that I have done to her. 

Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. 

Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. 

1 was too hot to do somebody good. 
That is too cold in thinking of it now. 
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid; 
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains; 
God pardon them that are the cause thereof! 

Riv. A virtuous and a chrlstian-like conclusion. 
To pray for them that have done scath to us. 

Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd: — 
For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. \_Aside. 
Enter Catesby. 

Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you,— 
And for your grace,— and you, my noble lord. 

Q. Eliz. Catesby, Icome:— Lords, will you go with 
me? 

Riv. We wait upon your grace. 

[Exeunt all but Gloster. 

Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. 
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach 
I lay unto the grievous charge of others. 
Clarence,— whom I, indeed, have cast in darkness, — 
I do beweep to many simple gulls; 
Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham; 
And tell them, 't is the queen and her allies 
That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
Now they believe it: and withal wliet me 
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorset, Grey: 
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, 
Tell them, that God bids us do good for evil: 
And thus I clothe my naked villainy 
With odd old ends, stolen forth of holy writ; 
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 

Enter two Murderers. 
But soft, here come my executioners. 
How now, myhardj', stout resolved mates? 
Are you now going to despatch this thing? 

1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have the 
warrant. 
That we may be admitted where he Is. 

Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about me: 
[Gives the warrant. 
When you have done repair to Crosby-place. 
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution. 
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead: 
For Clarence Is well spoken, and, perhaps. 
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 

1 Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to 

prate; 
Talkers are no good doers; be assur'd 
We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. 
Glo. Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes 
fall tears: 
I like you, lads;— about your business straight; 
Go, go, despatch. 

2 Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exe. 

ScE.N-E TV.— The same. A Room in the Tower. 
Enter Clarence and Brakenbury. 
Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? 
Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, 
So full of feai-ful dreams, of uglv sights. 
That, as I am a christian faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night 
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days; 
So full of dismal terror was the time. 
Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, 

tell me. 
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the 
Tower, 
And was embark'd to cross to Bureundj'; 
And in my company my brother Gloster: 
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
Upon the hatches; there we look'd toward England, 
And cited up a thousand heavy times, 



During the wars of York and Lancaster, 
Tliat had befall'n us. As we pac'd along 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling. 
Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board. 
Into the tumbling billows of the main. 

Lord! methought what pain it was to drown! 
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears! 
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! 
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wracks: 

A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; 

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl. 

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 

All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. 

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes 

Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept. 

As 't were in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems. 

That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 

And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 

Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, 
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep? 

Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive 
To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood 
Stopt In my soul, and would not let it forth 
To find the empty, vast, and vvand'ring air; 
But smother'd it within my panting bulk, 
^Vhlch almost burst to belch It in the sea. 

Brak. Awak'd you not In this sore agony? 

Clar. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; 
O, then began the tempest to my soul! 

1 pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood 
With that sour ferryman which poets write of. 
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 

"The first that there did greet my stranger soul. 
Way my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; 
Who spake aloud,—' What scourge for perjury 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' 
And so he vanish'd; Then came wandering by 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood; and lie shrick'd out aloud,— 
'Clarence is come,— false, fleeting, perjur'd Clar- 
ence,— 
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury;— 
Seize on him, furies, take him unto torment!'— 
With that methought, a legion of foul fiends 
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise 
I trembling vvak'd, and, for a season after. 
Could not believe but that I was in hell; 
Such terrible impression made my dream. 

Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you; 
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 

Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, — 
That now give evidence against my soul,— 
For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! 

God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee. 
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds. 

Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: 

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! 

1 bray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; 
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 

Brak. I will, my lord: God give your grace good 
rest!— [Clarence retires. 

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,— 
Makes the night morning, and the noontide night. 
Princes have but their titles for their glories. 
An outward honour for an inward toil; 
And, for unfelt imaginations, 
They often feel a world of restless cares: 
So that, between their titles, and low name. 
There 's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
Enter the tivo Murderers. 
1 Murd. Ho! who 's here? 

Brak. What would'st thou, fellow?and how cam'st 
thou hither? 

1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I came 
hither on my legs. 

Brak. What, so brief? 

2 Murd. 'T is better, sir, than to be tedious:— let 
him see our commission, and talk no more. 

[A paper is delivered to Brak., wlio reads it. 
Brak. I am in this, commanded to deliver 
The noble duke of Clarence to your hands: 
I will not reason what is meant hereby. 
Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
There lies the duke asleep,— and there, the keys. 
I '11 to the king; and signify to him 
That thus I have resign'd to you my charge. 

1 Murd. You may, sir; 't is a point of wisdom: 
Fare you well. [E.vit Brakenbury, 

2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? 

1 Murd. No; he '11 say 't was done cowardly, when 
he wakes. 

2 Murd. Why, he shall never wake until the great 
judgment day. 

1 Murd. Why, then he '11 say we stabb'd him sleep- 
ing. 

2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment, hath 
bred a kind of remorse in me. 

IMurd. What: art thou afraid? 

2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to 
be damn'd for killing him, from the which no war- 
rant can defend me. 

1 Murd. I thought thou hadst been resolute. 

2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. 

1 Murd. I '11 back to the duke of Gloster, and tell 
him so. 

2 Murd. Nay, I prithee, stay a little: I hope this 
passionate humour of mine will change: it was wont 
to hold me but while one tells twenty. 

1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now? 

2 Murd. Some certain dregs of conscience are yet 
within me. 

1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's 
done. 

2 Murd. Come, he dies; I had forgot the reward. 

1 Mitrd. Where 's thy conscience now? 

2 Murd. Oh, in the diike of Gloster's purse. 

1 Murd. When he opens his purse to give us our re- 
ward, thy conscience flies out. 

2 Murd. "I Is no matter; let it go; there 's few, or 
none, will entertain it. 

1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again? 

2 Murd. I 'II not meddle with it. It is a dangerous 
thing, it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal 
but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear but it 
checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's 
wife but it detects him- 'T is a blushing shamefaced 
spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it Alls one full 
of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of 
gold that by chance I found; it beggars any man 
that keeps it: it is turned out of towns and cities for 
a dangeri^us thing; and every man that means to 



live well endeavours to trust to himself, and live 
without It. 

1 Murd. It is now even at my elbow, persuading n»e 
not to kill the duke. 

2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe 
him not: he would Insinuate with thee, but to make 
thee sigh. 

1 Muid. I am strong fram'd, he cannot prevail 
with me. 

2 Murd. Spoken like a tall fellow that respects his 
reputation. Come, shall we fall to work? 

1 Murd. Take him on the costard with the hilts of 
thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey- 
butt, in the next room. 

2 Murd. O excellent device! and make a sop of 
him? 

1 Murd. Soft: he wakes, 

2 Murd. Strike. 

1 Murd. No, we '11 reason with him. 

Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of 
wine. 

1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, 
anon. 

Clar. In God's name, what art thou? 

1 Murd. A man, las you are. 

Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 

1 Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. 

Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are 
humble. 

1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine 

own. 
Clar. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! 
Your eyes do menace me: Why look you pale? 
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? 

2 Murd. To, to, to 

Clar. To murther me? 

Both Murd. Ay, ay. 

Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so. 
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
Wherein, my friends, have I on:ended you? 

1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king. 
Clar. I shall be reconcli'd to him again. 

2 Murd. Never, my lord; therefore, prepare to die. 
Clar. Are you drawn forth among a world of men. 

To slay the innocent? What is my offence? 
Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? 
What lawful quest have given their verdict up 
Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounc'd 
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? 
Before I be convict by course of law. 
To threaten me with death is most unlawful. 
I charge you, as you hope for any goodness. 
That you depart, and lay no hands on me; 
The deed you undertake is damnable. 

1 Murd. What we will do we do upon command. 

2 Murd. And he that hath commanded Is our king. 
Clar. Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings 

Hath In the table of his law commanded. 
That thou shalt do no murther: Will you then 
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's? 
Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 
2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl on 
thee. 
For false forswearing, and for murther too: 
Thou didst receive the sacrament to flght 
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 

1 Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God, 
Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous 

blade 
Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 

2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and de- 

fend. 

1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law 
to us. 
When thou hast broke it In such dear degree? 

Clar. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? 
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: 
He sends you not to murther me for this; 
For in that sin he is as deep as I. 
If God will be avenged for the deed, 
O, know you, yet he doth it publicly; 
Take not the qjuarrel from his powerful arm; 
He needs no indirect or lawless course. 
To cut off those that have offended him. 

1 Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister. 
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, 
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? 

Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 

1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy 

faults. 
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. 

Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me; 
lam his brother, and I love him well. 
If you are hir'd for meed, go back again. 
And I will send you to my brother Gloster; 
Who shall reward you better for my life 
Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 

2 Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brother Gloster 

hates you. 

Clar. O, no; he loves me, and he holds me dear; 
Go you to him from me. 

Both Murd. Ay, so we will. 

Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York 
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm. 
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other. 
He little tliought of this divided friendship: 
Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. 

1 3Iurd. Ay. millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep. 

Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. 

1 Murd. Right, as snow in harvest.— Come, you de- 
ceive yourself: 
'T is he that sends us to destroy you here. 

Clar. It cannot be, for he bewept my fortune. 
And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs. 
That he would labour my delivery. 

1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you 
From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 

2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must dia 

my lord. 

Clar. Have you that holy feeling in your souls. 
To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
And are you yet to your own souls so blind. 
That you will war with God, by murfhering me? 
Oh, sirs, consider, they that set you on 
To do this deed will hate vou for the deed. 

2 Murd. What shall we do? 

Clar. Relent, and sa»-e your souls. 

Which of you, if you were a prince's son. 
Being pent from liberty, as I am now. 
If two such murtherers as yourselves came to you. 
Would not entreat for life,— as you would beg 
Were you in my distress? 

1 Murd. Relent' No, 'T is cowardly and womanish. 



192 



Kixu men Aim in. 



[Act II. 



Clnr. Not to rolpnt, is boastlv, savage, devilish.— 
My friend, I spj' some pitv in tiiy loolcs; 
0,"lf tliine eye tie not a Hallerei-, 
Come tliou on my side, .-ind entreat for me: 
A lieit^inK prlnei', \vli;it lie^nar pities not? 

2 'Muitl. I.odic beliinii vou, mv lord. 

1 Mui<\. Talce tliat, and tliat; II' all this will not do, 

\Stahs him. 
I "11 drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 

i Ex-it, with the body. 
. . desperately de- 

spatch'dl 
How fain, lil«e Pilate, would I wash my hands 
Of this most grievous murder! 

Reenter first Murderer. 

1 Murd. How now? what mean'st thou, that thou 

help"st me not? 
By heaven, tlie duke shall know how slack you have 
been. 

2 Murd. I would he knew that I had sav'd his 

brotherl 
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; 
For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit. 

1 Murd. So do not I; Ro, coward as thou art. 
Well, I '11 go hide the body in some hole. 
Till that the duke give order for his burial; 
And when I have my meed, I will away; 
For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Exit. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. — The same. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter King Edward, (led in sick.) Queen Elizabeth, 

Dorset, Rivers. Hastings, Buckingham, Grey, and 

others. 

K. Edw. Why, so:— now have I done a good day's 
work;— 
You peers, continue this united league: 
I every day expect an embassage 
From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; 
And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, 
Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. 
Rivers and Hasting.;;, take each other's hand; 
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 

R(V. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging 
hate; 
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 

Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! 

K. Ediv. Take heed you dally not before your 
king; 
Lest He that is the supreme King of kings 
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
Either of you to be the other's end. 

Bast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! 

Riv. And I. as I love Hastings with my heart! 

K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in this,— 
Nor .vou, son Dorset,— Buckingham, nor you; — 
You have been factious one against the other. 
Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; 
And what you do, do it unfeignedly. 

Q. Eliz. 'There, Hastings;— I will never more re- 
member 
Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! 

K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him,— Hastings, love lord 
marquis. 

Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest. 
Upon my part shall be inviolable. 

Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces Dorset. 

K. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this 
league 
With thy embracements to my wife's allies, 
And make me happy In your unity. 

Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate 
Upon your grace, [to the Queen] but with all duteous 

love 
Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish me 
With hate in those where I expect most love! 
When I have most need to emplo.v a friend, 
And most assured that he Is a friend. 
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, 
Be he unto me! this do I beg of heaven. 
When I am cold in love to you or yours. 

[Smbcac!»i(7 Rivers, &c. 

K. Edie. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, 
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. 
There wanteth now our brother Gloster here. 
To make the blessed period of this peace. 

Buck. And, in good time, here comes the noble 
duke. 

Enter Gloster. 

Glo. Good morrow to my sovereign king, and queen ; 
And, princely peers, a happy time of day! 

K. Edit). Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day: 
Gloster, we have done deeds of charity; 
Made peace of enmit.v, fair love of hate, 
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 

Glo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord. — 
Among this princely heap, if any here. 
By false intelligence or wrong surmise. 
Hold me a foe; 

If I unwittingly, or in my rage. 
Have aught committed that is hardly borne 
By any in this presence, I desire 
To reconcile me to liis friendly peace; 
'T is death to me to be at enmity; 
I hate it, and desire all good men's love. 
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, 
Which I will purchase with my duteous service; 
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, 
If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us; 
Of you, and you. Lord Rivers, and of Dorset— 
That all without desert have frown 'd on me;— 
Of you, lord Woodville, and lord Scales, of vou,— 
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. 
I do not know that Englishman alive 
With whom my soul is any jot at odds. 
More than the infant that is born to-night; 
I thank my God for my humility. 

Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter: 
I would to God all strifes were well compounded. 
M.y sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness 
To take our brother Clarence to vour grace. 

Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this. 
To be so flouted in this royal presence? 
Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead? 

[They all start. 
You do him injury to scorn his corse. 

K. Edw. Who knows not he is dead! who knows he 
Is? 

Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! 

Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest? 

Dor. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the pres- 
ence. 



Brt his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. 

K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? the order was revers'd. 

Glo. But he. |)oor man, by your first order died. 
And tliat a winged Mercur.v did bear; 
Some tardy <Tlnple bore the countermand. 
That canu' too lag to see him burled: 
God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, 
Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood. 
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, 
And yet go current from suspicion. 
Enter Stanley. 

Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! 

K. Ediv. 1 prithee, peace; my sold is full of sorrow. 

Stan. I will not rise unless your highness hear me. 

K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou re- 
quest'st. 

Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life: 
Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman. 
Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. 

K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's 
death. 
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? 
M.v brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought. 
And yet his punishment was bitter death. 
Who sued to me for him? who. In my wrath, 
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advls'd? 
Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love? 
Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake 
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? 
Who told me in the field at Tewkesbury, 
When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me. 
And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king?' 
Who told me, when we both lay in the field. 
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
Even in his garments; and did give himself. 
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? 
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
Sinfully plucked, and not a man of you 
Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 
But, when your carters, or your waiting vassals, 
Have done a drunken slaugiiter, and defac'd 
The precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; 
And I unjustly too, must grant it you:— 
But for my brother not a man would speak, 
Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself 
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all 
Have been beholden to him in his life; 
Yet none of you would once plead for his life. 

God! I fear thy justice will take hold 

On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this. 
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. 
Ah! poor Clarence! ^ 

[Exeunt King, Queen, Hastings, Rivers, Dorset, and 
Grey. 

Glo. This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not 
How that the guilty kindred of the queen 
Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death? 
O! the.v did urge it still unto the king: 
God will revenge it. Come, lords; will you go, 
To comfort Ed ward with our company? 

Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt. 

Scene IL—Tlie same. 

Enter the Duchess of York, ivith a Son and Daughter 

of Clarence. 

Son. Good grandam, tell us, Is our father dead? 

Duch. No, boy. 

Daugh. Why do you weep so oft? and beat your 
breast; 
And cry—' O Clarence, my unhappy son!' 

So)i. Why do you look on us, and shake your hea^. 
And call us orphans, wretches, cast-aways. 
If that our noble father were alive? 
Duch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both; 

1 do lament the sickness of the king. 

As loth to lose him, not your father's death; 
It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. 

iSon Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead. 
The king my uncle is to blame for this: 
God will revenge It; wliom I will importune 
With earnest prayers all to that effect. 

Daugh. And so will I. 

Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love 
you well: 
Incapable and shallow innocents. 
You cannot guess who cans'd your father's death. 

Son. Grandam, we can: for mv good uncle Gloster 
Told me, the king, provok'd to 't b.v the queen, 
Devis'd Impeachments to imprison him: 
And when my uncle told me so, he wept, 
And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd m.v cheek; 
Bade me rely on him as on my father. 
And he would love me dearly as his child. 

Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle 
shapes. 
And with a virtuous vigour hide deep vice! 
He is my son, ay, and therein my .shame. 
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 

Son. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? 

Duch. Ay, boy. 

Son. I cannot think It. Hark! what noise is this? 

Enter Queen Elizabeth, distractedly; Rivers and 
Dorset following he7\ 

Q. Eliz. Ah! who shall hinder me to wail aud weep? 
To chide my fortune, and torment myself? 
I '11 join with black despair against my soul, 
And to myself become an enemy. 

Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience? 

Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence. 
Ecfward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. 
Why grow the branches when the root is gone? 
Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? 
If .vou will live, lament; if die, be brief; 
That our swift-winged souls ma.y catch the king's; 
Or, like obedient subjects, follow him 
To his new kingdom of ne'er cliauging night. 

Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow. 
As I had title in thy noble husband! 
I have bewept a worthy husband's death. 
And liv'd by looking on his images: 
But now, two mirrors of his princely semblance 
Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death; 
And I for comfort have hut one false glass. 
That grieves me when I see m.v shame in him. 
Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother. 
And hast the comfort of thy children left; 
But death hath snatch'd my husbaud from mine 

arms. 
And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands, 
Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have 1, 
(Thine being but a moiety of my moan,) 



To over-go thy woes, and drown thy cries? 
i Son. Ah, aunt! you wept not for our father's death; 
I How can we aid you with our kindred tears? 

Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left uumoan'd; 
Your widow-dolour liki'wise be unwept! 

Q. Eliz. Give me no lielp in lamentation; 
I am not barren to bring forth complaints: 
AU springs reduce their currents to mine eyes. 
That I, being govern'd by the watery moon. 
May send forth plenteous tears to drown tlie world! 
Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward ! 

Chit. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clar- 
ence! 

Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Clar- 
ence! 

Q. Eliz. Wliat stay had I but Edward? and he 's 
gone. 

Chil. What stay had we but Clarence? aud he 's 
gone. 

Duch. What stays had I but they? and they are 
gone. 

Q. Eliz. Was never widow had so dear a loss. 

Chil. Were never orphans had so dear a loss. 

Duch. Was never mother had so dear a loss. 
Alas! I am the mother of these griefs; 
Their woes are parceli'd, mine are general. 
She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; 
I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she; 
These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I: 
J for an Edward weep, so do not they:— 
Alas! you three on me, threefold distress'd. 
Pour all your tears, I am your soriow's nurse, 
And I will pamperit with lamentations. 

Do): Comfort, dear mother: God Is much dis- 
pleas'd. 
That y(m take with unthankfulness his doing; 
In common worldly things 't is called ungrateful. 
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt. 
Which with a bounteons hand was klndi.y lent; 
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven. 
For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 

Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, 
Of the young prince your son: send straight for him, 
Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: 
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave. 
And plant your jojs in living Edward's throne. 

Enter Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, Rat 
cliff, and others. 

Glo. Sister, have comfort; all of us have cause 
To wall the dimming of our sinning star; 
But none can help our harms b,v wailing them. 
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy, 
I did not see your grace:— Humbly op my knee 
I crave your blessing. 

Duch. God bless thee, and put meekness In thy 
breast. 
Love, charit.v, odedience, and true duty! 

Glo. Amen; and make me die a good old man! 
That is the but-end of a mother's blessing; 
I marvel that her grace did leave it out. [Aside. 

Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing 
peers. 
That bear this heavy mutual load of moan. 
Now cheer each other in each other's love: 
Though we have spent our harvest of this king. 
We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
The broken rancour of your high swoln hearts. 
But latelv splinter'd, knit, and join'd together. 
Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept: 
Me seeniethgood. that, with some little train. 
Forthwith from Ludlow the young kingbe fet 
Hitherto London, to be crown'd our king. 

Riv. Why with some little train, my lord of Buck- 
ingham? 

Buck. Marry, m.v lord, lest by a multitude, ■ 
The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out; 
"Which would be so much the more dangerous. 
By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd; 
Where every horse bears his commanding rein, 
And may direct his course as please himself. 
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent. 
In my opinion, ought to be prevented. 

Glo. I hope the king made peace with all of us: 
And the compact Is firm, and true, in me. 

Riv. And so in me; and so, I think, in all: 
Yet, since It is but green, It should be put 
To no apparent likelihood of breach. 
Which, naply, by much company might be urg'd: 
Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham, 
That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. 

Hast. And so say I. 

Glo. Then be it so; and go we to determine 
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. 
Madam, and you my sister, will you go 
To give your censures in this weighty business? 

[E.rennt all but Buckingham and Gloster. 

Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince. 
For God's sake, let not us two stay at home: 
For, by the way, I '11 sort occasion. 
As index to the stor.v we late talk'd of. 
To part the qneen's proud kindred from the prince. 

Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistory, ' 
Jfy oracle, my prophet '—M.v dear cousin, 
I, as a child, will go by th.v direction. 
Towards Ludlow then, for we '11 not stay behind. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene HI.— Tlie same. A Street. 

Enter two Citizens, meeting. 

1 at. Good morrow, neighbour: Whither away so 

fast? 
3 at. I promise you, I scarcely know myself: 
Hear you the news abroad? 

1 Cif. Yes; that the king is dead. 

2 at. Ill news, by 'r lady; seldom comes the better: 
I fear, I fear, 't will prove a giddy world. 

Enter another Citizen. 

3 at. Neighbour, God speed ! 

1 Cit. Give you good morrow, sir. 
3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Edward's 

death? 

2 at. Ay, sii', it is too true; God help, the while! 

3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. 

1 at. No, no; b.v God's good grace his spn shall 

reign. 
3 at. Woe to that land that 's govern'd by a 
child! 

2 at. In him there is a hope of government; 
That in ills non.age council under htm. 

And in his full and ripen'd years him.self. 
No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 
1 at. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth 



Scene iii.l 



KING JiWHARD III. 



193 



Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. 
3 at. Stood tlie state so? no, no, pood friends, God 
wot; 
For then this land was famously enrioh'd 
"With politic grave counsel; then the king 
Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. 
1 at. Why, so hath this, both liy his father and 

mother. 
3 at. Better it were they all came by his father; 
Or, by his father, there were none at all: 
For emulation who shall now be nearest, 
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. 
O, full of danger is tlie duke of Gloster; 
And the queen's sons and brothers haught and 

proud: 
And were they to be rul'rt, and not to rule, 
This sickly land might solace as before. 
1 at. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be 

well. 
3 at. When clouds are seen wise men put on their 
cloaks; 
When great leaves fall then winter is at hand; 



Areh. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam. 

Duch. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt. 

York. Now by my troth, if I had been reinember'd, 
I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, 
lb touch Ills gi'owth nearer than lie touch'd mine. 

Diich. How, my young York? I prithee let me 
hear it. 

Ycn'k. Marry, they say, my uncle grew so fast, 
Tiiat lie could gnaw a crust at two hours old; 
'T was full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
Grandam, this would have been abltlng jest. 

Duch. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this? 

York. Grandam, nts nurse. 

Duch. His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wast 
born. 

York. If 't were not she I cannot tell who told me. 

Q. Eliz. A parlous boy: Go to, you are too shrewd. 

Arch. Good madam, ue not angry with the child. 

Q. Kliz. Pltcliers have ears. 

Enter a Messenger. 



And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 

For my part, I'll resign unto your grace 

The seal I keep: And so betide to me. 

As well I tender you, and all of yours! 

Go, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. [Exeunt. 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— London. A Street. 

The. trumpets sound. Enter the Prince of Wales, 
Gloster, Buckingham, Cardinal Bouchier, and 
others. 

Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your 

chamber. 
Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, mv thoughts' .sovereign: 
The weary way hatli iiuideyoii inchuicholy. 

Prince. No, tincle; hut our crosses on the way 
Have made It tedious, weari.soiiie, and heavy; 
I want more uncles here to welcome me. 
Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your 
years 




II 



[act IV. — SCENE IV.] 

When th" sun sets who doth not look for night? 
Untlme' torms make men expect a dearth; 
All m.".- . well; but, if God sort It so, 
'T is mo. than we deserve, or I expect. 

2 at. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear: 
You cannot reason almost with a man 

That looks not heavily and full of dread. 

3 at. Before the days of change, still is it so: 
By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust 
Ensuing danger: as, by proof, we see 

The waters swell before a boist'rous storm. 
But leave it all to God. Whither away? 

2 at. Marry, we were sent for lo the justices. 

3 at. And so was I; I '11 bear you company. [Exe. 

Scene rv. — The sa-nie. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter the Archbi.shop of York, the young Duke of 

York, Queen Elizabeth, and the Duchess of York. 

Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony-Strat- 
ford; 
And at Northampton they do rest tonight: 
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 

Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince. 
I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. 

Q. Eliz. But I hear, no; they say, my son of York 
Hath almost over-ta'en him in his growth. 

York. Ay, mothe^, but I would not have it so. 

Duch. Why, my good cousin? it is good to grow. 

York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper. 
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow 
More than my brother; ' Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloster. 
'Small herbs nave grace, great weeds do gro%v apace:' 
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast. 
Because sweet flowers are slow, and w^eeds make 
haste. 

Duch. 'Good faith, 'good faith, the saying did not 
hold 
In him that did object the same to thee: 
He was the wrefchod'st thing, when he was young. 
So long a growing, and so leisurely. 
That if his rule were true, he should be [jraclous. 



§. H.iz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? 

Arch. Here comes a messenger: 

What news? 

Mess. Such news, my lord. 

As grieves me to report. 

Q. Eliz. How doth the prince? 

Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 

Duch. What is thy news? 

Mess. Lord Rivers, and Lord Grey, are sent to 
Pomfret, 
And with them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. 

Duch. Who hath committed them? 

Mess. The mighty dukes, 

Gloster and Buckingham. 

Arch. For what offence? 

Mess. The sum of all I can I have disclos'd; 
Why, or for what, the nobles were committed. 
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord. 

Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house! 
The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind; 
Insulting tyranny begins to jut 
Upon the innocent and awless throne: 
Avelcome, destruction, blood, and massacre! 
I see, as in a map, the end of all. 

Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days. 
How many of you have mine eyes beheld! 
My husband lost Ills life to get the crown; 
And often up and down my sons were toss'd. 
For me to joy, and weep, their gain and loss: 
And being seated, and domestic brawls 
Clean over-blown, themselves, tlie conquerors. 
Make war upon themselves; lirothei' to brother. 
Blood to blood, self against self: O, preposterous 
And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen: 
Or, let me die, to look on death no more! 

Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanctu- 
ary. 
Madam, farewell. 

Duch. Stay, I will go with you. 

Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 

Arch. My gracious lady, go, 

[To the Queen. 



Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit: 
No more can you distinguish of a man 
Than of his outward show; which, God he knows. 
Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. 
•Those uncles which you want were dangerous; 
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words. 
But look'd :ioton the poison of their hearts: 
God keep you from them, and from such false 
friends! 
Prince. God keep me from false friends! but they 

were none. 
Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet 
you. 
Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train. 
May. God bless your grace with health and happy 

days! 
Prince. I thank you, good my lord;— and thank 
you all.-- lE.reunt Mayor, <fcc. 

I thought my mother and my brother York 
Would long ere this have met us on the way; 
Fie, what a slug is Hastings! that he comes not 
To tell us whether they will come, or no. 

Enter Hastings. 

Bicck. And in good time, here comes the sweating 
lord. 

Prince. Welcome, my lord: What, will our mother 
come? 

Bast. On wliat occasion, God he knows, not I. 
The queen your mother, and your brother York, 
Have taken sanctuary: The tender prince 
Would fain have come with me to meet your grace 
But by his mother was perforce withheld. 

Buck. Fie! what ,an indirect and peevish course 
Is this of hers!— Lord cardinal, will your grace 
Persuade the queen to send the duke of York 
Unto his princely brother presently? 
If she deny, lord Hastings, go with him. 
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. 

Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory 
Can from his mother win the duke of York. 



194 



KIN(i RICHARD III. 



[Act III. 



Anon expect htm here: But if she be obdurate 
To mlkl entreaties, God in heaven forbid 
We should infringe the holy privilege 
Of blessed saiietuar.v! not for all this land 
Would I lie guilty of so great a sin. 

Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, 
Too ceremonious and traditional: 
Weigh it but with the grossness of this age. 
You break not .sanctuary in seizing him. 
The benefit thereof is always granted 
To those whose dealings have deserved the place. 
And those who have the wit to claim the place: 
This prince hath neither claim'd It, nor deserv'd It; 
And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it: 
Then, taking him from thence, that is not there, 
You break no privilege nor charter there. 
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men; 
But sanctuary children ne'er till now. 
Curd. My lord, you shall o'erruic my mind for 
once. 
Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me? 
Hast. I go, my lord. 

Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you 
may. [F..reunt Cardinal and Hastings. 

Say, uncle Gloster, If our brother come, 
Where shall we sojourn till ourcornatiou? 

GIo. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
If I may counsel you, some day or two 
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower: 
Then where you please, and shall be thought most 

fit 
For your best health and recreation. 

Pi-ince. I do not like the Tower, of any place:— 
Did Julius Coesar build that place, my lord? 

Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place; 
Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edlfled. 

Prince. Is it upon records or else rei)orted 
Successively from age to age, he built it? 
i?i(cA;. Upon record, my gracious lord. 
Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd; 
Methlnks, the truth should live from age to age. 
As 't were retail'd to all posterity. 
Even to the general all-ending day. 
ffto. So wise so young, they say, do never live long. 

\Aside. 
P-ince. What say you, uncle? 
Qlo. I say, without characters, fame lives long. 
Thus, like the formal Vice Iniquity, ) Mside 

I moralize two meanings in one word. S L ^ • 

P-ince. That Julius Cfesar was a famous man: 
With what his valour did enrich his wit. 
His wit set down to make his valour live: 
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; 
For now he lives in fame, though not in life. — 
I 'II tell .you what, my cousin Buckingham. 
Buck. What, my gracious lord? 
Prince. An if I live until 1 be a man, 
I '11 win our ancient right in France again. 
Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king. 
Glo. Short summers lightly have a forward spring. 

[Aside. 
Enter York, Hastings, and the Cardinal. 
Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke of 

Y'ork. 
Prince. Richard of York! how fares our noble 

brother? 
York. Well, my dread lord; so must I call you 

now. 
Prince. Ay, brother; to our grief, as it is yours: 
Too late he died, that might have kept that title. 
Which by his death hath lost much majesty. 
Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York? 
York. 1 thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, 
Y'ou said, that idle weeds are fast in growth: 
Tlie prince my brother hath outgrown me far. 
Glo. He hath, my lord. 

York. And therefore is he Idle? 

Glo. O, my fair cousin, I musf not say so. 
York. Then he is more beholden to you than I. 
Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign; 
But you have power in me, as in a kinsman. 
York. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. 
Glo. My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart. 
Prince. A beggar, brotlier? 
York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give; 
And, being but a toy, wliich is no grief to give. 
Glo. A greater gift than that I '11 give my cousin. 
Y^ork. A greater gift? O, that's the sword to it. 
Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 
York. O then, I see, you will part but with light 
gifts; 
In weightier things you "11 say a beggar, nay. 
Gil). It IS too vveiglity for your grace to wear. 
York. I weigh It lightly, were it heavier. 
Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little lord? 
York. I would, that I might thank you as you call 

me. 
Glo. How? 

York. Little. 

P-ince. My lord of York will f till be crosa In talk; 
tJncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 

York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me: 
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; 
Because that I am little, like an ape. 
He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. 
Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons ! 
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle. 
He prettily and aptly taunts himself: 
So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. 

Glo. M.v lord, will 't please .vou pass along? 
Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham, 
Will to your motlier, to entreat of lier 
To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 
York. What, will you go unto the Tower, ray lord? 
Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 
York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
Qlo. Why, what should .vou fear? 
York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost. 
My grandam told me he was murther'd there. 
P-ince. I fear no uncles dead. 
Glo. Nor none that live, I hope. 
Prince. An if they live, I hope I need not fear. 
But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart. 
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 

lExeunt Prince, York, Hastings, 
Cardinal, and Attendants. 
Bwcfc. Think you, my lord, this little prating York 
Was not incensed by his subtle mother. 
To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? 

Glo. No doubt, no doubt: O, 't Is a parlous boy; 
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable; 
He 's all the mother's, from the top to toe. 
Buck. Well, let them rest. 



Come hither, Catesby; thou art sworn 
As deeply to effect what we Intend, 
As closely to conceal what we impart: 
Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way; 
What think'st thou? Is it not an easy matter 
To make William lord Hastings of our mind, 
For the instalment of this noble duke 
In the seat royal of this famous isle? 

Cate. He, for his father's sake, so loves the prince. 
That he will not be won to aught against him. 

Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley? will not 
he? 

Cate. jiie will do all in all as Hastings doth. 

Buck. Well then, no more but this: Go, gentle 
Catesby, 
And, as It were far off, sound thou lord Hastings 
How he doth stand affected to our purpose; 
And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, 
To sit about the coronation. 
If thou dost find liim tractable to us, 
Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons: 
If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, 
Be thou so too; and so break oft the talk, 
And give us notice of his inclination: 
For we to-morrow hold divided councils. 
Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd, 

Glo. Commend me to lord William: tell him, 
Catesby, 
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries 
To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle; 
And bid my lord, for joy of this good news. 
Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. 

Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this business 
soundl.v. 

Cate. My good lords both, with ail the heed I can. 

Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? 

Cate. You shall, my lord. 

Glo. At Crosby-house there shall you find us both. 

[Exit Catesb.v. 

Buck. Now. my lord, what shall we do. If we per- 
ceive 
Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? 

Glo. Chop off his head; -something we will deter- 
mine:— 
And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me 
The earldom of Hereford, and all the moveables 
Whereof the king my brother was possess'd. 

Buck. I 'II claim that promise at yourgrace'shand. 

Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kindness. 
Come, let us sup betimes; that afterwards 
We may digest our complots in some form. [Exe. 

Scene 11.— Before Lord Hastlng^s House. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, my lord! [Knocking. 

'^ast. IWithin.} Who knocks? 

Mess. One from the lord Stanley. 

Hast. {Within.i What is 't o'clock? 

Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 
Enter Hastings. 

Hast. Cannot my lord Stanley sleep these tedious 
nights? 

Mess. So it appears by that I have to z~'' 
First, he commends him to your noble self. 

Hast. What then? 

Mess. Then certifies your lordship, that this night 
He dreamt the boar had rased off his helm: 
Besides, he says, there are two councils kept; 
And that may be determin'd at the one. 
Which may make you and him to rue at th' other. 
Therefore he sends to know your lordship's plea- 
sure,— 
If you will presently take horse with him. 
And with all speed post with him towards the north. 
To shun the danger that his soul divines. 

Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord: 
Bid him not fear the separated councils: 
His honour .and myself are at the one, 
And at the other is my good friend Catesby; 
Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us 
Whereof I shall not have intelligence. 
Tell him, his fears are shallow without instance: 
And, for his dreams, I wonder he 's so simple 
To trust the mocker.y of unquiet slumbers: 
To fly the boar, before the boar pursues, 
Were to incense the boar to follow us. 
And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. 
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me; 
And we will both together to the Tower, 
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. 

Mess. I '11 go, my lord, and tell him what you saj'. 

iE.vit. 
Enter Catesby. 

Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord! 

Hast. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stir- 
ring: 
What news, what news, in this our tottering state? 

Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord; 
And I believe will never stand upright. 
Till Richard wear the garland of tlie realm. 

Hast. How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the 
crown? 

Cate. Ay, my good lord. 

Hast. I '11 have this crown of mine cut from my 
shoulders 
Before I '11 see the crown so foul misplac'd. 
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? 

Cate. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you for- 
ward 
Upon his party, for the gain thereof: 
And, thereupon, he sends you this good news, — 
That, this same very day, your enemies. 
The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. 

Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news. 
Because they have been still m.v adversaries: 
But, that I '11 give my voice on Richard's side. 
To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
God knows, I will not do it, to the death. 

Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind! 

Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelvemonth 
hence. 
That they which brought me in my master's hate, 
I live to look upon their tragedy. 
Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, 
I '11 send some packing that yet think not on 't. 

Cate. 'T Is a vile thing to die, my gracious loi'd. 
When men are unprepar'd and look not for it. 

Hast. O monstrous, montrous! and so falls it out 
With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 't will do 
With some men else, who think themselves as safe 
As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
To princely Richard, and to Buckingham. 



Cate. The princes both make high account of you,— 
For they account his head upon the bridge. [Aside. 
Hast. I know they do; and I have well deserv'd it. 
Enter Stanley. 
Come on, come on; where Is your boar-spear, man? 
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovidea? 
Stan. My lord, good morrow; and good morrow, 
Catesby:— 
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, 
I do not like these several councils, I. 

Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours; 
And never. In my days, I do protest. 
Was It so precious to me as 't Is now: 
Think you, but that I know our state secure, 
I would be so triumphant as I am? 
Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from 
London, 
Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure. 
And the.v. Indeed, had no cause to mistrust; 
But yet, you see, how soon the da.y o'er-cast. 
This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt; 
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward! 
What, shall we toward the Tower? the ti^v is spent. 
Hast. Come, come, have wlthyou.— Wr '"-u what, 
my lord? 
To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded. 
Stan. They, for their truth, might better wear their 
heads. 
Than some that have accused them wear their hats. 
But come, my lord, let 's away. 

Enter a Pursuivant. 
Hast. Go on before, I '11 talk with this good fellow. 
[Exeunt Stanley and Catesby. 
How now, sirrah? how goes the world with thee? 
Pirs. The better that your lordship please to ask. 
Hast. I tell thee, man, 't is better with me now. 
Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet; 
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, 
By the suggestion of the queen's allies; 
But now, I tell thee, (keep it to thyself,) 
This day those enemies are put to death. 
And I in better state than ere I was. 
Purs. God hold it, to your honour's good content! 
Hast. Gramercy, fellow: There, drink that for me. 
[Throwing him hisjyurse. 
Purs. I thank your honour. [Exit Pursuivant. 

Enter a Priest. 
Pr. Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your hon- 
our. 
Hast. I thank thee, good sir John, with all my 
heart. 
I am in your debt for your last exercise; 
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. 
Pr. I '11 wait upon your lordship. 
Enter Buckingham. 
Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord chamber 
lain? 
Your friends at Pomfret they do need the priest; 
Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. 

Hast. 'Good faith, and ♦'hen I met this holy man. 
The men you talk of came into my mind. 
What, go you toward the Tower? 

Buck. I do, my lord; but long I cannot stay there: 
I shall retui'n before your lordship thence. 
Hast. Nay, like enough, for I sta.y dinner there. 
Buck. And supper too, although thou know'st 11 
not. [A.Hde. 

Come, will you go? 
Hast. I 'U wait upon your lordship. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Pomfret. Before the Castle. 
Enter Ratcliff, tvith a guard, conducting Rivers, Grey, 
and Vaughan, fo execution. 
Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this,— 
To-day shalt thou behold a subject die. 
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. 
Gi'ey. God keep the prince from all the pack of 
you! 
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. 
Vaugh. You live that shall cry woe for this here- 
after. 
Rat. Despatch; the limit of your lives is out. 
Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison. 
Fatal and ominous to noble peers! 
Within the guilty closure of thy walls 
Richard the Second here was hack'd to death: 
And, for more slander to thy dismal seat. 
We give to tliee our guiltless blood to drink. 
Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon our 
heads, 
When she exclaim 'd on Hastings, you, and T, 
For standing by when Richard stapb'd her son. 
Riv. Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd she 
Buckingham, 
Then curs'd she Hastings:— O, remember, God, 
To hear her prayer for them, as now for us! 
And for my sister, and her princely sons. 
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, , 
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt! 
Rat. Make haste, the hour of deatli is expiate. 
Riv. Come, Grey, — come, Vaughan,— let us here 
embrace: 
Farewell, until we meet again In heaven. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — London. A Room in the Tower. 

Buckingham, Stanle.y, Hastings, the Bishop of El.v, 
Ratcliff, Lovel, and others, sitting at a table: offi- 
cers of the council attending. 

Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met 
Is, to determine of the coronation: 
In God's name, speak, when is the royal day? 
Bitck. Are all things ready for that royal time? 
Stan. They are; and wants but nomination, 
Ely. To-morrow then I judge a happy day. 
Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind here 
in? 
Who is most inward with the noble duke? 
Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know 

his mind. 
Buck. We know each other's faces: for our hearts. 
He knows no more ©f mine than I of youis; 
Nor I of hi.s, my lord, than you of mine: 
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. 

Hast. I thank Ills grace, I know he loves me well: 
But, for his purpose in the coronation, 
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
His gracious pleasure any way therein: 
But you, my honourable lords, may name the time; 
And In the duke's behalf I '11 give my voice, 
Which, I presume, he '11 take in gentle part. 



Scene iv.] 



KJNG BICIIAIID III. 



195 



Enter Gloster. 

Ely. In happy time, here comes the duke himself. 

Qlo. My noble lords and cousins all, pood morrow: 
I have been lonK a sleeper; but, I trust. 
My absence doth neplect no great design. 
Which by my presence might have been concluded. 

JSuek. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, 
William lord Hastings liad pronounc'd your part,— 
I mean, your voice,— for crowning of the king. 

Glo. Than my lord Hastings no man might be 
bolder: 
His lordship knows me well, and loves nio well. 
My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holboni, 
I .saw good strawberries in your garden there; 
I do beseech you send for some of them. 

Ely. Marry and will, my lord, with all my heart. 

[JC.vit Ely. 

Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 

[Takes him aside. 
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business; 
And finds the testy gentleman so hot 
That he will lose liis head, ere give consent • 
His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, 
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. 

Buck. Withdraw yourself awhile, I 'II go with you. 
iBxeimt Gloster arid Buckingham. 

Stan. We have not yet set down this day of tri- 
umph. 
To-morrow, in my Judgment, is too sudden; 
For I myself am not so well provided. 
As else t would be, were the day prolong'd. 
Re-enterBishop of Ely. 

Ely. Where is my lord the duke of Gloster? 
I have sent for these strawberries. 

Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this 
morning: 
There 's some, conceit or other likes him well. 
When that he bids good-morrow with such spirit. 
I think there 's ne'er a man in Christendom, 
Can lesser hide his love or hate than he; 
For by his face straight shall you know his heart. 

Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his face. 
By any livelihood he show'd to-day? 

Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is offended; 
For were he, "he had shown it in his looks. 
Re-enter Gloster and Buckingham. 

Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve 
That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
Of damned witchcraft; and that have prevail'd 
Upon my body with their hellish charms? 

Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, 
Makes me most forward in this princely presence 
To doom the offenders, whosoe'er they be: 
I say, my lord, they have deserved death. 

Glo. Then be yoiir eyes the witness of their evlll 
Look how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm 
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up: 
And this is Ed^vard's wife, that monstrous witch, 
Consorted with that harlot-strumpet Shore, 
That by their ^vitchcraft thus have marked me. 

Hast. If they have done this defr^d. my noble lord, — 

Glo. If? thou protector of this damned strumpet. 
Talk's thou to me of ifs?— Thou art a traitor:— 
Off with his head:— now, by Saint Paul I swear, 
I will not dine until I see the same. 
Loveland Batcliff, look that it be done; 
The rest that love me, rise, and follow me. 

TExeiint Council, xvith Gloster and Buckingham. 

Hast. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me; 
For I, too fond, might have prevented this: 
Stanley did dream the boar did rase his helm; 
And I did soorn it, and disdain'd to fly. 
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, 
And started when he look'd upon the Tower, 
As loth to bear me to the slaughter-house. 
O, now I need the priest that spake to me: 
I now repent I told the pursuivant, 
As too triiunphing, how mine enemies 
To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd. 
And I myself secure in grace and favour. 
O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse 
Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. 

Rat. Come, come, despatch, the. duke would be at 
dinner; 
Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head. 

Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men. 
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 
Who builds his hope in air of your good looks, 
Lives like a drunken sailor on a niast; 
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down 
Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 

Lov. Come, come, despatch; 't is bootless to ex- 
claim. 

Hatst. O, bloody Richard !— miserable England ! 
I prophesy the fearf ul'st time to thee 
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. 
Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head; 
They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. {Exe. 

Scene Y.—The same. The Tower Walls. 

Enter Gloster and Buckingham, in rotten amnour, 
7narveUous ill-favoured. 

Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change 
thy colour. 
Murder thy breath in middle of a word. 
And then again begin, and stop again. 
As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror? 

Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; 
Speak, and look back, and pry on every side, 
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, 
Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks 
Are at my service, like enforced smiles; 
And both are ready in their offices. 
At any time, to grace my stratagems. 
But what, is Catesby gone? 

Qlo. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along. 
Enter the Lord Mayor and Catesby. 

Bvck. Lord mayor,— 

Glo. Look at the draw-bridge there. 

Buck. Hark ! a drum. 

Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. 

Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent— 

Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. 

Buck. God and our innocency defend and guard us! 
Enter Lovel and Ratcllff, Mrtfe Hastings' head. 

Glo. Be patient, they are friends; Batcliff and 
Lovel. 

JxMJ. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor. 
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 

Glo. So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep. 
I took him for the plainest harmless creature 



That breath d upon the earth a Christian; 

Made him my book, wherein my sold recorded 

The history of all her secret thoughts: 

So smooth he dauh'd his vice with show of virtue, 

That, his apparent open guilt omitted,— 

I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife,— 

He llv'd from all attainder of suspects. 

Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd 
traitor 
That ever livd. 

Would you imagine, or almost believe. 
(Were 't not, that by great incsirvatlon 
We live to tell it you,) the subtle traitor 
This day had plotted, in the council-house. 
To murther me, and my good lord of Gloster? 

May. Had he done so? 

Glo. What I think you we are Turks or infidels? 
Or that we would, against the form of law. 
Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death. 
But that the extreme peril of the case. 
The peace of England, and our person's safety, 
Enforc'd us to this execution? 

May. Now, fair befall you ! he deserv'd his death; 
And your good graces both have well proceeded. 
To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
I never look'd for better at his hands, 
After he once fell in with mistress Shore. 

Buck. Yet had we not determin'd he should die, 
Until your lordship came to see his end; 
Which now the loving haste of these our friends, 
Something against our meaning, hath prevented: 
Because, my lord, we would have had you heard 
The traitor speak, and timorously confess 
The manner and the purpose of his treasons; 
That you might well have signified the same 
Unto the citizens, who, haply, may 
Misconster us in him, and wail his death. 

May. But, my good lord, your gi-ace's word shall 
serve. 
As well as I had seen and heard him speak: 
And do not doubt, right noble princes both, 
But I '11 acquaint our duteous citizens 
With all ydur just proceedings in this case. 

Glo. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here. 
To avoid the censures of the carping world. 

Buck. But since you come too late of our intent, 
Yet witness what you hear we did intend: 
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. 

[E.vit Lord Mayor. 

Glo. Go after, after, cousin Buckingham. 
The mayor towards Guild-hall hies him in all post: 
There, at your meetest vantage of the time, 
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children: 
Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen. 
Only for saying he would make his son 
Heir to the crown; meaning, indeed, his house. 
Which by the sign thereof was termed so. 
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury, 
And bestial appetite in change of lust; 
Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, 

wives. 
Even where his raging eye, or savage heart, 
Without control lusted to make a prey. 
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person: — 
Tell them, %vhen that my mother went with child 
Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, 
My princely father, then had wars in France; 
And, by true computation of the time. 
Found that the issue was not his begot: 
Which well appeared in his lineaments. 
Being nothing like the noble diake my father: 
Yet touch this sparingly, as 't were far off; 
Because, my lord, you know my mother lives. 

Buck. Doubt not, my lord: I '11 play the orator. 
As if the golden fee for which I plead 
Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu. 

Glo. If you thrive well bring them to Baynard's 
castle; 
Where you shall find me well accompanied 
With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops. 

Buck. 1 go; and, towards three or four o'clock, 
Look for the news that the Guild-hall affords. 

[7?a.iY Buckingham. 

Glo. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw. 
Go thou [to Cat.] to fnar Penker;— bid them both 
Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle. 

[Exeunt Lovel and Catesby. 
Now will I go, to take some privy order 
To di'aw the brats of Clarence out of sight; 
And to give order, that no manner person 
Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. [Exit. 

Scene yi.—A Street. 
Enter a Scrivener. 
Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord 
Hastings; 
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd. 
That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. 
And mark how well the sequel hangs together: 
Eleven hours I have spent to write it over. 
For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; 
The precedent was full as long a doing: 
And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, 
Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. 
Here 's a good world the while! Who is so gross 
That cannot see this palpable device? 
Yet who so bold but says he sees it not? 
Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, 
Wlien such ill dealing must be seen in thought. [Ex. 

ScENK "VII.— The same. Court of Baynard's Castle. 
Enter Gloster and Buckingham, meeting. 

Glo. How now, how now? what say the citizens? 

Buck. Now by the holy mother of our Lord, 
The citizens are mum, say not a word. 

Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's child- 
ren? 

Buck. I did: with his contract with lady Lucy, 
And his contract by deputy in France: 
The insatiate greediness of his desire, 
And his enforcement of the city wives; 
His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, 
As being got, your father then in France; 
And his resemblance being not like the duke. 
Withal, I did infer your lineaments. 
Being the right idea of your father. 
Both in your form and nobleness of mind: 
Laid open all your victories in Scotland, 
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace. 
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility; 
Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose 
Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. 
And, when my oratory grew toward end, 
I bade them that did love their country's good 



Cry— 'God save Richard, England's royal king!' 

Glo. And did they so? 

Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a word; 
But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, 
Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale. 
Which when 1 saw I reprehended them; 
And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence: 
His answer was, the people were not us'd 
To be spoke to but by th(^ recorder. 
Then he was urg'fl to tell my tale again; — 
'Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;' 
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. 
When he had done, some followers of mine own. 
At lower end o' the hall, hurl'tl up their caps. 
And some ten voices cried, ' God save klngKlchardl' 
And thus I took the vantage of those few, — 
'Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends,' quoth I; 
'This general applause, and cheerful shout. 
Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard:' 
And even here brake off, and came away. 

Glo. What tongueless blocks were they! Would 
they not speak? 
Will not the mayor then and his brethren come? 

Buck. The mayor is here at hand; intend some fear; 
Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit: 
And look you, get a prayer-book in your hand. 
And stand between two churchmen, good my lord; 
For on that ground I '11 make a holy descant: 
And be not easily won to our requests; 
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 

Glo. I go: And if you plead as well for them 
As I can say nay to thee for myself, 
No doubt we '11 bring it to a happy issue. 

Buck. Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor 
knocks. [Exit Gloster. 

Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens. 
Welcome, my lord : I dance attendance here; 
I think the duke will not be spoke withal. 
Enter from the castle, Catesby. 
Now, Catesby! what says your lord to my request? 

Late. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord. 
To visit him to-morrow, or next day: 
He is within, with two right reverend fathers. 
Divinely bent to meditation: 
And in no worldly suits would he be mov'd. 
To draw him from his holy exercise. 

Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke; 
Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen. 
In deep designs, in matter of great moment. 
No less importing than our general good. 
Are come to have some conference with Ms grace. 

Cate. I 'II signify so much unto him straight. [Exit. 

Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Ed- 
ward! 
He is not lulling on a lewd love-bed. 
But on his knees at meditation; 
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, 
But meditating with two deep divines; 
Not sleeping, to engross his idle body. 
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul: 
Happy were England would this virtuous prince 
Take on his grace the sovereignty thereof: 
But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to It. 

May. Marry, God defend his grace should say us 
nay' 

Buck. I fear he will: Here Catesby comes again;— 
Re-enter Catesby. 
Now, Catesby, what says his grace? 

Cate. He wonders to what end you have assembled 
Such troops of citizens to come to him. 
His grace not being warn'd thereof before; 
He tears, my lord, you mean no good to him. 

Buck. Sorry I am my noble cousin should 
Suspect me, that I mean n« good to him: 
By heaven, we come to him in perfect love; 
And so once more return and tell his grace. 

[Eint Catesby. 
When holy and devout religious men 
Are at their beads, 't is much to draw them thence; 
So sweet is zealous contemplation. 

Enter Gloster, in a gallery above, between Two 
Bishops. Catesby retui-ns. 

May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two 
clergymen ! 

Buck. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince. 
To stay him from the fall of vanity: 
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand; 
True ornament to know a holy man. 
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 
Lend favourable ear to our requests; 
And pardon us the interruption 
Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. 

Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology; 
I do beseech your grace to pardon me. 
Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
Deferr'd the visitation of my friends. 
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure? 

Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above. 
And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. 

Glo. I do suspect I have done some offence, 
That seems disgracious in the city's eye: 
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 

Buck. You have, my lord: Would it might please 
your grace 
On our entreaties to amend your fault ! 

Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land ? 

Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign 
The supreme seat, the throne majestical, 
■The sceptred ottice of your ancestors. 
Your state of fortune, and your due of birth, 
The lineal glory of your royal house. 
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock: 
Whiles, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 
(Which here we waken to our country's good,) 
The noble isle doth want her proper limbs; 
Her face defac'd with scars of infamy. 
Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, 
And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf 
Of dark torgetfulness and deep oblivion. 
Which to recure we heartily solicit 
Your gracious self to take on you the charge 
And kingly government of this your land: 
Not asjprotector, steward, substitute. 
Or lowly factor for another's gain; 
But as successively, from blood to blood, 
Your right of birth, your empery, your own. 
For this, consorted with the citizens. 
Your very worshipful and loving friends. 
And by their vehement instigation. 
In this just cause come I to move your grace. 

Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart In silence, 
Or bitterly to speak In your reproof, 



J 



I9«S 



KING RICHARD III. 



lACT IV. 



Best fltteth my degree, or your condition: 

If not to answer, you might haply think. 

Tongue-tied ajiibition, not replying, yielded 

To boar tlie golden yoke of sovereignty. 

Which fondly you would here Impose on me; 

If to reprove you for this suit of yours. 

So season'd with your faitliliil love to me. 

Then, on the other side. I cluck'd my friends. 

Therefore,— to speak, and tu avoid the first; 

And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,— 

Definitively thus I answer you. 

Your love deserves my thanks; liut my desert 

Unmerltable shuns your high request. 

First, if all obstacles were cut aw^ay. 

And that my path wore even to the crown, 

As me ripe revenue and due of birth; 

Yet so much is my poverty of spirit. 

So mighty, and so many, my defects. 

That I would rather hide me from my greatness. 

Being a bark to brook no mighty .sea. 

Than in my greatness covet to be hid. 

And in the vapour of my glor.v smother'd. 

But. God be thank'd, there is no need of me; 

(And mucli I need to help you, were there need;) 

The royal tree hath left us royal fruit. 

Which, mellow'd by the stealing Ivours of time, . 

Will well become the seat of ma.iesty. 

And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 

On liiin I lay that yon would lay on me. 

The right and fortune of his happy stars. 

Which God defend that I should wring from him ! 

Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your grace; 
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, 
All circumstances well considered. 
You say that Edward is your brother's son; 
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife: 
For first was he contract to lady Lucy,— 
Your mother lives a witness to his vow; 
And afterwards by substitute betroth'd 
To Bona, sister to the icing of France. 
These both put off, a poor petitioner, 
A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, 
A beauty-waning and distressed widow, 
Even in the afternoon of her best days. 
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, 
Seduc'd the pitcn and height of his degree 
To base declension and loath'd bigamy; 
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got 
This Edward, whom our manners call the prince. 
More bitterly could I expostulate, 
Save that, for reverence to some alive, 
I give a sparing limit to my tongue. 
Then, good my lord, take to your royal self 
This proffer'd benefit of dignity: 
If not to bless us and the land withal. 
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry 
From the corruption of abusing time. 
Unto a lineal true-derived course. 
May. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you. 
Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love. 
Cate. O make them .ioyful, grant their lawful suit. 
Olo. Alas, why would you heap this caie on me? 
I am unfit for state and majest.y: 
I do beseech you, take it not amiss; 
I cannot, nor" I will not yield to .you. 

Buck. If you refuse it, — as in love and zeal, 
Loth to depose the child, your brother's son. 
As well we know your tenderness of heart. 
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse. 
Which we Iiave noted in you to your kindred. 
And equally, indeed, to all estates, — 
Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no. 
Your brother's son shall never reign our king: 
But we will plant some other in the throne, 
To the disgrace and downfall of your house. 
And in this resolution here we leave you; — 
Come, citizens, we will entreat no more. 

[Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens. 
Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept tlieir 
suit; 
If you deny them, all the land will rue it. 

Gto. Will you enforce me to a world of cares? 
Call them again; I am not made of stone. 
But penetrable to your kind entreaties, 

[Kvlt Catesby. 
Albeit against my conscience and my soul. 
Re-enter Buckingham, and the rest. 
Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men, 
Since you will buckle fortune on my back, 
To bear her burden, whe'r I will or no, 
I must have patience to endure the load: 
But if black scandal, orfoul-fac'd reproach. 
Attend the sequel of your imposition. 
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
From all the impure blots and stains thereof; 
For God doth know, and you may partly see, 
How far i am from the desire of this. 
diay. God bless your grace! we see it, and will say 

It. 
Glo. In saying so you shall but say the truth. 
Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title, — 
Long live king Ricliard, England's woi'thy king! 
AU. Amen. 

Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd? 
Glo. Even when you please, for you will have it so. 
Buck. To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace; 
And so most joyfully do we take our leave. 
Glo. Come, let us to olir holy work again: — 

{To the Bishops. 
Farewell, my cousin;— farewell, gentle friends. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I.— Before the Tower. 

Enter, on one side. Queen EIizal)eth, Duchess of York, 
a7id Marquis of Dorset; on the other, Anne, Duch- 
ess of Gloster, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, 
Clarence's young daughter. 
Duch. Who meets us hei'e?— my niece Plantagenet 

Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster? 

Now, for my life, she 's wand'ring to the Tower, 

On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince. 

Daughter, well uiet. 
Anne. God give your graces both 

A hapijy and a joyful time of day! 
Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister! Wliither 

away? 
Anne. No further than the Tower: and, as 1 guess. 

Upon the like devotion as yourselves. 

To gratulate the gentle princes there. 
Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks; we 'U enter all to- 
gether. 



Enter Brakenbury. 
And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. 
Master lieutenant, pra.y you, by your leave. 
How doth the prince, and m.y young son of York? 

Brak. Right » ell, dear madam: By your patience, 
I may not suffer you to visit them; 
The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary. 

Q. Eliz. The king! who 's that? 

Brak. I mean the lord protector. 

Q. Eliz. The lord protect him from that kingly 
title! 
Hath he set bounds between tlieir love and me? 
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them? 

Jjuch. I am their father's mother, I will see tliem. 

Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother: 
Then l)ring me to their sights; I '11 bear thy blame. 
And take thy office from thee, on mj' peril. 

Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so: 
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 

[Exit Brakenbury. 
Enter Stanley. 

Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence. 
And I '11 salute your grace of York as mother. 
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. 
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminister, 

[To the Duchess of Gloster. 
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 

Q. Eliz. Ah, cut 'ny lace asunder! 
That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, 
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. 

Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news! 

Dor. Be of God cheer. Mother, how fares your 
grace? 

Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone. 
Death and destruction dog thee at thy heels; 
Thy mother's name is ominous to children; 
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas. 
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. 
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house. 
Lest thou increase the number of the dead; 
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, — 
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 

Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam: 
Take all the swift advantage of the hours; 
You shall have letters from me to my son 
In your behalf, to meet you on the way: 
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. 

Duch. O ill dispersing wind of misery! 

my accursed womb, the bed of death; 

A. cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world. 
Whose unavoided eye is murtherousl 

Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was Sent. 

Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. 
O, would to God that the inclusive verge 
Of golden metal that must round my brow 
Were red-hot steel to sear me to the brain! 
Anointed let me be with deadly venom; 
And die, ere men can say— God save the queen! 

Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory, 
To feed my humour: wish thyself no harm. 

Anne. No! why?— When he that is my husband 
now 
Came to me, as I foUow'd Henry's corse; 
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his 

hands, 
Whicli issued from my other angel husband. 
And that dear saint which then I weeping foUow'd; 
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face. 
This was my wish,—' Be thou,' quoth I, ' accurs'd. 
For making me, so young, so old a widow! 
And when thou wedd'st let sorrow haunt thy bed; 
And be thy wife (if any be so mad) 
More miserable by the life of thee. 
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!' 
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again. 
Within so smalt a time, my woman's heart 
Grossly grew captive to his honey words. 
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse; 
Which hitlierto hath held mine eyes from rest: 
For never yet one hour in his bed 
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep. 
But witli his timorous dreams was still awak'd. 
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; 
And will no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 

Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. 

Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for 
yours. 

Dor. Farewell, thou woeful welcomerof glois'! 

Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! 

Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune 
guide thee! [To Dorset. 

Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee! 

[To Anne. 

Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess 

thee! [To Q. Elizabeth. 

1 to my grave, where i^eace and rest lie with me! 
Eighty odd years of sorrow iiave I seen. 

And each hour's joy wrack'd with a week of teen. 
Q. Eliz. Stay; yet look back, with me, unto the 
Tower. 
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, 
Wliom envy hath immur'd within your walls! 
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! 
Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow 
For tender princes, use m.y babies well! 
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II.— ^ Room of State in the Palace. 

Flourish of trumpets. Richard, as King, upon 
his throne: Bucfciueham, Catesby, a Page, and 
others. 

K. Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham,— 
Buck. My gi'acious sovereign. 

K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy 
advice. 
And tliy assistance, is king Richard seated: 
But shall we wear these glories for a day? 
Or shall the.v last, and we rejoice in them? 
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last! 
K. Rich. Ah, Buckingiiam, now do I play the 
touch. 
To try if thou be current gold, indeed; 
Young Edward lives:— Think now what I would 

speak. 
Buck. Say on, my loving lord. 
K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be 

king. 
Buck. Wli.v, so you are. m.y thrice-renowned lord. 
K. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'T is so: but Edward 

lives. 
Buck. True, noble prince. 
K. Rich. O l)itter eonrenuence. 



That Edward still should live!— true, noble prince!— 
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull: 
Shall I be pl.ain? I wish the bastards dead; 
And I would have it suddenly perform VI. 
What.say'st thou now? speak' suddenly, be brief. 

Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 

K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness 
freezes: 
Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? 

Buck. Give me some little breath, some pause, 
dear lord. 
Before I positively speak in this: 
I will resolve you herein presently. [E.r-it Buck. 

Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his Up. 

[Aside. 

K. Rich. I will converse with iron-wltted fools, 

[Descends from his throne. 
And unrespective boys: none are for me 
That look into me with considerate eyes. 
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. 
Boy! 

Rage. My lord. 

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting 
gold 
Would tempt unto a close exploit of death? 

Page. I know a discontented gentleman. 
Whose humble means match not his haughty 

spirit: 
Gold were as good as twent.y orators. 
And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything. 

K. Rich. What is his name? 

Page. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. 

K. Rich. I partly know the man: Go, call him 
hither, boy. [Exit Page. 

The deep revolving witty Buckingham 
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels: 
Hath he so long held out with me untlr'd. 
And stops he now for breath?— well, be it sc- 
ienter Stanley. 
How now, lord Stanley? what 's the news? 

Stan. Know, my loving lord. 
The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled 
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. 

K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad 
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; 
I will take order for her keeping close. 
Inquire me out some mean, poor gentleman. 
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter — 
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.— 
Look, how thou dream'st?— I say again, give out 
That Anne my queen Is sick, and like to die: 
About it; for it stands me much upon. 
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. 

[E.-vit Catesby. 
I must be married to my brother's daughter, 
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass; 
Murther her brothers, and then marry her! 
Uncertain way of gain! But I am in 
So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. 
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. 

Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel. 
Is thy name Tyrrel? 
Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient sub- 
ject. 
K. Rich. Art thou, Indeed? 

Tyr. Prove me, m.y gracious lord. 

K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of 

mine? 
Tyr. Please you, but I had rather kill two enemies. 
K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep ene- 
mies. 
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers , 
Are they that I would have thee deal upon: 
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. 

Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them. 
And soon I 'II rid you from the fear of them. 
K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come 
hither, Tyrrel: 
Go, by this token:— Rise, and lend thine ear: 

[ Whispers. 
There is no more but so:— Say, It is done, 
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. 
Tyr. I will despatch it straight. [Exit. 

Re-enter Buckingham. 

Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind 
The late request that you did sound me in. 

K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset Is fled to Rich- 
mond. 

Buck. I hear the news, my lord. 

K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son:— Well look 
unto it. 

Buck. My lord, I ;laim the gift, my due by pro- 
mise. 
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; 
The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables. 
Which you have promised I shall possess. 

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey 
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. 

Buck. What says your highness to ray jus^ re- 
quest? 

K. Rich. I do remember me,— Henry the Sixth 
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king. 
When Richmond was a little peevish boy. 
A king!— perhaps 

Buck. My lord, 

K. Rich. How chance the prophet could not at that 
time 
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? 

Buck. My loiTl, your promise for the earldom,— 

K. Rich. Riclimond!— When last I was at Exeter, 
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle. 
And eal'l'd it Rouge-mont; at which name I started. 
Because a bard of Ireland told me once 
I should not live long after I saw Richmond. 

Buck. My lord, 

K. Rich. Ay, what 's o'clock? 

Buck. I am thus bold to put your grace in mind 
Of \vhat you promis'd me. 

K. Rich. Well, but what 's o'clock? 

Buck. Upon the stroke of ten. 

K. Rich. Well, let it strike. 

Buck. Why, let it strike? 

K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the 
stroke 
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. 
I am not in the giving vein to-day. 

Buck. Why, then resolve me whether you will, or 
no. 

K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. 
[Exeunt King Richard and Train. 

Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep service 
With such eonteinnt? made I him king for this? 



Scene ii.] 



KING RICHARD III. 



O, let me think on Hastings; antl be cone 
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on, f'''*'''- 
Scene III.— The same. 
Enter Tyrrel. 

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done; 
The most arch deed of piteous massacre 
That ever vet this land was guilty of. 
Dlghton and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
To do this piece of ruthless butchery. 
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, 
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion. 
Wept like two children, in their death's .sad story. 
'O thus," quoth Dighton, 'lay the gentle babes,'— 
'Thus, thus,' quotli Forrest, 'girdling one another 
Within their alabaster innocent arms: 
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk. 
And, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other. 
A book of prayers on their pillow lay: 
Which once,' quoth Forrest, 'almost chang'd my 

mind; 
But, O, the devil '—there the villain stoppld; 
When Dighton thus told on,—' we smothered 
The most replenished sweet work of nature. 
That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd.'— 
Hence both are gone with conscience and reniorse; 
Thev could not speak: and so I left them both, 
To bear this tidings to the bloody king. 

Enter King Richard. 
And here he comes:— All health, my sovereign lord! 

K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel! am I happy in thy news? 

Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge 
Beget your happiness, be happy then. 
For it is done. 

K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead? 

Tyr. I did, my lord. 

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? 

Tyr. The Chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; 
But where, to say the truth, I do not know. 

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper, 
When thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good, 
And be inheritor of thy desire. 
Farewell till then. 

Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 

K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pent up close; 
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; 
The sons of Edward sleep In Abraham's bosom; 
And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night. 
Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims 
At voung Elizabeth, my brother's daughter. 
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, 
To her go I, a Jolly thriving wooer. 
JSnter Ratcliff. 

Rat. My lord! 

K. Rich. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so 
bluntlv ? 

Rat. Bad news, my lord: Morton has fled to Rich- 
mond; 
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, 
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. 

K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more 
near 
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. 
Come,— I have learn'd that fearful conmienting 
Is leaden servitor to dull delay; 
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary: 
Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
Jove's Murcury, and herald for a king! 
Go, muster men: my counsel Is my shield; 
We must be brief when traitors brave the field. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— !Z7ie same. Before the Palace. 

Enter Queen Margaret. 

Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow. 
And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd. 
To watch the waning of mine enemies. 
A dire induction am I witness to. 
And will, to France; hoping the consequence 
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret ! who comes 
here? 

Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York. 

Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender 
babes ! 
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ! 
If yet your gentle souls fl.v m the air, 
And be not flx'd in doom perpetual. 
Hover about me with your airy wings. 
And hear your mother's lamentation ! 

Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for 
right 
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 

IJueh. So many miseries have craz'd my voice, 
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. 
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? 

O. iifar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, 
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. 

Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle 
lambs. 
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? 
When didst thou sleep w^hen such a deed was done? 

Q. Mar. When holy HariT died, and my sweet son. 

Bitch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living 
ghost. 
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life 

usurp'd, 
Bri^ abstract and record of tedious days. 
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, 

[Sitting down. 
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! 

Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a 
grave. 
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat; 
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here ! 
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we? 

[Sitting down by her. 

Q. 3Iar. If ancient sorrow be most revei'eut. 
Give mine the benefit of seniory. 
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. 
If sorrow can admit society, 

[Sitting down luith them. 
Tell o'er your woes again b.y viewing mine:— 
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; 
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him: 
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him: 
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. 

Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; 
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. 



O. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard 
kill'd him. 
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death: 
That dog. that had his teeth before his e.ves 
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood; 
That foiil defacer of God's handy-work. 
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth. 
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls; 
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. 

upright, lust, and true-disposing God, 
How do I thank Thee, that this carnal cur 
Preys on the issue of his mother's body. 

Ana makes her pew-fellow with others' moan ! 

Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not* in my woes; 
God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 

Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, 
And now I cloy me with beholding It. 
Thy Edward he is dead that kill'd my Edward; 
The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; 
Young York he is but boot, because both they 
Match not the high perfection of my loss. 
Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward; 
And the beholders of this frantic play. 
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, 
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; 
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls, 
Antl send them thither: But at hand, at hand. 
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: 
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
To have him suddenly convey'd from hence: 
Cancel his bond of lire, dear God, I pray. 
That I may live to say, the dog is dead ! 

Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time would 
come 
That I should wish for thee to help me curse 
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. 

Q. Mai: I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my for- 
tune; 

1 call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen; 
The presentation of but what I was. 

The flattering index of a direful pageant, 

One heav'd a-high, to be hurl'd down below: 

A mother only moek'd with two fair babes; 

A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag. 

To be the aim of every dangerous shot; 

A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble; 

Alqueen in jest, only to flU the scene. 

Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers? 

Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy? 

Who sues, and kneels, and says— God save the 

queen? 
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? 
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? 
Decline all this, and see what now thou art. 
For happy wife, a most distressed widow; 
For joyful mother, one that walls the name; 
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; 
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care; 
For one that scorn 'd at me, now scorn'd of me; 
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one; 
For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 
Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd about. 
And left thee but a very prey to time; 
Having no more but thought of what thou wast. 
To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 
Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not 
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? 
Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke; 
From which even here I slip my wearied head. 
And leave the burthen of it all on thee. 
Farewell, York's wife,— and queen of sad mis- 
chance,— 
These English woes shall make me smile in France. 

Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while. 
And teach me how to curse mine enemies. 

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the 
day; 
Compare dead happiness with living woe; 
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were. 
And he that slew them fouler than he his: 
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; 
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. 

Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O quicken them with 
thine ! 

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and 
pierce like mine. [Exit Q. Margaret. 

Jjxich. Why should calamity be full of words? 

Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes. 
Airy sueceeders of intestate joys. 
Poor breathing orators of miseries ! 
Let them have scope: though what they do impart 
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. 

Duch. If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me. 
And in the breath of bitter words let 's smother 
My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. 
[Ti^umpet, within. 
The trumpet sounds,— be copious in exclaims. 
Enter King Richard, and his Train, marching. 

K. Rich. Whio intercepts me in my expedition? 

Duch. O, she that might have intercepted thee. 
By strangling thee in her accursed womb. 
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. 

Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden 
crown. 
Where should be branded, if that right were right. 
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown. 
And the dire deafn of my poor sons and brothers? 
Tell me, thou villain-slave, "where are my children? 

Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother 
Clarence? 
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? 

Q. Eliz. Where Is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Gre.y? 

Duch. Where is kind Hastings? 

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets !— strike alarum, 
drums ! 
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I say. 

[Flourish. Alarums. 
Either be patient, and entreat me fair, 
Or with the clamorous report of war 
Thus will I drown your exclamations. 

IHich. Art thou my son? 

K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself. 

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. 

K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition. 
That cannot brook the accent of reproof. 

Duch. O, let me speak. 

K. Rich. Do, then; but I '11 not hear. 

Duch. I win be mild and gentle in my words. 

K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for lam in haste. 

Dnch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee, 
• God knows, in torment and in agonj-. 



K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you? 

Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well. 
Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. 
A grievous burthen was thy birth to me; 
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; 
Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and 

furious; 
Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous. 
Thy age conflrm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, 
More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred: 
What comfortable hour canst thou name, 
That ever grac'd me in thy company? 

K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hower, that 
call'd your grace 
To breakfast once, forth of my company. 
' " I be so disgraclous in your eye, 
i^et me march on, and not offend you, madam.— 
Strike up the drum. 

Duch. I prithee, hear me speak. 

K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. 

Duch. Hear me a word. 

For I shall never speak to thee again. 

K. Rich. So. 

Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi- 
nance. 
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror; 
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish. 
And never more behold thy face again. 
Therefore, take with thee my most grievous curse; 
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more 
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st! 
My prayers on the adverse party fight: 
And there the little souls of Edward's children 
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies. 
And promise them success and victory. 
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; 
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. 

[Exit. 

Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less 
spirit to curse 
Abides in me; I say amen to her. [Going. 

K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with 
you. 

Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood. 
For thee to slaughter: for my daughters, Richard, 
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; 
And therefore level not to hit their lives. 

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, 
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let her live. 
And I '11 corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; 
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed; 
Throw over her the veil of infamy: 
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 

K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is a royal 
princess. 

Q. Eliz. To save her life, I 'H say she is not so. 

K. Rich. Her life is safest only In her birth. 

O. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers. 

K. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were oppo- 
site. 

Q. Eliz. No, to their lives HI friends were contrary. 

K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. 

Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny: 
My babes were destin'd to a fairer death. 
If grace had bless'd thee \v1th a fairer life. 

K. Rich. You speak as if that I had slain my cou- 
sins. 

Q. Eliz. Cousins, Indeed; and by their uncle 
cozen'd 
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts. 
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction: 
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt. 
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart. 
To revel in the entrails of my lambs. 
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame. 
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys 
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; 
And I, in such a desperate bay of death. 
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft. 
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. 

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise. 
And dangerous success of bloody wars. 
As I intend more good to you and yours. 
Than ever you and yours by me were harm'd! 

Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of 
heaven. 
To be discover'd, that can do me good? 

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle 
lady. 

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their 
heads? 

K. Rich. Unto the dignity and height of fortune. 
The high Imperial type of this earth's glory. 

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrow with report of it; 
Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour. 
Canst thou demise to any child of mine? 

K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all. 
Will I withal endow a child of thine; 
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul 
•rhou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs 
Which thou supposest I have done to thee. 

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kind- 
ness 
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. 

K. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul, I love thy 
daughter. 

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her 
soul. 

K. Rich. What do you think? 

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from thy 
soul; 
So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers; 
And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for It. 

K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning; 
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter. 
And do intend to make her queen of England. 

Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be 
her king? 

K. Rich. Evenne that makes her queen: Who else 
should be? 

Q. Eliz. What! thou? 

K. Rich. Even so: How think you of it? 

Q. Etiz. How canst thou woo her? 

K. Rich. That I would learn of you, 

As one being best acquainted with her humour. 

Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me? 

K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart. 

Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her 
brothers, 
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave 
Edward, and York; then, haply. ^viU she weep: 



]98 



KIX(f JilCHAlW in. 



Therefore present to lier,--as sometime Margaret 

Did to thv father steep'd In Rutland's blood,— 

A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain 

The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies. 

And 1)1(1 her wipe her weeping eyes withal. 

If this inducement move lier not to love, 

Senil her a letter of tliy iiulile deeds; 

Tell her, tlioii mad'st away lier uncle Clarence, 

Her uncle Rivers; ay, anti, toi- hei- sake, 

Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. 

K. Rich. You moclc me, madam; this is not the 
way 
To win vour daughter. 

Q. KHz. There is no other way; 

Unless thou eould'st put on some other shape, 
And not be Richard that hath done all this. 

K.fRich. Say, that I did all this for love of her? 

Q. Eliz. Nay, then Indeed, she cannot choose but 
hate thee. 
Having houglit love with such a bloody spoil. 

K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now 
amended; 
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes. 
Which after-hours give leisure to repent. 
If I did take the kingdom from your sons, 
To make amends, I '11 give it to your daughter. 
It I have kill'd the issue of your womb. 
To quicken your Increase, I will beget 
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. 
A grandani's name is little less in love 
Than is the doting title of a mother; 
Tliey are as children but one step below. 
Even of your mettle, of your very blood; 
Of all one pain,— save for a night of groans 
Endur'd of Iter, for whom you bid like sorrow. 
Your cliildren were vexation to your youth. 
But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 
The loss, you have, is but a son being king. 
And, by tliat loss, your daughter is made queen. 
I cannot make you what amends I would, 
Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 
Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul. 
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil. 
This fair alliance quickly shall call home 
To high promotions and great dignity: 
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife, 
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother; 
Again shall you be motlier to a king. 
And all the ruins of distressful times 
Repair'd with double riches of content. 
Wliat! we have many goodly days to see: 
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed 
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl; 
Advantaging their loan, with interest 
Of ten-times double gain of happiness. 
Go tlien, my mother, to tliy daughter go; 
Make bold her bashful years with your experience; 
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale; 
Put in laer tender heart the aspiring flame 
Of golden sov'reignty; acquaint the princess 
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys: 
And when this arm of mine hath chastised 
The pettj; rebel, the dull-brain'd Buckingham, 
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come, 
And lead thy daugnter to a conqueror's bed; 
To whom I will retail my conquest won. 
And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar. 

Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's 
brother 
Would be her lord? Or shall I say, her uncle? 
Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles? 
Under what title shall I woo for thee, 
Tliat God, the law, my honour, and her love. 
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? 

K. Rich. Infert'airEngland'speaceby this alliance. 

Q. KHz. Which she shall purchase with still last- 
ing war. 

K. Etch. Tell her, the king, that may command, 
entreats. 

Q. Eliz. That at her hands which the king's King 
forbids. 

K. Rich. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen. 

Q. Eliz. To wall the title, as her mother doth. 

K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. 

O. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last? 

K. Rich. Sweetly In force unto her fair life's end. 

Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life 
last? 

K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, lengthens 
it. 

O. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it. 

K. Rich. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low. 

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sov'- 
reignty. 

K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. 

Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly 
told. 

K. Rich. Then, plainly to her tell my loving tale. 

Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style. 

K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too 
quick. 

Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons ai'e too deep and 
dead;— 
Too deep and dead, poor Infants, in their graves. 

K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam; that Is 
past. 

Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings 
break. 

K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my 
crown,— 

Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third 
usurp'd. 

K. Rich. I swear. 

Q. Eliz. By nothing: for this is no oath. 

Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his lordly honour; 
Thy garter, blemish'd, pavvn'd his knightly virtue; 
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory: 
If something thou would'st swear to be believ'd. 
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. 

K. Rich. Then, by myself,- 

Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-misused. 

K. Rich. Now, by the world, — 

Q. Eliz. 'T is full of thy foul wrongs. 

K. Rich. My father's death.— 

Q. Eliz. Thy life hath it dishonour'd. 

K. Rich. Why then, by God,— 

Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. 

If thou hadst feared to break an oath by him, 
The unity the king my husband made 
Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died. 
If th(m hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, 
The imperial metal, circling now thy head. 
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child; 
And Both the princes had been breathing here. 



Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust, 
Tliy broken faith hath made the prey for worms. 
Wluit canst thou swear by now? 

K. Rich. The time to come. 

Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'er- 
past. 
For I myself have many tears to wash 
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. 
The children live whose fathers thou hast slaugh- 

ter'd, 
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age; 
■The parents live whose children thou hast butcher'd. 
Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. 
Swear not ijy time to come; for tiiat thou hast 
Misused ere uSed, by times ill-used o'er-past. 

A'. Ridi. As I intend to prosper, and repent. 
So thrive I in my dangerous affairs 
Of hostile armsl myself myself confound! 
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hoursl 
Day yield me not thy light, nor night thy rest! 
Be opposite all planets of good luck 
To my proceeding! if, with dear heart's love. 
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter! 
In her consists my happiness, and thine; 
Without her, follows to myself, and thee. 
Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, 
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay: 
It cannot be avoided but by this; 
It will not be avoided but by this. 
Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,) 
Be the attorney of my love to her. 
Plead wliat I will be, not what I have been; 
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve: 
Urge the necessity and state of times, 
And be not peevish found in great designs. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? 

K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself to be myself? 

K. Rich. Ay, if yourself 's remembrance wrong 
yourself. 

Q. Eliz. Yet, thou didst kill my children. 

K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them: 
Where, in that nest of splcery, they will breed 
Selves of themselves to your recomforture. 

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? 

K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. 

Q. Eliz. I go.— Write to me very shortly. 
And you shall understand from me her mind. 

K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so fare- 
well. [Kissing her. Exit Q. Elizabeth. 
Relenting fool, and shallow changing woman! 
How now? what news? ^ 
Enter RatclifE; Catesby following. 

Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast 
Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores 
Throng many doubtful hollow-liearted friends, 
Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back: 
'T is thought that Richmond is their admiral; 
And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. 

K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of 
Norfolk:— 
RatclifE, thyself,- or Catesby; where is he? 

Cate. Here, my good lord. 

K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke. 

Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. 

K. Rich. RatclifE, come hither; Post to Salisbury; 
When thou com'st thither,- dull unmindful villain, 

[To Catesby. 
Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? 

Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness" 
pleasure. 
What from your grace I shall deliver to him. 

K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby:— Bid him levy 
straight 
The gi-eatest strength and power that he can make. 
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. 

Cate. I go. [Exit. 

Rat. What, may It please you, shall I do at Salis- 
bury? 

K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, before 
I go? 

Rat. Your highness told me I should post before. 
Enter Stanley. 

K. Rich. My mind is chang'd.— Stanley, what news 
wltli you? 

Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with the 
hearing; 
Nor none so bad hut well may be reported. 

K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! 
What need'st thou run so many miles about. 
When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way? 
Once more, what news? 

Stan. Richmond is on the seas. 

K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on 
him! 
Whlte-liver'd runagate, what doth he there? 

Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. 

K. Rich. Well, as you guess? 

Stan. Stlrr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Mor- 
ton, 
He makes for England, here to claim the crown. 

K. Rich. Is the chair empty? Is the sword un- 
sway'd? 
Is the king dead? the empire xmpossess'd? 
What heir of York is there alive but we? 
And who is England's king but great York's heir? 
Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas? 

Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 

K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege. 
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes? 
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 

Stan. No, my good lord, therefore mistrust me not. 

K. Rich. Where is thy power then to beat him 
back? 
Where be thy tenants and thy followers? 
Are they not now upon the western shore. 
Safe conducting the rebels from their ships? 

Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the 
north. 

K. Rich. Cold friends to me: what do they in the 
north. 
When they should serve their sovereign in the west? 

Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty 
king- 
Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, 
I '11 muster up my friends, and meet your grace 
Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. 

K. Rich. Ay, thou would'st be gone to join with 
Richmond; 
But I '11 not trust thee. 

Stan. Most mighty sovereign, 



You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful 
I never was, nor never will be, false. 
K. Rich. Go then, and muster men. But leave be- 
hind 
Your son, George Stanley; look your heart be firm. 
Or else his head's assurance is but frail. 
Stan. So deal with him as I prove true to vou. 

[Exit Stanley. 
Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My gracious sovereign, now In Devonshire, 
As I by friends am well advertised. 
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate 
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother. 
With many more confederates, are in arms. 
Enter another Messenger. 

2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the GuUfords are in 

arms; 
And every hour more competitors 
Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. 
Enter another Messenger. 

3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckingham— 
K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs o) 

death? [Be strikes him 

There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 

3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty, 
Is,— that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd; 
And he himself wander'd away alone. 
No man knows wliither. 

K. Rich. I cry thee mercy: 

There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. 
Hath any well-advised friend proclalm'd 
Reward to him that brings the traitor in? 

3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my 

liege. 

Enter another Messenger. 

4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquis Dorset, 
'T is said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. 

But this good comfort bring I to your highness,— 

The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest: 

Richmond in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 

Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks 

If they were his assistants, yea, or no; 

Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham 

Upon his party: he, mistrusting them, 

Hoist'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. 

K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up In 
arms; 
If not to flght with foreign enemies. 
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. 
Enter Catesby. 

Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken. 
That is the best news. That the earl of Richmond 
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
Is colder news, but yet they must be told. 

K. Ifich. Away towards Salisbury; while we reason 
here 
A royal battle might be won and lost: 
Some one take order Buckingham be brought 
To Salisbury;— the rest march on with me. [Exeunt. 

Scene V.— .-1 Room in Lord Stanley's House. 

Enter Stanley, and Sir Christopher Urswick. 

Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from 
me: — 
That, in the sty of this most bloody boar. 
My son George Stanley is frank'd iip In hold', 
If I revolt, off goes young George's head; 
The fear of that holds oft my present alcl. 
So, get thee gone: commend me to thy lord. 
Wltnal, say, that the queen hath heartily consented 
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
But, tell me, where is princely Ri(?hmond now? 

Chris. At Pembroke, or at fla'rfora-west, in Wales. 

Stan. What men of name resort to him? 

Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier. 
Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir AVilliam Stanley: 
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt, 
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew; 
And many other of great name and worth: 
And towards London do they bend their power. 
If by the way they be not fought withal. 

Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand. 

My letter will resolve him of my mind. 

Farewell. [E.reunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene L— Salisbury. An open Place. 

Enter the Sheriff and Guard, with Buckingham led to 

execution. 

Buck. Will not king Richard let me spepk with him? 

Slier. No, my good lord: therefore be patient. 

Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children. Grey, and 
Rivers, 
Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried 
By underhand corrupted foul Injustice ! 
If that your moody discontentetl souls ' 

Do through the clouds behold this present hour. 
Even for revenge mock my destruction ! 
This is All Souls' day, fellow, is it not? 

Sher. It is, my lord. 

Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's dooms- 
day. 
This is the day which, in king Edward's time, 
I wish'd might fall on me, when 1 was found 
False to his children, and his wife's allies: 
Tills is the day wherein I wish to fall 
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted: 
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul, 
Is the determln'd respite of my wrongs. 
That high .4.11-seer which I dallied with. 
Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head, 
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. 
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms: 
Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck,— 
' When he,' quoth she, ' shall split thy heart with 

sorrow. 
Remember, Margaret was a prophetess."— 
Come, lead me, officers, to the block of shame; 
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame, 
[fireitiif Buckingham, t&c. 

SCEN-E II.— PZam near Tamworth. 
Enter, with drum and colours, Richmond, Oxford' 
Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and others, 
with Forces, marching. 

Richm. Fellows In arms, and my most loving 
friends, 



Scene u.'] 



KING BICHARD III. 



19» 



Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, 

Thus far Into the bowels of he land 

Have we march'd on without impediment; 

And here receive we from our father Stanley, 

Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 

The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar. 

That spoU'd your summer fields and fruitful vines. 

Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his 

trough 
In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 
Lies now even in the center of this isle, 
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn: 
From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. 
In God's name, iheerly on. courageous friends. 
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 

0.i-f. Every man's conscience is a thousand men. 
To fight against this bloody homicide. 

Herb. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us. 

Blunt. He hath no friends but what are friends for 
fear; 
Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. 

Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, 
march: 
.True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings. 
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Bosworth Field. 
Enter King Richard and Forces; the Duke of Nor- 
folk, Earl of Surrey, and others. 

K. Rich. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bos- 
worth field. 
My lord of Surrev, why look you so sad? 

Sur. Mv heart is ten times lighter than my looks. 

K. Rich. My lord ot Norfolk! 

Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 

K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks: Ha! must 
we not? 

Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord. 

K. Rich. Up with mv tent: Here will I lie to-night; 
[Soldiers begin to set up the King's tent. 
But where, to-morrow?— Well, all 's one for that.— 
Who hath descried the number of the traitors? 

Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. 

K. Rich. Why. our battalia trebles that account: 
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength. 
Which they upon the adverse faction want. 
Up with the tent.— Come, noble gentlemen. 
Lei us survey the vantage of the ground:— 
Call for some men of sound direction: 
Let 's lack no discipline, make no delay; 
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. 

Enter, on the other side of the field, Riclimond, Sir 
William Brandon, Oxford, and other Lords. Some 
of the Soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. 

Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, 
And, by the bright track of his flery car, 
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. 
Sir "SVUliam Brandon, you shall bear my standard. 
Give me some ink and paper in my tent; — 
f '11 draw the form and model of our battle. 
Limit each leader to his several charge. 
And part in just proportion our small power. 
My lord of Oxford, you, sir William Brandon, 
And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me: 
The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment; 
Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, 
And by the second hour in tlie morning 
Desire the earl to see me in my tent: 
Yet one thine more, good captain, do for me; 
Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know? 

Blu7it. Unless I have mista'en his colours much, 
(Which well I am assur'd I have not done,) 
His regiment lies half a mile at least 
South from the mighty power of the king. 

Richm. If without peril it be possible. 
Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with 

him. 
And give him from me this most needful note. 

Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll uudertake It; 
And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! 
Richm: Good night, good captain Blunt. Come, 
gentlemen. 
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business; 
In to my tent, the dew is raw and cold. 

[They withdraw into the tent. 
Enter, to his tent. King Richard, Norfolk, RatclifC, 
a/idT Catesby. 
K. Rich. What is 't o'clock? 

Cate. It 's supper time, my lord; 

It 's nine o'clock. 

K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. 

Give me some ink and paper. 
What, is my beaver easier than it was? 
And all my armour laid into my tent? 
Cate. It is, my liege; and all things are In readi- 
ness. 
K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; 
Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. 
Nor. I go, my lord. 
K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle 

Norfolk. 
Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit. 

K. Rich. RatclifE! 
Rat. My lord? 

K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms 
To Stanley's regiment: bid him bring his power 
Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall 
Into the blind cave of eternal night. 
Fill me a bowl of wine.— Give me a watch! — 

[To Catesby. 
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. — 
Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. 
RatcUff! 
Rat. My lord? 
K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord North- 
umberland? 
Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself. 
Much about cock-shut time, from troop lo troop. 
Went through the army cheering up the soldiers. 
K. Rich. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of 
wine: 
I have not that alacrity of spirit. 
Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have. 
Set it down.— Is Ink and paper ready? 
Rat. It is, my lord. 

K. Rich. Bid my guard watch; leave me. 

EatclifE, about the mid of night come to my tent. 
And help to arm me.— Leave me, I say. 

[King Richard retires into his tent. 
[Exeunt Ratcliff and Catesby. 



Richmond's tent opens, and discovers him and his 

Officers. £-c. 

Enter Stanley. 

Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm! 

Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford 
Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! 
Tell me now fares our noble mother? 

Stan. I, bv attorney, bless thee from thy mother. 
Who prays continually for Richmond's good: 
So much for that. The silent hours steal on. 
And flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
In brief, "for so the season bids us be. 
Prepare the battle early in the morning; 
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement 
Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. 
I, as I may, (that which I would I cannot,) 
With best advantage will deceive the time. 
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of ai-ms: 
But on thy side I may not be too forward. 
Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, 
Be executed in his father's sight. 
Farewell: The leisure and the fearful time 
Cuts oft the ceremonious vows of love. 
And ample interchange of sweet discourse. 
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon; 
God give us leisure for these rites of love! 
Once more, adieu:— Be valiant, and speed well! 

Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment: 
I '11 strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap; 
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow. 
When I should mount with wings of victory: 
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. 

{Exeunt Lords, &c., with Stanley. 
O Thou! whose captain I account myself. 
Look on my forces with a gracious eye; 
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath. 
That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
The usurping helmets of our adversaries! 
Make us thy ministers of chastisement, 
That we may praise thee in thy victory! 
To thee I do commend my watchful soul, 
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes; 
Sleeping; and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps. 

The Ghost of Prince Edward, son to Henry the 

Sixth, rises between the two tents. 
Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-moi'row! 

[To King Richard. 
Think, how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth 
At Tewkesbury: Despair therefore, and die! 

Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls 
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf: 
King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. 

IVie Ghost of King Henry the Sixth rises. 
Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body 

[To King Richard. 
By thee was punched full of deadly holes: 
Think on the Tower and me: Despair, and die; 
Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die !— 
Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! 

[To Richmond. 
Harry, that prophesied thou should 'st be king. 
Doth comfort tnee in thy sleep: Live, and floui'ish ! 

The Ghost of Clarence rises. 
Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 

[To King Richard. 
I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine. 
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death ! 
To-morrow in the battle think on me. 
And fall thy edgeless sword: Despair, and die ! 
Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, 

[To Richmond. 
The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee; 
Good angels guard thy battle 1 Live, and flourish ! 

27ie Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan rise. 
Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, 

[To King Richard. 
Rivers, that died at Pomfret ! Despair, and die ! 
Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair ! 

[To King Richard. 
Vaugh. Think upon Vaughan; and, with guilty 
fear. 
Let fall thy lance ! Despair, and die 1 — 

[To King Richard. 
All. Awake ! and think, our wrongs in Richard's 
bosom [To Richmond. 

Will conquer him;— awake, and win the day ! 

Tlie Ghost of Hastings rise.'). 
Ghost. Bloody and guilty guiltily awake, 

[ToKing Richard. 
And in a bloody battle end thj' days ! 
Think on lord Hastings; and despair, and die.!— 
Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake ! 

[To Richmond. 
Arm, flght, and conquer, for fair England's sake I 

The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. 
Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the 
Tower, 
Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, 
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death ! 
"Thy nephew-s' souls bid thee despair, and die. 

Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy! 
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy ! 
Live, and beget a happy race of kings ! 
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 
The Ghost of Queen Anne rises. 
Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy 
Avite, 
That never slept a quiet hour with thee, 
Now fills thy sleep with perturbations: 
To-morrow in the battle think on me. 
And fall thy edgeless sword: Despair, and die !— 
Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep; 

[To Richmond. 
Dream of success and happy victory; 
Thy adversary's wife dotn pray for thee. 

The Ghost of Buckingham rises. 
Ghost. The first was I that help'd thee to the 
crown; [To King Richard. 

The last was I that felt thy tyranny: 
O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
And die in terror ot thy guiltiness ! 
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death ! 
Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath ! 
I died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid: 

[To Richmond. 
But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd: 
God and good angels fight on Richmond's side; 



And Richard fall in height of all his pride. 

[The Ghosts vanish. King Richard starts 
out of his dream. 
K. Rich. Give me another horse,— bind up my 
wounds,— 
Have mercy, Jesu !— Soft; I did but dream. 

coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! 
■The lights burn blue.— It Is now dead midnight. 
Cold fearful drops stand on m.v trembling flesh. 
What, do I fear myself? there 's none else by: 
Richard loves Richard; that is, lam I. 

Is there a murtherer here? No;— Yes; I am. 

Then fly,— What, from myself? Great reason; Why? 

Lest I revenge. What? Myself upon myself? 

Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? for any good. 

That I myself have done unto myself? 

O. no: alas, I rather hate myself. 

For hateful deeds committed by myself. 

1 am a villain: Yet I lie, I am not. 

Foot, of thyself speak well:— Fool, do not flatter. 
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues. 
And every tongue brings in a several tale. 
And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; 
Murther, stern murther, in the direst degree; 
All several sins, all used In each degree. 
Throng to the bar, crying all,— Guilty! guilty! 
I shall despair.— There is no creature loves me:— 
And if I die, no soul shall pity me; 
Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself 
Find in myself no pity to myself. 
Methought, the souls of all that I had murther'd 
Came to my tent: and every one did threat 
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
Enter Ratcliff. 
Rat. My lord! 

K. Rich. Who 's there? 

Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 't Is 1. The early village 
clock 
Hath twice done salutation to the morn; 
Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. 
K. Rich. O, Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful 
dream!— 
What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true? 
Rat. No doubt, my lord. 

K. Rich. Ratcliff, 1 fear, I fear.— 

Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows^ 
K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night 
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, 
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers. 
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. 
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; 
Under our tents I '11 play the eaves-dropper, 
T'o hear if any mean to shrink from me. 

[Exeunt King Richard and Ratcliff. 
Richmond wakes. Enter Oxford and others. 
Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. 
Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen. 
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. 
iMrds. How have you slept, my lord? 
Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding 
dreams. 
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head. 
Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
Methought, their souls whose bodies Richard mur- 
ther'd. 
Came to my tent, and cried on Victory. 
I promise you, my heart is very jocund 
In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
How far into the morning is it, lords? 
Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 
Richm. Why, then 't is time to arm, and give di- 
rection. — [He advances to the troops. 
More than I have said, loving countrymen. 
The leisure and enforcement of the time 
Forbids to dwell upon: Yet remember this— 
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side; 
The prayers or holy saints and wronged souls. 
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces 
Richard except, those whom we flght against 
Had rather have us win, than him they follow. 
For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, 
A bloody tyrant, and a homicide; 
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establlsh'd; 
One that made means to come by what he hath. 
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help 

him; 
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil 
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; 
One that hath ever been God's enemy: 
■Then if you flght against God's enemy, 
God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers; 
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down. 
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; 
If you do fight against your country's foes, 
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire; 
If you do flght in safeguard of your wives. 
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; 
U you do free your children from the sword. 
Your children's children quit it in your age. 
Then, in the name of God, and all these rights. 
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords: 
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; 
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt 
The least ot you shall share his part thereof. 
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully; 
God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! [Exe. 
Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants, and 
Forces. 
K. Rich. What saith Northumberland, as touching 

Richmond? 
Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. 
K. Rich. He said the truth: And what said Surrey 

then? 
Rat. He smil'd and said, the better for our purpose. 
K. Rich. He was 'i the right; and so, indeed, it is. 

[Clock strikes. 
Tell the clock there.— Give me a calendar.- 
Who saw the sun to-day? 
Rat. Not I, my lord. 

K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine; for, by the 
book. 
He should have braved the east an hour ago: 
A black day will it be to somebody.— 
Ratcliff,— 
Rat. My lord? 

K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day; 

The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
I would these dewy tears were from the ground. 
Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me. 
jMore than to Richmond? for the self-same heaven 
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. 



200 



KING IIENJiY VIII. 



[Act I. 



Kntcr Norfolk. 

Nor. Arm, nrm, my lord; the foe vaunts In the 
field. 

A'. 7I(o/i. Come, bustle, bustle: — Caparison my 
horse;— " 

Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: 
1 will lead forth mv soldiers to the plain. 
And thus mv battle shall be ordered. 
My forward shall lie drawn out all In length, 
Consisting equallv of horse and foot: 
Our an-hers shall be iilaeed in the midst; 
Joliu (lulve of Norfollv, Tliomas earl of Surrey, 
Shall liave the leading of the foot and horse, 
They thus directed, we will follow 
In the main liattie; whose puissance on either side 
Shall be will winged with our chiefest hor.se. 
This, and Saint George to boot!— What think'st thou, 
Norfolk? 

Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. 
This found I on my tent this morning. 

[GiV'.n\i a scroll. 

K. Rich. (Read.f) ' Jocky of Norfolk, be not so bold. 
For Dickon thy master Is bought and sold.' 
A thing devised by the enemy.— 
Go. gentlemen, every man unto his charge: 
I>et not our babbling dreams affright our souls; 
For conscience is a word that cowards use, 
Devis'd at fli-st to keep the strong in awe; 
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. 
March on, join bravely, let us to 't pell-mell; 
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. 

What shall I say more than I have inferr'd? 
Eemember whom you are to cope withal;— 
A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, 
A scum of Mretagnes, and base latkey peasants, 
Whom their o'er-cloy'd country vomits forth 
To desperate ventures and assur'rt destruction. 
You sleeping safe, they bring yon to unrest; 
You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, 
They would restrain the one, distain the other. 
And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow. 
Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost? 
A milksop, one that never in his life 
Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? 
Let 's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again; 
Lash hence these overweening rags of France, 
These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives; 
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit. 



For want of means, poor vats, had hang'd them 

sel ^'es. 
It we be conquer'd, let men conquer us. 
And not these bastard Bretagnes. wliom our fathers 
Have in thelrown land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, 
And. on record, left them tlie heirs of shame. 
Shall the.se enjoy our lands? lie with our wives? 
Ravish our daughters?— Hark, I hear their drum. 

[Drum afar off. 
Fight, gentlemen of England! flght, bold yeomen! 
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! 
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; 
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves! 

Enter a Messenger. 
What says lord Stanley? will he bring his power? 

Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. 

K. Rich. Oft with his son George's head! 

A'or. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh; 
After the battle let George Stanley die. 

K Rich, A tliousand hearts are great within my 
bosom: 
Advance our standards, set upon our foes; 
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
Inspire us witli the spleen of fiery dragons! 
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— Another Part of the Field. 

Alarum: Excursions. Enter Norfolk and Forces; to 
him Catesby. 

Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! 
The king enacts more wonders than a man. 
Daring an opposite to every danger; 
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights. 
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death: 
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost! 

Alartim. Enter King Richard. 

K. Rich. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a 
horse! 

Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I '11 help you to a horse. 

K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, 
And I will stand the hazard of the die: 
I think there be six Richmonds in the field; 
Five have I slain to-day, instead of him: 
A horse! a horse! mj' kingdom for a horse! \Exe. 

Alarums. Enfcr King Richard oiirt Richmond; f/iey 
fight; Richard (.s stain. 



Retreat and ftnuri.'<h. Then enter Richmond, Stan- 
ley hearing the crown, ivith divers other hords, and 
Forces. 

Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victorious 
friends; 
The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. 

Stan. Courageous Richrfiond, well hast thou acquit 
thee! 
Lo, here, these long-usurped royalties. 
From the dead temples of tins bloody wretch 
Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal; 
Wear it, endure it, make much of it, 

Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all! 
But, tell me, is young George Stanley living? 

Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town; 
Whither, if you please, we may withdraw us. 

Richm. What men of name are slain on either side? 

Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers. 
Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon. 

Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. 
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fied 
That in submission will return to us; 
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament. 
We will unite the white rose and the red: 
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 
That lon^ hath frown'd upon their enmity! 
What traitor hears me, and says not amen? 
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; 
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood. 
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son. 
The son, eompeil'd. been butcher to the sire; 
All this divided York and Lancaster, 
Divided in their dire division. 
O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth, 
The true sueceeders of each royal house, 
B.v God's fair ordinance conjoin together! 
And let their heirs, (God, if thy wlllbe so,; 
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace 
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days! 
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
That would reduce these bloodv days again. 
And make poor England weep in streams Of blood! 
Let them not live to taste this land's increase. 
That would with treason wound this fair land's 

peace! 
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again; 
That she may long live here, God say— Amen! 

[Exeunt. 



KING HENRY VIII. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



King Henry VIII. 
cardin.4l wolset. 
Cardinal Campeius. 
Capucius, Ambassador from the Em- 
peror, Charles V. 
Cranmer, Archliishop o/ Canterbury. 
Duke of Norfolk. 
Duke of Buckingham. 
Duke of Suffolk. 
Earl of Surrey. 
Lord Chamberlain. 
Lord Chancellor. 



Gardiner, Bishop o/ Winchester. 
Bishop of Lincoln. 
Lord Abergavenny. 
Lord Sands. 
Sir Henry Guildford. 
Sir Thomas Lovell. 
Sir Anthony Denny. 
Sir Nicholas Vaux. 
Secretaries to Wolsey. 
Cromwell, servant to Wolsey. 
Griffith, Gentleman- Usher to Queen 
Katharine. 



Three other Gentlemen. 

Doctor Butts, physician to the King. 

Garter King at Arms. 

Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. 

Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms. 

Door-keeper of the Council Chamber. 

Porter, and his tnan. 

Page to Gardiner. 

A Crier. 

Queen Katherine, vnfe to King Henry, 
afterwards divorced. 



Anne Bullen, her Maic' of Honour. 

afterwards Queen. 
An old La^y, friend to Anne Bullen. 
Patience, ivoman to Queen Katherine. 

Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumh 
Shoivs; women attending upon the 
Queen; Spirits which appear to her; 
Scribes, Officers, Guards, and other 
Attendants. 

SCET^IE.— Chiefly in London and West- 
minster; once at Kimbolton. 



PROLOGUE. 

I come no more to make you laugh; things now, 
That bear a weighty and a serious brow. 
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe. 
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow. 
We now present. Those that can pity, here 
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; 
The subject will deserve it. Such as give 
Their money out of hope they may believe. 
May here find truth too. Those that come to see 
Only a show or two, and so agree * 

The play may pass, if they be still and willing, 
I 'li undertake may see aw ay their shilling 
Richly in two short hours. Only they 
That come to hear a merry, bawdy play, 
A noise of targets; or to see a fellow 
In a long motley coat, guarded with yellow. 
Will be deceived: for, gentle hearers, know. 
To rank our chosen truth with such a show 
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting 
Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 
(To make that only true we now intend,) 
Will leave us never an understanding friend. 
Therefore, for goodness' sake, and, as you are known 
The first and happiest hearers of the town. 
Be sad, as we would make you: Think, ye see 
The very persons of our noble story, 
AS they were living; think, you see them great. 
And foliow'd with the general throng and sweat 
Of thousand friends; then in a moment see 
How soon this mightiness meets misery! 
And if you can be merry then, I '11 say 
A man may weep upon his wedding-day. 

ACT I. 

Scene I. — London. An Ante-chamher in the Palace. 

Enter the Duke of Norfolk, at one door; at the other, 
the Duke of Buckingham, and the Lord Abergaven- 
ny. 

Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have you 
done. 

Since last we saw In France? 
Nor. I thank your grace: 

Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer 

Of what I saw there. 
Buck. An untimely ague 

Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 

Those suns of glory, those two lights of men. 

Met in the vale of Andren. 
Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde: 

I was then present, saw them salute on horseback; 

Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung 

In their embracement as they grew together; 



Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have 

weigh'd 
Such a compounded one? 

Buck. All the whole time 

I was my chamber's prisoner. 

Nor. Then you lost 

The view of earthly glory: Men might say. 
Till this time pomp was single, but now married 
To one above itself. Each following day 
Became the next day's master, till the last 
Made former wonders its: To-day, the French, 
AH clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods. 
Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they 
Made Britain, India: every man that stood 
Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 
Ascherubins, all gilt: the madams too. 
Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
The pride upon them, that their very labour 
Was to them as a painting: Now this mask 
Was cry'd incomparable; and the ensuing night 
Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings. 
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst. 
As presence did present them; him in eye 
Still him in praise: and, being present both, 
'T was said they saw but one: and no discerner 
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns 
(For so they phrase them) by their heralds chal- 

leng'd 
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 
Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous 

story. 
Being now seen possible enough, got credit, 
That Bevis was bellev'd. 

Buck. O, you go far. 

Nor. As I belong to worship, and aft'ect 
In honour honesty, the tract of everything 
Would by a good discourser lose some life. 
Which action's self was tongue to. 

Buck. All was royal; 

To the disposing of it nought rebell'd. 
Order gave each thing view; the ofBce did 
Distinctly his full function. Who did guide? 
I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
Of this great sport together? 

Nor. As you guess: 

One, certcs, that promises no element 
In such a business. 

Buck. I pray you, who, my lord? 

Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion 
Of the right reverend Cardinal of York. 

Buck. The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed 
From his ambitious finger. What had lie 
To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder 
That such a keech can with his ver.v bulk 
Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun. 



And keep it from the earth. 

Nor. ^ Surely, sir. 

There 's in him stuff tliat puts him to tliese ends: 
For, being not propp'd by .'incestry, whose grace 
Chalks successors their way; nor called upon 
For high feats done to the crown; neither allied 
To eminent assistants; but, spider-like. 
Out of his self-drawing-web,— O! give us note!— • 
The force of his own merit makes his way 
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys 
A place next to the king. 

Aber. I cannot tell 

What heaven hath given him; let some graver eye 
Pierce into that; but I can see his pride 
Peep through each part of him: Whence has he 

that? 
If not from hell— the devil is a niggard, 
Or has given all before, and he begins 
A new hell in himself. 

Buck. Why the devil. 

Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, 
Without the privity o' the king, to appoint 
Who should attend on him? He makes up the file 
Of all tjie gentry; for the most part such 
To whom as great a charge as little honour 
He meant to lay upon: and his own letter, 
(The honourable board of council out,) 
Must fetch him in he papers. 

Aber. I do know 

Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have 
By this so sicken'd their estates, that never 
They sliall abound as formerly. 

Buck. O, many 

Have broke their backs with laying manors on them 
For this great Journey. What did this vanity. 
But minister communication of 
A most poor issue? 

Nor. Grievingly Ithink, 

The peace between the French and us not values 
The cost that did conclude it. 

Buck. Every man. 

After the hideous storm that foliow'd, was 
A thing inspir'd; and, not consulting, broke 
Into a general prophecy,— That this tempest. 
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboaed 
The sudden breach on 't. 

Nor. Which is budded out; 

For France hath flaw'd the league, and hathattach'd 
Our merchants goods at Bourdeaux. 

Aber. Is it therefore 

The ambassador Issilenc'd? 

Nor. Marry, is 't. 

Aber. A proper title of a peace; and purchas'd 
At a superfluous rate! 

Buck. Why, all this business 



Scene i.] 



KIXG 2/E.YIir VIII. 



201 



Our reverend cardinal carried. 

jVor. 'Like it your grace, 

The state takes notice of the private difference 
Betwixt you and the cardihal. I advise you, 
(And take it from a he.art that wishes towards you 
Honour and plenteous safety,) tiiat you read 
Thecardinal's malice and his potency 
Together: to consider furtlier, tliat 
What his high hatred woul<l effect wants not 
A minister in his power: You know his nature. 
That he 's revengeful; and I know his sword 
Hath a sharp edge: It 's long, and 't may be said. 
It reaches far; and where 't will not extend. 
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel. 
You '11 find It wholesome. Lo, where comes that 

rock 
That I advise your shunning. 
£nfer Cardinal Wolsey, (thf^irurae l/oi-nc before him.) 

certain of the Gtfard, and tiro Secretaries with 

jmi^ers. The Cardinal in his passage fm-th his ej/e 

on Buckingham, and Buckingham on liim, both 

full of disdain. 

Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor? ha? 
Where's his examination? 

1 Seer. Here, so please you. 

Wol. Is he in person ready? 

1 Seer. Ay, please your grace. 

fVol. Well, we shall then know more; and Buck- 
ingham 
Shall lessen this big look. 

[E.reunt Wolsey, and Train. 

Bnck. This butcher's cur is venom-niouth'd, and I 
Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore, best 
Not wake him In his slumber. A beggar's book 
Out-worths a noble's blood. 

Nor. What, are you chaf'd? 

Ask God for temperance; that 's the appliance only 
Which your disease requires. 

Buck ■ Ireadinhis looks 

Matter against me; and his eye revil'd 
Me, as his abject object: at this instant 
He bores me with some trick: he 's gone to the king; 
I '11 follow, and out-stare him. 

Nor. Stay, my lord, 

And let .your reason with your eiioier question 
What 'tis you go about: To climb steep hills 
Requires slow pace at first: Anger is lilce 
A full-hot horse; who being allow'd his way. 
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
Can advise me like yon: be to yourself 
As you would to your friend. 

Buck. I '11 to the king: 

And from a mouth of honour quite cry down 
Thislpswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim 
There 's difference iu no persons. 

Kor. Be advis'd. 

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
That it do singe yourself: We may outrun. 
By violent swiftness, that which we run at 
And lose by over-running. Know you not 
The fire that mounts the liquor till It run o'er. 
In seeming to augment it, wastes It? Be advis'd: 
I say again, there is no English sonl 
More stronger to direct you tlian yourself: 
It with the sap of reason you would quench. 
Or but allay, tne fire of passion. 

Buck. Sir, 

I am thankful to you: and I 'II go along 
By your prescription: — l)ut tills top-proud fellow, 
(Whom from the flow of gall Inn me not, but 
From sincere motions,) by intelligence. 
And proofs as clear as founts in July, when 
We see each grain of gravel, I do know 
To be corrupt and treasonous. 

Xor. Say not treasonous. 

Buck. To the king I '11 say 't; and make my vouch 
as strong 
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox. 
Or Avolf, or both, (for he Is equal ravenous 
As he Is subtle; and as prone to mischief 
As able to perform it: his mind and place 
Infecting one another, .yea, reciprocally,) 
Only to show his pomp as well in France 
As here at home, suggests the king our master 
To this last costly treaty, the interview, 
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass 
Did break 1' the rinsing. 

J\or. 'Faith, and so It did. 

Buck. Pray, give ]ne favour, sir. This cujinlng car- 
dinal 
The articles o' the combination drew 
As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified. 
As he cried. Thus let it be: to as nmeh end 
As give a crutch to the dead: But our count-cardi- 
nal 
Has done this, and 't is well; for worthy Wolsey, 
Who cannot err, he did it. Now tliis follows, 
(Which, as I take it. Is a kind of puppy 
To the old dam, treason,)— Charles the emperor. 
Under pretence to see the queen his aunt, 
(For 't was, indeed, his colour; but he came 
To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation; 
His fears were, that the interview betwixt 
England and France might, through tlieir amity. 
Breed him some prejudice; for from this league, 
Peep'd harms that menac'd him: He privily 
Deals with our cardinal; and. as I trow,— 
Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor 
Paid ere he promls'd; wliereby his suit was granted 
Ere It was asked; — but when the way was made. 
And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd. 
That ne would please to alter the king's course. 
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, 
(As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal 
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, 
And for his own advantage. 

Nor. I am sorr.v 

To hear this of him; and could wish he were 
Something mistaken in 't. 

Buck. No, not a syllable: 

I do pronounce him in that very shape 
He shall appear in proof. 

inter Brandon; a Sergeant at Arms before him, and 
two or three of tlie Guard. 

Bran. Your office, sergeant; execute It. 

Serg. Sir, 

Mv lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl 
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I 
Arrest thee of high treason. In the name 
Of our most sovereign king. 

Buck. Lo you, my lord, 

The net has fallen upon me; I shall perish 
Under device and practice. 



Bran. I am sorr.v 

To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
The business present: 'T is his highness' pleasure. 
You shall to the Tower. 

Buck. It will help me nothing 

To plead mine'iunoeence; for that dye Is on me. 
Which makes my whitest part black. The will of 

heaven 
Be done In this and all things!— I obey.— 

my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well. 

Bran. Nay, he must bear you coinpany:— The king 
[To Abergavenny. 
Is pleas'd you shall to the Tower, till you know 
How he determines further. 

Aber. As the duke said. 

The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure 
B.v me obey'd. 

Bran. Here is a warrant from 

The king, to attach lord Montacute; and the bodies 
Of the duke's confessor, .7ohn de la Car, 
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor,— 

Buck. So, so; 

These are the limbs of the plot: no more, I hope. 

Bran. A monk o' the Chartreu.x. 

Buck. O, Michael Hopkins? 

Bran. He. 

Buck. My surveyor is false; the o'er-great car- 
dinal 
Hath show'd him gold: my life is spann'd already: 

1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham; 
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, 
By dark'ning my clear sun.— My lords, farewell. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene II.— The Council-Chamber. 

Comets. Enter King Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, the 
Lords of the Council, Sir Thomas Lovell, Officers, 
and Attendants. The King enters, learning on the 
Cardinal's shoulder. 

K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it. 
Thanks you for this great care: I stood I' tlie level 
Of a full charg'd confederacy, and give thanks 
To you that chok'd it.— Let be call'd before us 
That gentleman of Buckingham's: in person 
I '11 hear him his confessions justify: 
And point by point the treasons of his master 
He shall again relate. 

The King takes his State. The Lords of the Council 
take their several places. The Cardinal jflaces him- 
self under the King's /cef, on his right side. 
A noise within, crying. Room for tlie QueenI Enter 
the Queen, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and 
Suffolk: she kneels. The King riseth from his State, 
takes her up, kisses, and placeth her by him. 
Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a suitor. 
K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us:— Half your 
suit 
Never name to us; you have half our power; 
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; 
Repeat your will, and take it. 

Q. Kaih. Thank your majesty. 

That you would love yourself, and, in that love. 
Not unconsider'd leave .your honour, nor 
The dignity of your office, is the point 
Of m.v petition. 
K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 

Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, 
And those of true conditloii, that your subjects 
Are In great grievance: there have been commis- 
sions 
Sent down among them, which have flaw'dthe heart 
Of all their loyalties:— wherein, although. 
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
Most bitterly on j'ou, as putter-on 
Of these exactions, yet the king our master, 
(Whose honour heaven shield from soil!) even he es- 
capes not 
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
The sides of loyalty, ami almost appears 
'ji loud rebellion. 
/ Nor. Not almost appears. 

It doth appear: for, upon these taxations, 
The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
The many to them 'longing, have put oft 
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavei'S, who, 
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger. 
And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
Daring tlie event to the teeth, are all in uproar. 
And Danger serves among them. 

K. Hen. Taxation! 

Wherein? and what taxation?— My loi'd cardinal. 
You that are blam'd for it alike with us, 
Know you of this taxation? 

Wol. Please you, sir, 

I know but a single part, in aught 
Pertains to the state; and front but In that file 
Where others tell steps with me. 

Q. Kath. No, my lord. 

You know no more than others; but you frame 
Things, that are known alike, which are not whole- 
some 
To those which would not know them, and yet must 
Perforce be their acquaintance. Tliese exactions 
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
Most pestilent to the hearing; and to bear them 
The back is sacrifice to tlie load. They say 
They are devis'd by you; or else you suffer 
Too hard an exclamation. 

K. Hen. Still exaction ! 

The nature of it? In what kind, let 's know. 
Is this exaction? 

Q. Kath. 1 am much too venturous 

In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd 
Under your promls'd pardon. The subject's grief • 
Comes through commissions, which compel from 

each 
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 
Without delay; and the pretence for this [ 
Is nam'd, your wars in France; This makes bold 

mouths; 
Tongues spit their duties out; and cold hearts freeze 
Allegiance in them; their curses now 
Live where their prayers did; and it "s come to pass, 
This tractable obedience is a slave 
To each incensed will. I would your highness 
Would give It quick consideration, for 
There is no primer baseness. 

K. Hen. By my life. 

This is against our pleasure. 

Wol. And for me, 

I have no further gone in this, than by 
A single voice; and that not pass'd me, but 
By learned approbation of the judges. If I am 



Tradue'd by Ignorant tongues, which neither know 

My faculties, nor- person, yet will be 

The clu'oiilrlcs ol ]iiy iloiiig,— let me say 

'T is but the late ul' pl.ici'. and the rough brake 

That virtue must go thiough. We must not stlnc 

Our necessary actions, in the tear 

To cope malicious censurers; which ever. 

As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 

That is new-trlmm'd; but benefit no further 

Than vainl.v longing. What we oft do best. 

By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is 

Not ours, or not allow'd: what worst, as oft 

Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 

For our best act. If we shall stand still. 

In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 

We should take root here where we sit, or sit 

State statues only. 

K. Hen. Things done well. 

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; 
Things done without e.\ample, in their issue 
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
Of this commission? I believe not any. 
We must not rend our subjects from our laws. 
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? 
A trembling contribution ! Why, we take 
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber; 
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd 
The air will drink the sap. To every county 
Where this is question'd, send our letters, with 
Free pardon to each man that has denied 
The force of this commission: Pray, look to 't; 
I put It to your care. 

Wol. A. word with you. 

[To the Secretary. 
Let there be letters writ to every sliire. 
Of the king's grace and pardon. The grlev'd com- 
mons 
Hardly conceive of me; let it be nois'd. 
That through our Intercession this revokement 
And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you 
Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary. 

Enter Surveyor. 

Q. Kath. I am sorry that the duke of Buckingham 
Is run In your displeasure. 

K. Hen. It grieves many: 

The gentleman is learn 'd, and a most rare speaker. 
To nature none more bound; his training such 
That he may furnish and instruct great teachers. 
And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see 
Wlien these so noble benefits shall prove 
Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt. 
They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly 
Thau ever they were fair. This man so complete. 
Who was enroU'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, 
Almost witli ravlsh'd list'ning, could not find 
His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady, 
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 
That once were his, and Is become as blacli 
As If besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear 
(This was his gentleman in trust) of him 
Things to strike honour sad.— Bid him recount 
The fore-recited practices; whereof 
We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 

Wol. Stand forth; and with bold spu-It relate what 
you. 
Most like a careful subject, have collected 
Out of the duke of Buckingham. 

K. Hen. Speak freely. 

Snrv. First, It was usual with him, every day 
It would infect his speech, That if the king 
Should without Issue die, he 'II carry It so 
To make the sceptre his: These very words 
I have heard him utter to his son-in-law, 
Lord Abei'ga'ny: to whom by oath he menac'd 
Revenge upon the cardinal. 

Wol. Please your highness, note 

This dangerous conception In this point. 
Not friended by his wish, to your high person 
His will is most malignant; and it stretches 
Beyond you, to your friends. 

6. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal, 

Deliver all with charity. 

K. Hen. Speak on: 

How grounded he his title to the crown. 
Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him 
At any time speak aught? 

Su-i~v. He was brought to this 

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton. 

K. Hen. Wliat was that Henton? 

Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar; 

His confessor; who fed him every minute 
With words of sovereignty. 

K. Hen. How kno w'st thou this? 

Surv. Not long befoi'e your highness sped to 
France, 
The duke being at the Rose, within the parish 
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand 
What was the speech among the Londoners 
Concerning the French journey: I replied. 
Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious, 
To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
Said, 'T was the fear, indeed; and that he doubted 
'T would prove the verity of certain words 
Spoke by a holy monk: 'that oft,' says he, 
'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit 
John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour 
To hear from him a matter of soine moment: 
Whom after under the confession's seal 
He solemnly had sworn, that, what he spoke. 
My chaplain to no creature living, but 
To me, should utter, with demure confidence. 
This pauslngly ensued— Neither the king, nor his 

heirs, 
(Tell you the duke) shall prosper: bid him strive 
To gain the love of the commonality; the duke 
Shall govern England.' 

Q. Kath. If I know you well, 

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office 
On the complaint o' the tenants: Take good heed 
You charge not in your spleen a noble person. 
And spoil .your nobler soul! I say, take heed: 
Yes, heartily beseech you. 

K. Hen. Let him on:— 

Go forward. 

Surv. On my soul, T '11 speak but truth. 

I told my lord the duke, by the devil's Illusions 
The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas danger- 
ous for him 
To ruminate on this so far, until 
It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd. 
It was much like to do: He answer'd, "Tusii! 
It can do me no damage:' adding further. 
That had the king in his last sickness fail'd. 



( 



20S 



KING HENBY VIII. 



LACT II. 



The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads 
Should have gone off. 

K. Hen. Ha! what so rank? Ah, ha! 

There "s mischief In this man: Canst thou say 
further-" 

Surv. I can, my liege. 

K. Hen. Proceed. 

Surv. Being at GSreenwich, 
After your highness had reprov'd the duke 
About sir Wuiiam Blomer,— 

K. Hen, I rememher 

Of sucli a time— Being my sworn servant. 
The duke retain'd him his. But on; What hence? 

Surv. 'If,' quoth he, "I for this had been com- 
mitted, 
As, to the Tower, I thought,— I would have play'd 
The part my father meant to act upon 
The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, 
Made suit to come in his presence; which if granted, 
As he made semblance of his duty, would 
Have put his knife into him.' 

K. Hen. A giant traitor! 

Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live In free- 
dom. 
And this man out of prison? 

Q. Kath. God mend all! 

A. Hen. There 's something more would out of 
thee? what says 't? 

Surr. After— ' the duke his father,'— with 'the 
knife.'- 
He stretch'd him. and, with one hand on his dagger, 
Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes, 
He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenour 
Was,— were he evil us'd, he would outgo 
His father, by as much as a performance 
Does an irresolute purpose. 

K. Hen. There 's his period, 

To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd; 
Call him to present trial: if he may 
Find mercy in the law, 't Is his; If none. 
Let him not seek 't of us: by day and night, 
He 's traitor to the height. lExennt. 

Scene III. — .4. Room in the Palace 
Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands. 

Cham. Is 't possible the spells of France should 
juggle 
Men into such strange mysteries? 

Sands. New customs, 

Though they be never so ridiculous. 
Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 

Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English 
Have got by the late voyage is but merely 
A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones; 
For when they hold them, you would swear directly 
Their very noses had been counsellors 
To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so. 

Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones; one 
would take it. 
That never saw them pace before, the spavin 
Or springhalt reign'd among them. 

Chiun. Death! my lord, 

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too. 
That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How 

now? 
What news, sir Thomas Lovell? 

Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. 

Lov. 'Faith, my lord, 

I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
That 's clapp'dupon the court-gate. 

Cham. What is 't for? 

Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants. 
That fill the court with Quarrels, talk, and tailors. 

Cham. I am glad 't Is there; now I would pray our 
monsieurs 
To think an English courtier may be wise. 
And never see the Louvre. 

Lov. They must either 

(For so run the conditions) leave those remnants 
Of fool, and feather, that the.y got in France, 
With all their honourable points of ignorance. 
Pertaining thereunto, (as rights and fireworks; 
Abusing better men than they can be. 
Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean 
The faith they have in tennis and tall stockings. 
Short blistered breeches, and those types of travel, 
And understand again like honest men; 
Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it. 
They may, cum privilegio, wear away 
The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. 

SanoLs. "I is time to give them physio, their dis- 
eases 
Are grown so catching. 

Cham. What a loss our ladies 

Win have of these trim vanities! 

Lov. Ay, marry. 

There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons 
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; 
A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow. 

Sands The devil fiddle them! I am glad they 're 
going: 
(For, sure, there 's no converting of them:) now, 
An honest countr.y lord, as I am, beaten 
A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song, 
And have an hour of hearing; and, by 'r lady. 
Held current music too. 

Cham. Well said, lord Sands; 

Your colt's tooth Is not cast yet. 

Sands. No, my lord; 

Nor shall not, while I have a stump. 

Cham. Sir Thomas, 

Whither were you a going? 

Lov. To the cardinal's; 

Your lordship Is a guest too. 

Cham. O, 't is true: 

This night he makes a supper, and a great one. 
To many lords and ladies; there will be 
The beauty of this kingdom, I '11 assure you. 

Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind in- 
deed, 
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; 
His dews fall everywhere. 

Cham. No doubt he 's noble; 

He had a black mouth that said other of him. 

Sands. He may, my lord; he has wherewithal; In 
him, 
Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine: 
Men of his way should be most liberal. 
They are set here for examples. 

Cham. True, they are so 

But few now give so great ones. My barge stays; 
Yoi'r lordship shall along:— Come, good sir Thomas, 
We shall be late else; which I would not be, 



For I was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildford, 
This night to be comptrollers. 
Sands. I am your lordship's. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV.—The Presence-Chamber in York- 
Place. 

Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Car- 
dinal, a longer table for the guests. Enter at one 
door Anne Bullen, and divers Lords, Ladies, and 
Gentlewomen as gue.its; at another door, enter Sir 
Henry Guildford. 

Ouild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace 
Salutes ye all: This night he dedicates 
To fair content, and you: none here, he hopes. 
In all tills noble bevy, has brought v^ith her 
One care abroad: he would have all as merry 
As first, good company, good wine, good welcome. 
Can make good people. O, my lord, you are tardy; 
Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir 

Thomas Lovell. 
The very thought of this fair company 
Clapp'd wings to me. 
Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford? 
Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal 
But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these 
Should find a running banquet ere they rested, 
I think would better please them: By my life. 
They are a sweet society of fair ones. 

Lov. O, that your lordship were but now confessor 
To one or two of these ! 

Sands. I would I were; 

They should find easy penance. 
Lov. 'Faith, how easy? 

Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. 
Cham. Sweet ladles, will it please you sit? Sir 
Harry, 
Place you that side, I '11 take the charge of this: 
His grace is ent'ring.— Nay, you must not freeze; 
Two women plac'd together makes cold weather: — 
My lord Sands, you are one will keep them wakiug; 
Pray, sit between these ladies. 

Sands. By my faith. 

And thank your lordship.— By your leave, sweet 
ladies: 

[Seats himselfhetween Anne Bullen and 
another lady. 
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; 
I had it from my father. 
Anne. Was he mad, sir? 

Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too: 
But he would bite none; just as I do now,~. 
He would kiss you twenty with a breath. 

[Kisses her. 
Cham. Well said, my lord.— 

So now you are fairly seated:— Gentlemen, 
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladles 
Pass away frowning. 

Sands. For my Uttle cure, 

Let me alone. 

Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, attended; and 
takes his state. 
Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests; that noble 
lady. 
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry. 
Is not my friend: This, to confirm my welcome; 
And to you all good health. [py-inlcs. 

Sands. Your grace is noble:- 

Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, 
And save me so much talking. 

Wol. My lord Sands, 

I am beholden to you: cheer your neighbours. 
Ladies, you are not merry;— Gentlemen, 
Whose fault is this? 

Sands. The red wine first must rise 

In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 

them 
Talk us to silence. 

Anne. You are a merry gamester, 

My lord Sands. 

Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 

Here 's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam. 
For 't is to such a thing,— 
Anne. You cannot show me. 

Sands. I told your grace they would talk anon. 

[Brum and trumpets within: Chambers 
discharged. 
Wol. What 's that? 

Cham. Look out there, some of ye. [Ex. a Serv. 
Wol. What warlike voice? 

And to what end is this?— Nay, ladies, fear not; 
By all the laws of war ye are prlvileg'd. 
Reenter a Servant. 
Cham. How now? what is 't? 
Serv. A noble troop of strangers; 

For so they seem; they have left their barge and 

landed; 
And hither make, as great ambassadors 
From foreign princes. 

Wol. Good lord chamberlain. 

Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French 

tongue; 
And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them 
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
Shall shine at full upon them:— Some attend him.— 
[Exit Chamberlain, attended. All arise, 
and tables removed. 
You have now a broken banquet; but we '11 mend it. 
A good digestion to you all: and, once more, 
I shower a welcome on you;— Welcome all. 
Hautboys. Enter the King, and others, as maskers 
habited like shepherds; ushered by the Lord Cham- 
berlain. They pass directly before the Cardinal, and 
gracefully salute him. 
A noble company! what are their pleasures? 
Cliam. Because they speak no English, thus they 
pray'd 
To tell your grace;— That having heard by fame 
Of this so noble and so fair assembl.v 
This night to meet here, they could do no less. 
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty. 
But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct. 
Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat 
An hour of revels with them. 

Wol. Say. lord chamberlain. 

They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 

them 
A thousand thanks, and pray them take their plea- 
sures. 

[Ladies chosen for the dance. The King 
chooses Ann Puilen. 



K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O, 
beauty. 
Till now I never knew thee! [Music. Dance. 

Wol. My lord. 

Cham. Your grace? 

Wot. Pray, tell them thus much from me: 
There should be one amongst them, bv his person. 
More worthy this place than myself; to whom 
If I but knew him. with my love and duty 
I would surrender it. 

Cham. I will, my lord. 

[Cham, goes to the company, and returns. 

Wol. What say they? 

Cham. Such a one, they all confess. 

There is, indeed; which they would have your grace 
Find out, and he will take it. 

Wol. Let me see then.— 

[Comes from his state. 
By all your good leaves, gentlemen;— Here I'll make 
My royal choice. 

K. Hen, You have found him, cardinal: 

[Unmasking. 
You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord: 
*You are a churchman, or I "11 tell you, cardinal, 
I should judge now unhappily. 

Wol, I am glad 

Your grace is grown so pleasant. 

K. Hen. My lord chamberlain, 

Prithee, come hither: What fair lady's that? 

Cham. Au 't please your grace. Sir Thomas Bul- 
len's daughter. 
The viscount Eochford, one of her highness' women. 

K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one.— Sweet- 
heart, 
I were unmannerly to take you out. 
And not to kiss you.— A health, gentlemen, 
Let it go round. 

Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready 
I' the privy chaniber? 

Lov. Yes, my lord. 

Wol. , Your grace, 

I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 

K. Hen. I fear, too much. 

Wol. There's fresher air, my lord, 

In the next chamber. 

K. Hen. Lead in your ladles, every one. —Sweet 
partner, 
I must not yet forsake you.— Let 's be merry;— 
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths 
To drink to these fair ladles, and a measure 
To lead them once again; and then let's dream 
Who's best in favour. —Let the music knock it. 

[Exeunt uiith trumpets. 

ACT n. 

Scene l.—A Street. 

Enter tivo Gentlemen, meeting. 

1 Gent. Whither away so fast? 

2 Gent. O,— God save ye! 
Even to the hall, to hear what shall become 

Of the great duke of Buckingham. 

1 Gent. I '11 save you 
That labour, sir. All 's now done, but the ceremony 
Of bringing back the prisoner. 

2 Gent. Were you there? 

1 Gent. Yes, Indeed, was I. 

2 Gent. Praj- speak what has happen'd. 

1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. 

2 Gent. Is he found guilty? 

1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condenm'd upon it. 

2 Gent. I am sorry for't. 

1 Gent. So are a number more. 

2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it? 

1 Gent. I 'II tell you in a little. The great duke 
Came to the bar; where to his actusations 

He pleaded still, not gulit,v, and alleg'd 

Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. 

The king's attorney, on the contrary, 

Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions 

Of divers witnesses; which the duke desir'd 

To have brought, viva voce, to his face: 

At which appear'd against him, his surveyor; 

Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, 

Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, 

Hopkins, that made this mischief. 

2 Gent. That was he 
That fed hira with his prophecies? 

1 Gent. The same. 
All these accus'd him strongly: which he fain 
Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could 

not: 
And so his peers, upon this evidence. 
Have found him guilty of high treason. Much 
He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all 
Was either pitied in him, or forgotten. 

2 Gent. Alter all this, how did he bear himself? 

1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, to 

hear 
His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd 
With such an agony, he sweat extremely, 
And-something spoke In choler, ill, and hasty: ' 

But he fell to himself again, and sweetly 
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. 

2 Gent. I do not think he fears death. 

1 Gent. Sure, he does not, 
He never was so womanish; the cause 

He may a little grieve at. 

2 Gent. Certainly 
The cardinal is the end of this. 

1 Gent. 'T is likely. 
By all conjectures: First, Kildare's attainder, 
Then deputy of Ireland; who remov'd. 

Earl Surrey was sent thither, and In haste too. 
Lest he should help his father. 

2 Gent That trick of state 
Was a deep envious one. 

1 Gent. At his return, 

No doubt he will requite it. This is noted. 
And generally, whoever the king favours. 
The cardinal instantly will find employment. 
And far enough from court too. 

2 Gent. All the commons 
Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience. 
Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much 
They love and dote on; call him bounteous Bucking- 
ham, 

The mirror of all courtesy. 

Enter Buckingham /rojn his arraignment: Tipstaves 
before httn; the axe ioith the ed^e towards him; hal- 
berds on each side; accompanied with Sir Thomas 
Lovell, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William Sands, and 
common i)eople. 



Scene i.] 



KING IIEXRY nil. 



203 



1 Gent. Stny there, sir, 
And see the noble ruined man yon speak of. 

2 Gent. Let 's stand close, and behohl him. 

Buck. All good people, 

You that thus far have come to pity me. 
Hear what I say, and then go lionie and lose me. 
I have this dav receiv'd a traitor's iudcrment. 
And by that name must die: Yet, heaven bear wit- 
ness. 
And It I have a conscience let it sink me. 
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful; 
The law I bear no malice for my death. 
It has done, upon the premises, but justice: 
But those that sought it I could wish more christians: 
Be what they will, I heartily forgive them: 
Yet let them look they glory not in mischief. 
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; 
For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. 
For further lite in this world I ne'er hope. 
Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies 
More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd 

me. 
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave 
Is only bitter to him, only dying. 
Go with nie, like good angels, to my end: 
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, 
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice. 
And lift my soul to heaven.— Lead on, o'God's name. 

Lov. I do" beseech your grace, for charity, 
If ever eny malice in yonr heart 
■Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. 

Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you 
As I would be forgiven: I forgive all: 
There cannot be tliose numberless oft'ences 
'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with: 
No black envy shall mark my grave. 
Commend me to his grace; 
And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him. 
You met him halt in heaven: my vows and prayers 
Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake, 
Shall cry for blessings on him: May he live 
Longer "than I have time to tell his years! 
Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be! 
And, when old time shiill lead him to his end. 
Goodness and he Jill up one monumentl 

Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace; 
Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, 
Who undertakes you to your end. 

To K.I-. Prepare there, 

The duke is coming; see the barge be ready; 
And fit it with such furniture as suits 
The greatness ot his person. 

Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas, 

Let it alone; my state no>v will but mock me. 
When I came hither I was lord high constable, 
And duke ot Buckingham; now, poor Edward 

Bohun: 
Yet I am richer than my base accusers. 
That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; 
And with that blood will make them one day groan 

for 't. 
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, 
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, 
Flying for succour to his servant Banister, 
Being distress 'd, was b.v that wretch betray'd. 
And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! 
Henry the seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
Jly father's loss, like a most royal prince, 
Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins. 
Made my name once more noble. Now his son, 
Henry the eighth, life, honour, name, and all 
That made me happ.v, at one stroke has taken 
For ever from the world. I had my trial. 
And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me 
A little happier than my wretched father: 
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes,— Both 
Fell by our servants, by tnose men we lov'd most; 
A most unnatural and faithless service! 
Heaven has an end in all; Yet, you that hear me. 
This from a dying man receiveas certain: 
Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels. 
Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends. 
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive 
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
Like water from ye, never found again 
But where the.v mean to sink ye. All good people. 
Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour 
Of my long weary lite is come upon me. 
Farewell: 

.4.ud when you would say something that is sad. 
Speak how I tell.— I have done; and God forgive me! 
[^Exeunt Buckingham ana Train, 

1 Gent. O, this is full of pityl— Sir, it calls, 
I fear, too many curses on their heads 
That were the authors. 

2 Getit. It the duke be guiltless, 
'T is full ot woe: yet I can give you inkling 

Ot an ensuing evil, if it fall. 
Greater than this. 

1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us! 
What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? 

2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 't will require 
A strong faith to conceal it. 

1 Gent. Let me have it; 
I do not talk much. 

2 Gent. I am confident; 

You shall, sir: Did you not ot late days hear 
A buzzing, of a separation 
Between the king and Katharine? 

1 Gent. Yes, but it held not: 
For when the king once heard it, out ot anger 

He sent command to the lord mayor, straight 
To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues 
That durst disperse it. 

2 Gent. But that slander, sir. 
Is found a truth now: for it grows again 
Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain 
The king will venture at It. Either the cardinal. 
Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple 
That will undo her: To confirm this too. 
Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately; 

As all think, for this business. 

1 Gent. 'T is the cardinal; 
And merel.v to revenge him on the emperor, 
For not bestowing on him, at his asking, 

The archbishopric of Toledo, this is piu-pos'd. 

2 Gent. I think you have hit the mark: But is 't 

not cruel 
That she should feel the smart ot this? The cardinal 
Will have his will, and she must tall. 

1 Genl. 'T is woeful. 

"iVe are too open here to argue this; 



Let 's think in private more. {h'.trunt. I 

SCEXE II.— -4n .Antecliamber in the Palace. 

inter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a letter. 

Cham. 

'Mv Lord,— The horses your lordship sent for, with 
all the care I had I saw well chosen, ridden, and 
turnisheci. They were , young and handsome; and of 
the best breed in the north. When they were ready 
to set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, 
by commission and main power, took 'em from me; 
w'ith this reason.— His master would be served be- 
fore a subject, if not before the king; which stopped 
our mouths, sir.' 

I fear, he will, indeed: Well, let him have them: 
He will have all, 1 think. 

Enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. 

Kor. Well met, my lord chambei"laln. 

Cham. Good day to both your graces. 

Huf. How is the king employ'd? 

Cham. I left him private. 

Full of sad thought and troubles. 

Nor. What 's the cause? 

Cham. It seems the marriage with his brother's 
wife 
Has crept too near his conscience. 

Suf. No, his conscience 

Has crept too near another lady. 

Nor. 'T is so: 

This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: 
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune. 
Turns what he list. The king will know him oneday. 

Stif. Pray God he do! he '11 never know himself 
else. 

Nor. How holily he works in all his business! 
And with what zeal! For now he has crack'd the 

league 
Between us and t"jie emperor, the queen's great ne- 
phew: 
He dives into the king's soul: and there scatters 
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience. 
Fears, and despairs, and all these tor his marriage: 
And out of all these to restore the king, 
He counsels a divorce: a loss of her 
That, like a jewel, has hung t went.v years 
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre: 
Of her that loves him with that excellence 
That angels love good men with; even of her 
That when the greatest stroke of fortune falls 
Will bless the king: And is not this course pious? 

Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'T is 
most true 
These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks 

them. 
And every true heart weeps for 't: All that dare 
Look into these affairs see this main end, — 
The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open 
The king's e.ves, that so long have slept upon 
This bold bad man. 

Suf. And tree us from his slavery. 

Nor. We had need pray. 
And heartily, tor our deliverance; 
Or this imperious man will work us all 
From princes into pages: all men's honours 
Lie like one lump before him, to be tashion'd 
Into what pitch he please. 

Suf. For me, my lords, 

I love him not, nor fear him; there 's m,v creed: 
As I am made without him, so I '11 stand. 
If the king please: his curses and his blessings 
Touch me alike, they are breath I not believe in. 
I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him 
To him tliat made him proud, the pope. 

Nor. Let 's in; 

And, with some other business, put the king 
From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon 

him: 
My lord, you '11 bear us company? 

Cham. Excuse me; 

The king hath sent me other- where: besides. 
You 'U find a most unfit time to disturb him: 
Health to your lordships. 

Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 

lExit Lord Chamberlain. 
Norfolk ojjens a folding-door. The King is discovered 
sittina, and reading pensively. 

Suf. How sad he looks! sure he is much afflicted. 

K. Ben. Who is there? ha? 

Nor. 'Pray God he be not angry. 

K. Men. Who 's there, I say? How dare you thi'ust 
yourselves 
Into my private meditations? 
Who am I.' ha? 

A'or. A gracious king, that pardons all offences 
Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty, this way. 
Is business ot estate; in "which, we come 
To know your royal pleasure. 

K. Hen. You are too bold; 

Go to; I '11 make ye know your times of business: 
Is this an hour tor temporal affairs? ha? 

Enter Wolsey and Campeius. 
"Who 's there? my good lord cardinal?— O my Wol- 
sey, 
The quiet of my wounded conscience. 
Thou art a cure fit tor a king.— You 're welcome, 

[To Campeius. 
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom; 
Use us, and it:— My good lord, have great care 
I be not found a talker. [To Wolsey. 

Wol. Sir, you cannot. 

I would your grace would give us but an hour 
Of private conference. 

K. Hen. We are busy; go. 

[To Norfolk and Suffolk. 

Nor. This priest has no pride in him? 1 

Suf. Not to speak of; | 

I wouldnot be so sick though, for his place; , 
But this cannot continue. 't Aside. 

Nor. If it do, 

I '11 venture one;— have at him. | 

Stif. I another. J 

[E.i-eunt Norfolk and Suffolk. 

Wol. Your grace has given a precedent ot wisdom 
Above all princes, in committing freely 
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom; 
Who can be angry now? what envy reach yoti? 
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her. 
Must now confess, if they have any goodness. 
The trial just and noble. .Wl the clerks, 
I mean the learned ones, in christian kingdoms. 
Have their free voices— Rome, the nurse of judgment, 
Invited by your noble self, hath sent 



One general tongue unto us, this good man. 
This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius; 
Whom, once more, I present unto your highness. 

K. lien. And, once more, in mine arms I bid him 
welcome. 
And thank the hol.v conclave for their loves; 
They have sent me such a man I would have wlsh'd 
for. 

Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' 
loves. 
You are so noble: ,To your highness' hand 
I tender my commission; by whose virtue, 
(The court of Rome commanding,) you, my lord 
Cardinal ot York, are join'd with me their servant. 
In the impartial judging of this business. 

K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be ac- 
quainted. 
Forthwith, for what you come:— Where 's Gardiner? 

Wol. I know your majesty has always lov'd her 
So dear in heart, not to deny her that 
A woman of less place might ask by law. 
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. 

K. Hen. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my 
favour 
To him that does best; God forbid else. Cardinal, 
Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary; 
I find him a fit fellow. [E.vit Wolsey. 

Reenter Wolsey, ivith Gardiner. 

Wot. Give me your hand: much joy and favour to 
you; 
You are the king's now. 

Gard. But to be commanded 

For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. 

[Aside. 

K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. 

[They converse apart^ 

Cam. My lord ot York, was not one doctor Pace 
In this man's place before him? 

Wol. Yes, he was. 

Cam. Was he not held a learned man? 

Wol. Yes, surely. 

Cam. Believe me, there 's an ill opinion spread then 
Even ot yourself, lord cardinal. 

Wol. How! ot me? 

Cam. They will not stick to say you envied him; 
And tearing he would rise, he was so virtuous. 
Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him, 
That he ran mad, and died. 

Wol. Heaven's peace be with him! 

That 's christian care enough: for living murmurers 
There 's places of rebuke. He was a fool; 
For he would needs be virtuous: That good fellow, 
If I command him, follows my appointment; 
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother. 
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. 

K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. 

[Exit Gardiner. 
The most convenient place that I can think of. 
For such receipt of learning, is Blackfriars: 
There ye shall meet about this weighty business: 
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O my lord. 
Would it not grieve an ahle man, to leave 
So sweet a bedfellow? But. conscience, conscience,- 
O, 't is a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt. 

ScEXE m.—An Ante-chamber in the Queen's Apart- 
7nents. 

Enter Anne BuUen and an old Ladj\ 

Anne. Not for that neither: — Here 's the pang that 
pinches: 
His highness having liv'd so long with her: and she 
So good a lady, that no tongue could ever 
Pronounce dishonour of her,— by my life. 
She never knew harm-doing; — O now, after 
So many courses of the sun enthron'd, 
Still growing in a majesty and pomp,— the which 
To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 
'T is sweet at first to acquire,— after this process. 
To give her the avaunt! it is a pity 
Would move a monster. 

Old L. Hearts ot most hard temper 

Melt and lament tor her. 

Anne. O, God's will! much better 

She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal, 
Yet, it that quarrel, fortune, do divorce 
It from the bearer, 't is a sufferance, panging 
As soul and body's severing. 

Old L. Alas, poor lady! 

She 's a stranger now again. 

Anne. So much the more 

Must pity drop upon her. Veril.v, 
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born. 
And range with humble livers in content. 
Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief. 
And wear a golden sorrow. 

Old L. Our cont ■ nt 

Is our best having. 

Anne. By my troth, and maidenhead, 

I would not be a queen. 

Old L. Beshrew me, I would. 

And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you. 
For all this spice ot your hypocrisy: 
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you. 
Have too a woman's heart: which ever yet 
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 
Which, to say sooth, are blessings: and which gifts 
(Saving your mincing) the capacity 
Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive 
If you might please to stretch it. 

Anne. Nay, good troth,— 

Old L. Yes, troth, and troth,— You would not be a 
queen? 

Anne. No, not tor all the riches under heaven. 

Old L. 'T is strange: a three-pence bowed would 
hire me. 
Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you. 
What think vou of a duchess? have you limbs 
To bear that load ot title? 

.inne. No, in truth. 

Old L. Then you are weakly made: Pluck off a lit- 
tle; 
I would not be a young count in your wa.v, 
For more than blushing comes to: if your back 
Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 't is too weak 
Ever to get a boy. 

Anne. How you do talk! 

I swear again, I would not be a queen 
For all the world. 

Old L. In faith, for little England 

, You 'd venture an emballing: I myself 
j Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd 
No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes 
here? 



9(Vi 



KING HENRY VIIl. 



lACT III, 



Enter the Lord Chainberlsiiii. 

Cham. Good morrow, ladles. What were 't worth 
to know 
Tho secret of your conference? 

Anne. My good lord, 

Ni>t your demand; it values not your asking: 
Our "mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 

Cluim. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
The action of good women: there is hope 
All will be well. 

.lime. Now I pray God, ajnen! 

Chai)i. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 
blessings 
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, 
PerciivK I speak sincerely, and high note 's 
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
Commends his good opinion of you to you, and 
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing 
Than marchioness of Pembroke; to which title 
A thousand pound a-year, annual support, 
Out of his grace he adds. 

.4»in('. I do not know 

What kind of my obedience I should tender, 
More than my all is nothing; nor my prayei-s 
Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
More worth tlian empty vanities; yet prayers, and 

wishes, 
Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship, 
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience, 
As from a blushing handmaid to his higliness; 
Whose health and royalty I pray for. 

Cham. Lady, 

I shall not fail to improve the fair conceit 
The king hatli of you.— I have perus'd her well; 

[Aside. 
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled. 
That they have caught the king: and who knows 

yet 
But from this lad.v may proceed a gem 
To lighten ail this isle!— I '11 to the king, 
And say, I spoke with you. 

Anne. My honour'd lord. 

[Emt Lord Chamberlain. 

Old L. Why, this it is: see, see: 
I have been begging sixteen years in court, 
(.4m yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could 
Come pat betwixt too early and too late, 
For any suit of pounds: and you, (O fate!) 
A verv'fresh-flshhere, (fie, fie, fle upon 
This compeli'd fortunel) have your mouth fill'd up, 
Before you open it. 

Anne. This is strange to me. 

Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. 
There was a lady once, ('t is an old story,) 
Tliat would not be a queen, that would she not, 
For all the mud in Egypt:— Have you heard it? 

Anne. Come, you are pleasant. 

Old L. With your theme, I could 

O'ermount the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke! 
A thousand pounds a-year! for pure respect; 
No other obligation: By my life. 
That promises more thousands: Honour's train, 
Is longer than his foresklrt. By this time, 
I know your back will bear a duchess;— Say, 
Are you not stronger than you were? 

Anne. Good lady, 

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 
And leave me out on 't. 'Would I had no being 
If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me 
To think what follows. 
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
In our long absence: Pray, do not deliver 
What here you have heard, to her. 

Old L. What do you think me? [E.ve. 

Scene Vf.—A Hall in Blackfriars. 

Ti~ampets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers, 
with short silver wands; next them. Two Scribes, m 
the habits of doctors; after them, the Archbishop of 
Canterbury alone: after him, the Bishops of Lin- 
coln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, 
with some small distance, follows a Gentleman hear- 
ing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's 
hat; then Two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; 
then a Gentleman-Usher bare-headed, accompanied 
with a Sergeant at Arms, bearing a silver mace; then 
Two Gentlemen, bearing two great silver pillars; 
after them, side by side, the Two Cardinals Wolsey 
and Campeius; Two Noblemen with the sword and 
mace. {Then enter the King and Queen, and their 
Trains.] The King takes place under the cloth of 
state; the Two Cardinals sit under him as judges. 
The Queen takes place at some distance from the 
King. The Bishops place themselves on each side 
the court, in manner of a consistory; below them, 
the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The 
Crier and the rest of the Attendants stand in con- 
venient order about tlve stage. 
Wol. Whilst our commission from Borne is read, 
Let silence be commanded. 

K. Hen. What 's the need? 

It hath already publicly been read, 
And on all sides the authority allow'd; 
You may then spare that time. 
Wol. Be 't so:- Proceed. 

Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into the 

court. 
Crier. Henry king of England, &c. 
K. Hen. Here. 

Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come 

into the court. 
Crier. Katharine queen of England, &c. 
[The Queen maices no answer, rises out of her 
chair, goes about the court, comes to the King, 
and kneels at his feet; then speaks. 
Q. Kath. Sir, I desire .vou, do me right and justice; 
And to bestow your pity on me: for 
1 am a most poor woman; and a stranger, 
Born out of your dominions, having here 
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir. 
In what have I offended you? what cause 
HatL my behaviour given to your displeasure, 
That thus you should proceed to put me off. 
And take your good grace from me? Heaven wit- 
ness, 
I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
At all times to your will conformable: 
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike. 
Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry, 
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour, 
I ever contradicted your desire. 
Or made It not mine too? Or which of your friends 



Have I not strove to love, although I knew 
He were mine enemy? What friend of mine 
That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 
Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice 
He was from tlicuce discharg'd? Sir. call to mind 
That I have been your wife in this obedience, 
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 
With many children by you: If, in tiie course 
And process of this time, you can report, 
And prove it too. against mine honour aught. 
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 
Against your sacred person, in God's name. 
Turn me away; and let tliefoul'st contempt 
Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
To tlie sharpest kind of justice. Plea.se you, sir, 
The king, your father, was reputed for 
A prince most prudent, of an excellent 
And unmatch'd wit and judgment: FerJinand, 
My father, king of Spain, was reckou'd one 
The wisest prince, that there had reign 'd by many 
A year before: It is not to be questloh'd 
That they had gathered a wise council to them 
Of every realm, tliat did debate this business. 
Who deem'd our marriage lawful: Wherefore I hum- 
bly 
Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 
Be by my friends in Spain advis'd; whose counsel 
I will implore; if not, '1 the name of Gpd, 
Your pleasure be fulflU'd! 

Wol. You have here, lady, 

(And of your choice,) these reverend fathers; men 
Of singular integrity and learning, 
Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled 
To plead your cause: It shall be therefore bootless, 
That longer you desire the coui't; as well 
For your o'vn quiet, as to rectify 
What is unsettled in the king. 

Cam. His grace 

Hath spoken well, and justly: Therefore, madam, 
Is 't fit this royal session do proceed; 
And that, without delay, their arguments 
Be now produc'd, and heard. 

Q. Kath. Lord cardinal, 

To you I speak. 

Wol. Your pleasure, madam? 

Q. Kath. Sir, 

I am about to weep; but, thinking that 
We are a queen, (or long have dream'd so,) certain 
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
I '11 turn to sparks of fire. 

Wol. Be patient yet. 

Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble; nay, before, 
Or God will punish me. I do believe, 
Induc'd by potent circumstances, that 
Y''ou are mine enemy; and make my challenge 
You shall not be my judge: for it is you 
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, 
Which God's dew quench!- Therefore, I say again, 
I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul 
Refuse you for my judge: whom, yet once more, 
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
At all a friend to truth. 

Wol. I do profess 

You speak not like yourself; who ever yet 
Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects 
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me 

wrong; 
I have no spleen against you; nor injustice 
For you, or any: how far I have proceeded, 
Or how far further shall, is warranted 
By a commission from tlie consistory. 
Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me 
That I have blown this coal: I do deny it: 
The king is present: if it be known to him 
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, 
And worthily, my falsehood? yea, as much 
As you have done my truth. If he know 
That I am free of your report, he knows 
I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 
It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to 
Remove these thoughts from you: The which before 
His highness shall spealc in, I do beseech 
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking. 
And to say so no more. 

Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 

I am a simple woman, much too weak 
To oppose your cunning. You are meek and humble- 

mouth'd; 
You sign your place and calling in full seeming 
With meekness and humility: but your heart 
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
You have, by fortune, and his highness' favours. 
Gone slightly o'er low steps; and now are mounted 
Where powers are your retainers: and your words, 
Domestics to you, serve your will, as 't please 
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you, 
You tender more your person's honour than 
Your high profession spiritual: That again 
I do refuse you for my judge; and here, 
Before you all, appeal unto the pope, 
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, 
And to be judg'd by him. 

[She curtsies to the King, and offers depart. 

Cam. The queen is obstinate, 

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
Disdainful to be tried by it; 't is not well. 
She 's going away. 

K. Hen. Call her again. 

Crier. Katharine queen of England, come unto the 
court. 

Grif. Madam, you are call'd back. 

Q. Kath. What need you note it? pray you, keep 
your way: 
When you are call'd, return.- Now the Lord help. 
They vex me past my patience! pray you, pass on: 
I will not tarry: no, nor ever more, 
Upon this business, my appearance make 
In any of their courts. 

[Exeunt Queen, Griffith, and her other Attendants. 

K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate: 

The man 1' the world who shall report he has 
A better wife, let him in nougbt be trusted. 
For speaking false in that: Thou art, alone, 
(If tliy rare qualities, sweet gentleness. 
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,— 
Obeying in commanding,— and thy parts 
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,) 
The queenof earthly queens:— She Is noble born; 
And, like her true nobility, she has 
Carried herself towards me. 

Wol. Most gracious sir. 

In humblest manner I require your highness, 
That It shall please you to declare, in hearing 



Of all these earss, (for where I am robb'd and liound. 

There must I be unloos'd; although not there 

At once and fully satisfied,) whether ever I 

Did broach this business to your highness; or 

Laiil any scruple in your way, wliich might 

Induce you to the question on 't? or ever 

Have to you, -but with thanks to God for such 

A royal lady,— spake one the least word that might 

Be to the pr.-judice of her present state, 

Or toucli of her good person? 

K. Hen. My lord cardinal, 

I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, 
I free you from 't. You are not to be taught 
That you h.ave many enemies, that know not 
Why they are so, but, like to village curs, 
Bark when their fellows do: iiy some of these 
The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd: 
But will you be more justified? you ever 
Have wish'd the sleepingof this business; never 
Desir'd it to bestirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft. 
The passages made toward it:— on my honour, 
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point, 
And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to 't. 
I will be bold with time, and your attention:— 
Then mark the inducement. Thus it came;— give 

heed to 't: 
M.v conscience first receiv'd a tenderness. 
Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd 
By the bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador; 
Who had been hitiier sent on the debating 
A marriage, 'twi.xt the duke of Orleans and 
Our daughter Mary: I' the progress of this business, 
Ere a determinate resolution, he 
(I mean tlie bishop) did require a respite; 
Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 
Whether our daughter were legitimate. 
Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, 
Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook 
The bosom of my conscience, eiiter'd me. 
Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble 
The region of my breast; which forc'd such way, 
That many maz'd conslderings did throng. 
And press'd in with this caution. First, methought, 
I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had 
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb. 
If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should 
Do no more offices of lite to 't, than 
The grave does to the dead: for her male issue 
Or died where they were made, or shortly after 
This world had air'd them: Hence I took a thought 
This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom. 
Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not 
Be gladdened in 't by me; Then follows, that 
I weighed the danger which my realms stood in 
B.y this my issue's fail: and that gave to me 
Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in 
The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer 
Toward this remedy, whereupon we are 
Now present here together; that 's to say, 
I meant to rectify my conscience,— which 
I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,— 
By all the reverend fathers of the land. 
And doctors learn'd. First, I began in private 
With you, my lord of Lincoln; you remember 
How under my oppression I did reek. 
When I first mov'd you. 

Lin. Very well, my liege. 

K. Hen. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to 
say 
How far you satisfied me. 

Lin. So please your highness, 

The question did at first so stagger me,— 
Bearing a state of mighty moment in 't, 
And consequence of dread, --that I committed 
The dariiig'st counsel which I had, to doubt; 
And did entreat your highness to' this course. 
Which you are running here. 

K. Hen. I then mov'd you, 

My lord of Canterbury; and got your leave 
To make this present summons:— Unsolicited 
I left no reverend person in this coui't; 
But by particular consent proceeded. 
Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on; 
For no dislike i' the world against the person 
Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points 
Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: 
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life, 
And kingly dignity, we are contented 
To wear our mortal state to come with her, 
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature 
That 's paragon'd o' the world. 

Cam. So please your highness, 

The queen being absent, 't is a needful fitness, 
That we adjourn this court till further day: 
Meanwhile must be an earnest motion 
Made to tlie queen, to call back her appeal 
She intends unto his holiness. [ They rise to depart. 

K. Hen. I may perceive [A.'iide. 

These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor 
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. 
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, 
Prithee, return! with thy approach I know 
My comfort comes along. Break up the court: 
I say, set on. [Exeunt in inanner as they entered. 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— Patace at Bridewell. A Soom in the 
Queen's Apartment. 
Tlie Queen, and some of her Women, at ivork. 
Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad 
with troubles: 
Sing, and disperse them if thou canst: leave work- 
ing. 

SONG. 

Orpheus mth his lute made trees. 
And the mountain-tops that freeze. 

Bow themselves, when he did sing: 
To his music, plants and flowers 
Ever sprung; as sun and showers 

There had made a lasting spring. 

Everything that heard him play, 
Even the billows of the sea. 

Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
In sweet music is such art: 
Killing care and grief of heart 

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 

Enter a Gentleman. 
O. Kath. How now? 

Gent. An 't please your grace, the two great car- 
dinals 
Wait in the presence. 



Scene i.l 



KING HENRY VIIT. 



S05 



Q. Kath. Would they speak with me? 

Gene. They wiU'd me say so, madam. 

Q. Kath. Pray tlieir graces 

To come near. [E.x-it Gent.] Wliat cau be their 

business 
With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour? 
I do not like their coniins,'. .Now I think on 't. 
They should be good men; their affairs as righteous: 
But all hoods make not monks. 

Enter Wolsej- and Campeius. 

Wol. Peace to ,vour highness .' 

Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a house- 
wife; 
I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? 

Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to with- 
d raw 
Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
The full cause of our coming. 

Q. Kath. Speak it here; 

There 's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, 
Deserves a corner: 'Would all other women 
Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
My lords, I care not, (so much I am happy 
Above a number,) if my actions 
Were tried by ever}- tongue, every eye saw them, 
Envy and base opinion set against them, 
I know my life so even; If your business 
Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, 
Out with it boldly: Truth loves open dealing. 

Wol. Tanta est erga te mcyitis iyitegritas^ regina 
serenissima, — 

Q. Kath. O good my lord, no Latin; 
I am not such a truant sinct^ my coming. 
As not to know the language I have liv'd in: 
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, 

suspicious: 
Pray speak in English: here are some will thank 

you, 
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; 
Believe me she has had much wrong: Lord cardinal, 
The willing'st sih I ever yet committed 
May be absolv'd in English. 

Wol. Noble lady, 

I am sorry my integrity should breed, 
And service to his majesty and you. 
So deep suspicion where all faith was meant. 
We come not by the way of accusation, 
To taint that honour every good tongue blesses; 
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow; 
You have too much, good lady: but to know 
How you stand minded in the weighty difference 
Between the king and you; and to deliver. 
Like free and honest men, our just opinions. 
And comforts to your cause. 

Cam. Most honoured madam. 

My lord of York,— out of his noble nature. 
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace; 
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) — 
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
His service and his counsel. 

Q. Kath. To betray me. \ Aside. 

My lords, I thank you both for your good wills; 
Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so ! 
But how to make ye suddenly an answer. 
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, 
(More near my life, I fear.) with my weak wit. 
And to such men of gravity and learning. 
In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
Among my maids; full little, God knows, looking 
Either for such men, or such business. 
For her sake that I have been, (for I feel 
The last lit of my greatness,) good your graces, 
Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause; 
Alas! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless. 

Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these 
fears; 
Your hopes and friends are inflnite. 

Q. Kath. In England 

But little for my profit: Can you think, loids, 
That any Englishman dare give me counsel? 
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, 
(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,) 
And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
They that must weigh out my afllietlons. 
They that my trust must grow to, live not here: 
They are as all my other comforts, far hence. 
In mine own country, lords. 

Cam. I would your grace 

Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 

8. Kath. How, sir? 

ayn. Put your main cause into the king's protec- 
tion; 
He's loving, and most gracious; 't will be much 
Both for your honour better, and your cause; 
For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you, 
You '11 part away disgrac'd. 

Wol. He tells you rightly. 

Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my 
ruin: 
Is this your christian counsel? out upon yel 
Heaven is above all yet; there sits a Judge 
That no king cau corrupt. 

Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 

Q. Kath. The more shame for ye; holy men I 
thought ye. 
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; 
But cardinal sms, and hollow hearts, I fear ye: 
Mend them, for shame, my lords. Is this yotir com- 
fort? 
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady? 
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scom'd? 
I will not wish ye half my miseries, 
I have more charity. But say, I warn'd ye; 
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once 
The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. 

Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction; 
You turn the good we offer into envy. 

Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing: Woe upon ye. 
And all such false professors! Would ye have me 
If ye have any justice, any pity; 
It ye be anything but churchmen's habiis) 
Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? 
Alas! he has banish'd me his bed already; 
His love, too long ago: I am old, my lords. 
And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
Is only my obedience. What can happen 
To me above this wretchedness? all your studies 
Make me a curse like this. 

Cam. Your fears are worse. 

Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long— (let me speak my- 
self, 



Since virtue finds no friends)— a wife, a true one? 

A woma!i (I dare say, witliout vain-glory) 

Nevei" yet bi-andett with susi>iclon? 

Have Iwith all my full affections 

Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey'd 

him? 
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? 
Almost forgot my praycis to content him? ■ 
And am I thus rewarticd? 'tis not well, lords. 
Bring me a constant wontnn to her luisiiand. 
One that ne'er drc:imd a joy beyond his pleasure; 
And to that woman, when she has done most, 
Yet will I add an honour,— a great patience. 

Jro;. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. 

Q. Kath. My lord. I dare not make myself so guilty, 
To give up willingly that noble title 
Your master wed me to: nothing but death 
Shall e'er divorce my dignitie.s. 

Wol. Pray, hear me. 

Q. Kath. Would I had never trod this English earth. 
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! 
Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows vour hearts. 
What will become of me now, wretched lady? 
I am the most unhappy woman living. 
Alas! i.oor wenches, where are now your fortunes? 

[To /lej- Women. 
Shipwrack'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, 
No friends, no nope; no Kindred weep for me; 
Almost no grave allow'd me:— Like the lily, 
Tliat once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, 
I 'U hang my head and perish. 

Wol. If your grace 

Could but be brought to know our ends are honest 
You 'd feel more comfort: why should we, good lady. 
Upon what cause, wrong you? alas! our places. 
The way of our profession is against it; 
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them. 
For goodness' sake, consider what jt'ou do: 
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. 
The hearts of princes kiss obedience. 
So much they love "t: but to stubborn spirits 
They swell," and grow as terrible as storms. 
I know you have a gentle, noble temper, 
A soul as even as a calm: Pray, think us 
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and serv- 
ants. 

Cam. Madam, you '11 find It so. You wrong your 
virtues 
With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit. 
As yours was put into you, ever casts 
Such doubts, as false coin, from It. The king loves 

you; 
Beware, you lose it not: For us, if you please 
•To trust us in your business, we are ready 
■To use our utmost studies In your service. 

Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords: And, pray, for- 
give me. 
If I have us'd myself unmannerly; 
You kno\v, I am a woman, lacking wit 
To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
Pray, do my service to his majesty: 
He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers. 
While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers. 
Bestow your counsels on me; she now begs, 
That little thought, when she set footing here, 
She should have bought her dignities so dear. [Exe. 

Scene n. — Antechamter to the King's Apartment. 

Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, the 
Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. 

Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints 
And force theni with a constancy, the cardinal 
Cannot stand under them: If you omit 
The offer of this time, I cannot promise 
But that .you should sustain more new disgraces, 
With these you bear already. 

Sur. I am joyful 

To meet the least occasion, that may give me 
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke. 
To be reveng'd on him. 

Suf. Which of the peers 

Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least 
Strangely neglected? when did he regard 
The stamp of nobleness in any person. 
Out of himself? 

Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures: 

What he deserves of you and me I know; 
What we can do to him, (though now the time 
Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot 
Bar his access to the king, never attempt 
Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft 
Over the king in his tongue. 

iVor. O, fear him not: 

His spell in that is out; the king hath found 
Matter against him, that for ever mars 
The honey of his language. No, he 's settled. 
Not to come off, in his displeasure. 

Sur. Sir, 

I should be glad to hear such news as this 
Once every hour. 

Nor. Believe it, this is true. 

In the divorce, his contrary proceedings 
Are all unfolded; wherein he appears. 
As 1 would wish mine enemy. 

Sur. How came 

His practices to light? 

Suf. Most strangely. 

Sur. O, how, how? 

Suf. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried. 
And came to the eyes o' the king: wherein was read, 
How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
To stay the judgment o' the divorce: For if 
It did take place, ' I do,' quoth he, ' perceive, 
My king is tangled in affection to 
A creature of the queen's, lady Anne BuUen.' 

Sur. Has the king this? 

Suf. Believe It. 

Sur. Will this work? 

Cham. The king in this perceives him, how he 
coasts. 
And hedges, his own way. But In this point 
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
After his patient's death; the king already 
Hath married the fair lady. 

Sur. 'Would he 'nad! 

Suf. May you be happy In your wish, my lord! 
For, I profess, you have it. 

Sur. Now, all my joy 

Trace the conjunction! 

Suf. My amen to 't! 

Nor. All men's! 

Siuf. There 's order given for her coronation: 



Marry, this Is yet but y*)ung, and may be left 
To some cars unrcc()u*nt('il.--But, my lords, 
Slu^ is a gallant cicatui-c, and (•onii>lete 
In mind and ft,:iturc: 1 persuade me, from her 
Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
In it be memoriz'd. 

Sur. But, will the king 

Digest this letter of the cardinal's? 
The lord forbid! 

Nor. Marry, amen! 

Suf. No, no; 

There be more wasps than buz about his nose. 
Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius 
Is stolen away to Home; hath ta'enno leave; 
Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and 
Is i)os[('(l. :is the agent of our cardiiuii. 
To second all Ids plot. 1 do assure you. 
The king cried, ha! at this. 

Cham. Now, God incense him. 

And let him cry ha, louder! 

l^or. But, my lord. 

When returns Cranmer? 

Suf. He is return'd, in his opinions; which 
Have satisfied the king for his divorce. 
Together with all tamous colleges 
Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe. 
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 
Her coronation. Katharine no moi'e 
Shall be call'd queen; but princess dowager. 
And widow to prince Arthur. 

Nor. This same Cranmer's 

A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
In the king's business. 

Suf. He has; and we shall see him 

For it, an archbishop. 

JVbj\ So 1 hear. 

Suf. 'T is so. 

The cardinal— 

Enter Wolsey and Cromwell. 

Nor. Observe, observe, he 's moody. 

Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave 't you tiie king? 

Cram. To his own hand, in his bedchamber. 

Wol. Look'd he o' th' inside of the paper? 

Crom. Presently 

He did unseal them: and the first he view'd. 
He did it with a serious mind; a heed 
Was in his countenance: You, he bade 
Attend him here this morning. 

Wol. Is he ready 

lo come abroad? 

Crom. I think, by this he Is. 

Wol. Leave me a while.— [Exit CromwelL 

It shall be to the duchess of Alenson, 
The French king's sister: he shall marry her. — 
Anne BuUen! No; I '11 no Anne BuUens for him: 
There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen! 
No, we '11 no Bullens.— Speedily I wish 
To hear from Rome.- The marchioness of Pembroke! 

Nor. He 's discontented. 

Suf. May be, he hears the king 

Does \vbet his anger to him. 

Sur. Sharp enough. 

Lord, for thy justice! 

Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman; a knight's 
daughter, 
To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen! — 
This candle burns not clear: 't is I must snuff it; 
Then, out it goes.— What though I know her virtu- 
ous. 
And well deserving? yet I know her for 
A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to 
Our cause, that she should lie 1' the bosom of 
Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up 
An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one 
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king. 
And is his oracle. 

Nor. He is vex'd at something. 

Suf, I would 't were something that would fret the 
string. 
The master-cord of his heart! 

Enter the King, reading a schedule; and Lovelh 

Suf. The king, the king. 

K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated 
To his own portion! and what expense by the hour 
Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift. 
Does he rake this together?— Now, my lords. 
Saw you the cardinal? 

Nor. My lord, we have 

Stood here observing him: Some strange commo- 
tion 
Is in his brain: he bites his lip and starts; 
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the gi-ound. 
Then, lays his finger on his temple; straight. 
Springs out into fast gait; then, stops again. 
Strikes his breast hard; and anon, he casts 
His eyes against the moon: in most strange postures 
We have seen him set himself. 

K. Hen. It may well be: 

There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning 
Papers of state he sent me to peruse, 
Asl requir'd: And wot you what I found 
There; on my conscience, put unwattlngly? 
Forsooth, an inventory thus importing,— 
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, 
Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which 
I find at such proud rate, that It out-speaks 
Possession of a subject. 

Nor. It 's heaven's will; 

Some spirit put this paper in the packet 
To bless your eye withal. 

K. Hen. If we did think 

His contemplation were above the earth. 
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still 
Dwell in his musings: but, I am afraid. 
His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
His serious considering. 

[He takes his seat and whispers Lovell, 
who goes to Wolsey. 

Wol. Heaven forgive me! 

Ever God bless your highness! 

K. Hen. Good my lord. 

You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the invent- 
ory 
Of your best graces in your mind; the which 
You were now running o'er; you have scarce time 
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span 
To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that 
I deem you an ill husband: and am glad 
To have you therein my companion. 

Wol. Sir, 

For holy offices I have a time; a time 
To think upon the part of business, which 
I bear 1' the state; and nature does require 



KING HENJIY VIII. 



[Act IV. 



Her times of preservation, which, perforce, 
I her frail son, amongst my brethern mortal. 
Must Klve my tendance to. 

K. Hen. Yon have said well. 

Wol. And ever may your lilKhness yolce together, 
As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
With my well-saying! 

K. Hen. 'Tls well said again; 
And tis a kind of good deed to say well. 
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you: 
He said he did; and with his dued did crown 
His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
I liave kept you next my heart; have not alone 
Employ'd you where high prollts might come home. 
But par'd my present havings, to bestow 
My bounties upon you. 

Wol. What should this mean? 

Sur. The lord increase this business' [Aside. 

K. Hen. Have I not made you 

The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, 
If what I now pronounce you have found true: 
And, if you ma.v confess it, say withal. 
If you are bound to us, or no. Wliat say you? 

Wol. Jly sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, 
Shower'd on me daily, have been more tlian could 
My studied purposes requite; whicli went 
Beyond all man's endeavours:— my endeavours 
Have over come too short of my desires. 
Yet, fli'd witli my abilities: Mine own ends 
Have bei'U mine so, that evermore they pointed 
To the good of your most sacred person, and 
The profit of the state. . For your great graces 
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I 
Can notliing render but allegiant tlianks; 
My prayers to heaven tor you; my loyalty, 
■Which ever lias, and evr r shall be growing. 
Till death, that winter, kill it. 

K. Hen. Fairly answer'd; 

A loyal and obedient subject is 
Tlierein illustrated: The honour of it 
Does pay the act of it; as, i' the contrary. 
The foulness is the punisliment. I presume 
That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you. 
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, 

more 
On you, tlian any; so your hand, and heart. 
Your brain, and every function of your power. 
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, 
As 't were in love's particular, be more 
To me, your friend, than any. 

Wol. I do profess 

That for your highness' good I ever labour'd 
More than mine own; that am. have, and will be. 
Though all the world should crack their duty to you, 
And throw it from their soul; though perils did 
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and 
Appear in forms more horrid; yet m.v duty, 
As doth a rock against the chiding flood. 
Should the approach of this wild river break, 
And stand unshaken .yours. 

K. Hen. 'T is nobly spoken: 

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast. 
For you have seen him open 't.— Read o'er this; 



(Giving him papers, 
■akli 



And, after, this: and then to breakfast, with 

What appetite you liave. 

lE.cit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey, the 

Nobles throng after him, smiling, and whispering. 

Wol. What should this mean? 

What sudden auger 's this? how have I reap'd it? 
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chafed lion 
Upon (he daring huntsman that has gall'd him; 
Then makes hiui nothing. I must read tnis paper: 
I fear, the story of his anger.— 'T is so: 
Tills paper has undone me: 'T is the account 
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
For mine own ends; Indeed, to gain the popedom, 
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, 
Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil 
Made me put this main secret in the packet 
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this? 
No new device to beat this from his brains? 
I know 't will stir him strongly; Yet I know 
A'way, if it take right, in spite of fortune. 
Will bring me off again. What 's this- 'To the 

Pope?' 
The letter, as I live, with all the business 
I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell ! 
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness: 
And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening. 
And no man see me more. 

Reenter the Dakesot Norfolk ond Suffolk, the Earl 
of Surrey, and tlie Lord Chamberlain. 

Kor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal; who com- 
mands you 
To render up the great seal presently 
Into our hands; and to confine yourself 
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's, 
Till you hear further from his highness. 

Wol. Stay, 

Where 's your commission, lords? words cannot 

carry 
Authority so weighty. 

Suf. Who dare cross them. 

Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? 

Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it, 
(I mean, your malice,) know, officious lords, 
I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel 
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, — envy. 
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces. 
As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton 
Ye appear in everything may bring my ruin ! 
Follow your envious courses, men of malice; 
You have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt. 
In time will And tlieir fit rewards. That seal 
You ask with such a violence, the king, 
(Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave me: 
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, 
During my life, and, to conhrm his goodness. 
Tied it by letters-patent: Now, who '11 take it? 

.Sur. The king, tnat gave it. 

Wol. It must be himself then. 

Sitr. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 

Wol. Proud lord, thou Uest; 

Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
Have burnt that tongue than said so. 

Sur. Thy ambition, 

Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law: 
Tlie heads of all thy brother cardinals, 



(With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,) 

Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy! 

You sent me deputy for Ireland: 

Far from his succour, from the king, from all 

That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st 

him; 
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
Absolv'd him vvith an axe. 

Wol. This, and all else 

This talking lord can lay upon my credit, 
I answer is most false. The duke by law 
' Found his deserts: how innocent I vvas 
From any private malice in his end. 
His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
! If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you, 
i You have as little honesty as honour, 
I That in the way of loyalty and truth 
Toward the king, my ever royal master, 
Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be 
And all that love his follies. 

Sur. By my soul. 

Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st 

feel 
My sword i' the life-blood of thee else.— My lords. 
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance? 
And from this fellow? It we live thus tamely 
To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet. 
Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward. 
And dare us with his cap, like larks. 

Wol. All goodness 

Is poison to thy stomach. 

Sur. Yes, that goodness 

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one. 
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion; 
The goodness of your intercepted packets, 
Y'ou writ to the pope, against the king: your good- 
ness. 
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. 
My lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble. 
As you respect the common good, the state 
Of our despis'd nobility, our issues. 
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, — 
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 
Collected from his life:— I '11 startle you 
Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench 
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 

Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this 
man. 
But that I am bound in charity against it! 

Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's 
hand: 
But, thus much, they are foul ones. 

Wol. So much fairer. 

And spotless, shall mine innocence arise. 
When the king knows my truth. 

Sur. This cannot save you: 

I thank my memory, I yet remember 
Some of these articles; and out they shall. 
Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal, 
You 'U show a little honesty. 

Wol. Speak on, sir; 

I dare your worse objections: if I blush. 
It is, to see a nobleman want manners. 

Suf. I 'd rather want those than my head. Have 
at you. 
First, that, without the king's assent or knowledge. 
You wrought to be a legate; by which power 
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 

Nor. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else 
To foreign princes. Ego et Rex m.eus 
Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the king 
To be your servant. 

Suf. Then, that, without the knowledge 

Either of king or council, when you went 
Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
To carry into Flanders the great seal. 

Sur. Item, you sent a large commission 
To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude. 
Without the king's will, or the state's allowance, 
A league between his highness and Perrara. 

Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd 
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. 

Su7: Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- 
stance, 
(By what means got, I leave to your own conscience,) 
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways 
You have for dignities; to the mere undoing 
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are; 
Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
I will not taint my mouth with. 

Cham. O my lord. 

Press not a falling man too far; 't is virtue: 
His faults lie open to the laws; let them. 
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him ' 
So little of his great self. 

Sur. I forgive him. 

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is,— 
Because all those things, you have done of late 
B.v your power legatine within this kingdom. 
Fall into the compass of a prmmunire,— 
That therefore such a writ be sued against you; 
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements. 
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
Out of the king's protection:— This is my charge. 

iVor. And so we '11 leave you to your meditations 
HoNv to live better. For your stubborn answer, 
About the giving back the great seal to us. 
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank 

you. 
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 

[E.veunt all but Wolsey. 

Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! 
This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, tomorrow blossoms. 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him: 
The third da.v comes a frost, a killing frost; 
And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening,— nips his root. 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders. 
This many summers in a sea of glory; 
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me; and now has left me. 
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
Vain pomp and glory of this world I hate ye; 
I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to. 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin. 
More Jiangs and fears than wars or women have; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lufifer, 
Never to hope again.- 



Enter Cromwell, amazedly. 

Why, how now, Cromwell? 

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 

'Wol. What, araaz'd 

At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder 
A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, 
I am fallen Indeed. 

Crom. How does your grace? 

"Wol. Why, well; 

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. 'The king has cur'd me, 
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders. 
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy, too much honour: 
O, 't is a burden, Cromwell, 't is a burden. 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 

Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right 
use of it. 

Wol. 1 hope I have: I am able now, methinks, 
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) 
To endure more miseries, and greater far. 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad? 

Crom. The heaviest and the worst, 

Is your displeasure witli the king. 

Wol. God bless him! 

Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord chancellor in your place. 

Wol. That 's somewhat sudden: 

But he 's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice 
For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones. 
When lie has run his course, and sleeps in blessings. 
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! 
What more? 

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, 
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol. That 's news Indeed. 

Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, 

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married. 
This day was view'd in open, as his queen. 
Going to chapel; and the voice Is now 
Only about her cornation. 

Wot. There was the weight that puU'd me down. 
O Cromwell, 
The king has gone beyond me; all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost forever: 
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours. 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell, 
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master: Seek the king; 
That sun, I pray, may never set ! I have told him 
What and how true thou art: he will advance thee; 
Some little memory of me will stir him, 
(I know his noble nature,) not'to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O, my lord. 

Must i then leave you? must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master? 
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron. 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
The king shall have my service; but my prayers 
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me 
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 
Let 's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Crom- 
well; 
And,— when I am forgotten, as I shall be; 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of,— s'ay, I taught thee; 
Say, Wolsey,— that once trod the ways of glory. 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,— 
Found thee a way, out of his wrack, to rise in; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: 
B.y that sin fell the angels; how can man then. 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't? 
Love thyself last; clierisli those hearts that hate 

thee; 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: 
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's. 
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O 

Cromwell, 
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; 
And,— Prithee, lead me In: 
There take an inventory of all I have. 
To the last penny; 't is the king's: my robe. 
And my integrity to heaven, is all 
I dare now 3all mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. ^ 

Crom. Good sir, have patience. 

Wol. So I have. Farewell 

The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do dwell. 

[Exeunt. 
ACT IV. 
Scene 1.—^ Street in Westminster. 
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.. 

1 Gent. You are well met once again. 

2 Gent. And so are you. 

1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, and be- 

hold 
The lady Anne pass from her coronation? 

2 Gent. 'T is all my business. At our last encounter. 
The duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 

1 Gent. 'T is very true; but that time offer'd sor- 

row; 
This general joy. 

2 Gent. 'T is well: The citizens, 

I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds, 
(As let them have their rights they are ever for- 
ward,) 
In celebration of this day with shows. 
Pageants, and sights of honour. 

1 Gent. Never greater. 
Nor, I 'II assure you, better taken, sir. 

2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains. 
That paper in your hand? 

1 Gent. Yes; 't is the list 

Of those that claim their offices this day. 
By custom of th6 coronation. 
Tlie duke of Suffolk is the ftrst, and claims 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY VTIl. 



307 



To be high-steward; next, the duke of Norfolk, 
He to be earl marshal: you may read the rest. 
2 Oent. I thank you, sir; had I not known those 
customs, 
I should have been beholding to your paper. 
But, I beseech you, what 's become of Katharine, 
The princess dowager? how goes her business? 

1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The archbishop 
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other 
Learned and reverend fathers of his order, 

Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off 
From Ampthill, where the princess lay; to which 
She was often cited by them, but appear'd not: 
And, to be short, for not appearance, and 
The king's late scruple, by the main assent 
Of all these learned men she was divorc'd, 
And the late marriage made of none effect: 
Since which, she was remov'd to Kimbolton, 
Where she remains now, sick. 

2 Gent. Alas, good lady!— 

[Trumpet!). 
The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is com- 
ing. 

THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION. 

A lively flourish of Trumpets: then, enter 

1. Two Judges. 

2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and maee be- 

fore him. 
.3. Choristers singing. (Music. 

4. Mayor of London, hearing the mace. Then Gar- 

ter, in his coat of arms, and, on his head, a 
gilt copper croirti. 

5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his 

head a demi-coroniil of gold. With him, the 
Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver ivith 
the dove, crowned ivith an earl's coronet. 
Collars of SS. 

6. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coronet 

on his head, bearing a long white ivand, as 
high-steward. With him, the Duke of Mor ■ 
folk, with the rod of marshalship, a coronet 
on. his head. Collars of SS. 

7. .4 canopy borne by your of the Cinque-ports; un- 

der it, the Queen in her robe; in her hair 
richly adorned with pearl, crowned. On 
each side of her, the Bishops of London and 
Winchester. 

8. The old duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold, 

wrought with flowers, bearing the- Queen's 
train. 

9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlets 

of gold ivithout flowers. 
2 Gent. A royal train, believe me.— These I know;— 
Who 's that that bears the sceptre? 

1 Gent. Marquis Dorset: 
And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 

2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman: And that should 

be 
The duke of Suffolk. 

1 Gent. 'T is the same; high-steward. 

2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk? 

1 Gent. Yes. 

2 Gent. Heaven bless thee! 

[Looking on the Queen. 
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. — 
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel; 
Our king has all the Indies in his arms. 
And more, and richer, when he strains that lady; 
I cannot blame his conscience. 

1 Gent. They that bear 
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons 
Of the Cinque-ports. 

2 Gent. Those men are happy; and so are all are 

near her. 
I take It, she that carries up the train 
Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk. 

1 Gent. It is; and all the rest are countesses. 

2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars in- 

deed; 
And, sometimes, falling ones. 

1 Gent. No more of that. 

[Exit Procession with a great flourish of 
trumpets. 

Enter a Third Gentleman. 
God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling? 

3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the abbey; where a 

finger 
Could not be wedg'd in more; I am stifled 
With the mere rankness of their joy. 

2 Gent. You saw the ceremony? 

3 Gent. That I did. 

1 Gent. How was it? 

3 Gent. Well worth the seeing. 

2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us. 

3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream 
Of lords, and ladies, having brought the queen 
To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off 

A distance from her: while her grace sat down 

To rest a while, some half an hour, or so. 

In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 

The beauty of her person to the people. 

Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman 

That ever lay by man: which when the people 

Had the full view of, such a noise arose 

As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 

As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks. 

Doublets, 1 think, flew up; and had their faces 

Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 

I never saw before. Great-bellied women. 

That had not half a week to go, like rams 

In the old time of war, would shake the press, 

And make them reel before them. No man living 

Could say, ' This is my wife,' there; all were woven 

So strangely in one piece. 

2 Gent. But, what follow'd? 

3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest 

paces 
Came to the altar: where she kneel'd, and, saint- 
like, 
Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. 
"Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people: 
When by the archbishop of Canterbury 
She had all the royal makings of a queen; 
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown. 
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems. 
Laid nobly on her; which perform'd, the choir 
With all the choicest music of the kingdom. 
Together sung Te Deum. So she parted. 
And with the same full state pac'd back again 
To York-place, where the feast is held. 

1 Gent. • Sir, 

Tou must no more call it York-place, that is past: 



For, since the cardinal fell, that title 's lost; 
'T is now the king's, and call'd Whitehall. 

.•? Gent. I know It: 

But 't is so lately alter'd, that the old name 
Is fresh about me. 

2 Gent. What two reverend bishops 
Were those that went on each side of the queen? 

3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one, of Win- 

chester. 
(Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,) 
The other, London. 

2 Gent. He of Winchester 

Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, 
•The virtuous Cranmer. 

3 Gent. All the land knows that: 
However, yet there 's no great breach; when it 

comes, 
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 

2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you? 

3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell; 
A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 

A worthy friend.— The king 

Has made him master o' the jewel-house. 

And one, already, of the privy -council. 

2 Gent. He will deserve more. 

3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt. 
Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 

Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests; 
Something I can command. As I walk thither, 
1 '11 tell ye more. 
Both. You may command us, sir. [BxeJtnt. 

Scene n.— Kimbolton. 

Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick; led between 
Griffith and Patience. 

Grif. How does your grace? 

Ka'th. O, Griffith, sick to death: 

My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, 
Willing to leave their burden: reach a chair;— 
So,— now, methlnks, I feel a little ease. 
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me. 
That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey, 
Was dead?- 

Grif. Yes, madanu but I think your grace. 
Out of the pain you suflfer'd, gave no ear to 't. 

Kath. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: 
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 
For my example. 

Gr)f. Well, the voice goes, madam: 

For after the stout earl Northumljerland 
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
(As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer, 
He tell sick suddenly, and grew so ill. 
He could not sit his mule. 

Kath. Alas, poor man! 

Grif. At last, \vlth easy roads, he came to Leices- 
ter, 
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, 
Witti all his convent, honourably receiv'd hmi; 
To whom he gave these words,—' O father abbot, 
An old man, broken with the storms of state, 
Is come to lay his weary hones among ye; 
Give him a little earth for charity!' 
So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness 
Pursued him still; and, three nights after this. 
About the hour of eight, ( which ne himself 
Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance, 
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows. 
He gave his honours to the world again. 
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 

Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! 
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
And yet with charity:— He was a man 
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion 
Tied all the kingdom: simony was fair play; 
His own opinion was his law: I' the presence 
He would say untruths; and be ever double. 
Both In his words and meaning: He was never. 
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful: 
His promises were, as he then was, mighty; 
But his pei'formance, as he is now, nothing. 
Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
The clergy ill example. 

Grif. Noble madam. 

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues 
We write in water. May it please your highness, 
To hear me speak his good now? 

Kath. Yes, good GrifBth; 

I were malicious else. 

Grif. This cardinal, 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Was tashion'd to much honour from his cradle. 
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; 
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading: 
Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not; 
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as sum- 
mer. 
And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
(Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam. 
He was most princely: Ever witness for him 
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, 
Ipswich, and Oxford! one of which fell with him, 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; 
■The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 
So excellent in art, and still so rising. 
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him; 
For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
And found the blessedness of being little: 
And, to add greater honours to his age 
Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 
Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, 
No other speaker of my living actions. 
To keep mine honour from corruption, 
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
With thy religious truth, and modesty. 
Now in his ashes honour: Peace be with him! 
Patience, be near me still; and set me lower: 
I have not long to trouble thee.— Good Griffith, 
Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
On that celestial harmony I go to. 

Sad and solemn music. 
Grif. She is asleep: Good wench, let 's sit down 
quiet, 
" or fear we wake her;— Softly, gentle Patience. 

The Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after 
another, six Personages, clad in white robes, wear- 
ing on their heads garlands of hays, and golden 
vizards '-n their faces; branches of bays, or palm. 



in their hands. They first congee unto her, then- 
dance; and at certain changes, the fir.'it tiro hold 
a siiare giulnnd or,-,- /,,>(■ lii-iul: at ir'liicli, llie other 
four make rrrereml ,-iirtsie.-i: thin tlie tii-o that 
held the garland deliver the some to the other next 
two, who observe the same order in their ch<inyes, 
and holding the garland over her head: which 
done, they deliver the same garland to the last tivo, 
who likewise observe the same order: at ii-hirh, 
(cut it ivere by in sjiinitiini.i kIw iiiiikr.i in her sh-ej) 
signs of rejoiei nil, inul liolilelli iijilier hiniils/ii In-iiv- 
en: and so in their dancing vanish, can ging tlie 
garland with them. The music continues. 

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all 
gone? 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? 
Grif. Madam, we are here. 

Kath. It is not you I call for: 

Saw ye none enter, since I slept? 
Grif. None, madam. 

Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
Invite me to a banquet; whose briglit faces 
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? ' 

They promised me eternal happiness; 
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall. 
Assuredly. 

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
Possess your fancy. 

Kath. Bid the music leave, 

They are harsh and heavy to me. [3Iitsic ceases. 

Pat. Do you note. 

How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden? 
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks. 
And of an earthy cold? Mark her eyes! 
Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray. 
Pat. Heaven comfort her! 

Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. An 't like your grace, — 

Kath. You are a saucy fellow: 

Deserve we no more reverence? 

Grif. You are to blame, 

Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness. 
To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel. 

Mess. 1 humbly do entreat your highness' pardon; 
My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying 
A gentleman, sent from the king to see you. 
Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this fel- 
low 
Let me ne'er see again. 

[Exeunt Griffith, and Messenger, 
Re-enter Griffith, ivith Capucius 

If my sight fail not. 
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor. 
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 
Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. 
Kath. O my lord. 

The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely 
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, 
What is your pleasure with me? 

Cap. Noble lady. 

First, mine own service to your grace; the next. 
The king's request that I would visit you; 
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
Sends you his princely commendations. 
And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 
Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too 
late; 
'T is like a pardon after execution: 
That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me; 
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
How does his highness? 
Cap. Madam, in good health. 

Kath. So may he ever do! and ever fiourish. 
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
Banish'd the kingdom!— Patience, is that letter 
I caus'd you write, yet sent away? 
Pat. No, madam. 

[Giving it to Katharine. 
Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
This to my lord the king. 
Cap. Most willing, madam. 

Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness 
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter.- 
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on Tier!— 
Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding; 
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature; 
I hope, she will deserve well;) and a little 
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him. 
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
Upon my wretched women, that so long 
Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully: 
Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
(And now I should not lie,) but will deserve. 
For virtue, and true beauty of the soul. 
For honesty, and decent carriage, 
A right good husband, let him be a noble; 
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them. 
The last Is, for my men;— they are the poorest, 
But poverty could never draw them from me; — 
That they may have their wages duly paid them. 
And something over to remember me by; 
If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life. 
And able means, we had not parted thus. 
These are the whole contents:— And, good my lord. 
By that you love the dearest in this world. 
As you wish christian peace to souls departed. 
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 
To do me this last right. 

Cap. By heaven, I will; 

Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
In all humility unto his highness: 
Say, his long trouble now is passing 
Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him. 
For so I will.— Mine eyes grow dim.— Farewell, 
My lord.— Griffith, farewell.— Nay, Patience, 
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed; 
Call in more women.— When I am dead, good wench. 
Let rae be us'd with honour; strew me over 
With maiden fiowers, that all the world may know 
I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me. 
Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like 
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Katharine. 

ACT V. 

Scene 1.—A Gallery in the Palace. 

Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Page vfith 
a torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Lovell. 



208 



KING HENRY VIII. 



LACT V. 



Gar. It 's one o'clock, boy, Is 't not? 

Boy. It hath struck. 

Oar. These should be hours for necessities, 
Not for delights; times to repair our natui-e 
With comforting repose, and not for us 
To waste these times.— Good hour of night, sir 

Thomas ! 
Whither so late? 

Liiv. Come you from the king, my lord? 

Gar. I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primero 
AVith the duke of Suffolk. 

lAir. I must to him too. 

Before he go to bed. I 'II take my leave. 

Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What 's the 
matter? 
It seems you are in haste; an If there be 
No great offence belongs to 't, give your friend 
Some touch of your late business: Affairs that walk 
(As, they say. spirits do) at midnight, have 
In them a wilder nature, than the business 
That seeks despatch by day. 

Lov. My lord, I love yoxi; 

And dnrst commend a secret to your ear 
Much weightier than this work. The queen 's in 

labour. 
They say, in great extremity; and fear'd. 
She '11 with the labour end. 

Oar. The fruit she goes with, 

I pray for heartily; that It may find 
Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir Thomas, 
I wish it grubb'd up now. 

Lov. Methinks, I could 

Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says 
She 's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
Deserve our better wishes. 

Gar. But, sir, sir,— 

Hear me, sir Thomas: You are a gentleman 
Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; 
And. let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, — 
'T will not, sir Thomas Lovell, take 't of me, — 
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she. 
Sleep in their graves. /■ 

Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two 

The most remark'd 1' the kingdom. As for Crom- 
well,— 
Beside that of the jewel-house, he is made master 
O' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir. 
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments. 
With which the time will load him; The archbishop 
Is the king's hand and tongue: And who dare 

speak 
One syllable against him? 

Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, 

There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd 
To speak my mind of him: and. Indeed, this day, 
Sir, (I may tell it you,) I think I have 
Insens'd the lords o* the council, that he is 
(For so I know he is, they know life is,) 
A most arch heretic, a pestilence 
That does infect the land: with which they mov'd, 
Have broken with the king: who hath so far 
Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace 
And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs 
Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded. 
To-morrow morning to the council-board 
He be convented. He 's a rank; weed, sir Thomas, 
And we must root him out. From your affairs 
I hinder .vou too long: good night, sir Thomas. 

Lov. Many good nights, my lord: I rest your 
servant. [Exeunt Gardiner and Page. 

As Lovell is going out, enter the King and the Duke 
of Suffolk. 

K. Hen. Charles, 1 will play no more to-night; 
My mind 's not on 't, you are too hard for me. 

S%f. Sir, I did never win of you before. 

K. Hen. But little, Charles; . 
Nor shall not, when my fancy 's on my play. — 
Now, Loveli, from the queen what is the news? 

Lov. I could not personally deliver to her 
What you commanded me, but by her woman 
I sent your message: who return'd her thanks 
In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your high- 
ness 
Most heartily to pray for her.' 

K. Hen. What say'st thou? ha! 

To pray for her? what. Is she crying out! 

Lov. So said her woman; and that her sufferance 
made 
Almost each pang a death. 

K. Hen. Alas, good lady! 

Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and 
With gentle travail, to the gladding of 
Your highness with an heir! 

K. Hen. 'T is midnight, Charles, 

Prithee to bed; and in thy prayers remember 
The estate of mv poor queen. Leave me alone; 
For I must think of that, which company 
Will not be friendly to. 

Suf. I wish your highness 

A quiet night, and my good mistress will 
Remember in my prayers. 

K. Hen. Charles, good night. 

lExit Suffolk. 
Enter Sir Anthony Denny. 
Well, sir, what follows? 

Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop, 
As you commanded me. 

K. Hen. Ha! Canterbury? 

Den. Ay, my good lord. 

K. Hen. 'T is true: Where is he, Denny? 

Den. He attends your highness' pleasure. 

K. Hen. Bring him to us. 

[Eorit Denny. 

Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake; 

I am happily come hither. [Aside. 

Re-enter Denny, ivittt Cranmer. 

K. Hen. Avoid the gallery. 

fLovell seems to stay. 
Ha!— I have said.— Be gone. 
What:— I Kreunt Lovell and Denny. 

Cran. I am fearful:— Wherefore frowiis he thus? 
'T is his aspect of terror. All 's not well. 

K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire to 
know 
Wlierefore I sent for you. 

Cran. Tt Is my duty 

To attend your highness' pleasure. 

K. Hen. ' 'Pray you, arise. 

My good and gracious lord of Canterbury. 
Come, you and I must walk a turn together; 
Ihavenews to tellyou: Come, com^ cive me j'our 
hand. 



Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak. 

And am right sorry to repeat what follows: 

I have, and most unwillingly, of late 

Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, 

Grievous complaints of you; which, being con- 

sider'd. 
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall 
This morning come before us; where, I know. 
You cannot with such freedom p;irge yourself, 
But that, till further trial in tho.se charges 
Which will require your answer, you must take 
Your patience to yoii, and be well contented 
To make yoiir house our Tower: You a brother of 

us. 
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness 
Would come against you. 

Cram. I humbly thank your highness; 

And am right glad to catch this good occasion 
Most throughly to be wlnnow'd, where my chaff 
And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know 
There 's none stands under more calumnious tongues 
Than I myself, poor man. 

K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury; 

Thy truth, and thy Integrity, is rooted 
In us, thy friend: Give me thy hand, stand up; 
Prithee, let 's walk. Noxv, by my hol.v-dame, 
What manner of man are you? M,y lord, I look'd 
You would have given me your petition, that 
I should have ta'en some pains to bring together 
Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you 
Without Indurance further. 

Cran. Most dread liege, 

"''he good I stand on is my truth and honesty; 
Ll the.v shall fall, I, with mine enemies. 
Will triumph o'er my person; which I wel^h not. 
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
What can be said against me. 

K. Hen. Know you not 

How your state stands i' the world, with the whole 

world? 
Your enemies are many, and not small; their prac- 
tices 
Must bear the same proportion; and not ever 
The justice and tlie truth o' the question carries 
The due o' the verdict with it: At what ease 
Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt 
To swear against you? such things have been done. 
You are potently oppos'd; and with a malice 
Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, 
I mean, in perjur'd witness, than your master, 
Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd 
Upon this naught.v earth? Go to, go to; 
You take a precipice for no leap of danger^ 
And woo your own destruction. 

Cran. God, and your majesty, 

Protect mine Innocence, or I fall into 
The trap is laid for me! 

K. Hen. Be of good cheer; 

They shall no more prevail, than we give way to. 
Keep comfort to you; and this morning see 
You do appear before them; if they shall chance, 
In charging yovi with matters, to commit you. 
The best persuasions to the contrary 
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties 
Will render you no remedy, this ring 
Deliver them, and your appeal to us 
There make before them.- Look, the good man 

weeps! 
He 's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother! 
I swear he is true-heartedi and a soul 
None better in my kingrtofn.— Get you gone. 
And do as I have bid you.— [Eci'r Cranmer.] He has 

strangled 
His language in his tears. 

Enter ariold Lady. 

Gent. [Within.] Comeback. What mean you? 

Ladii. I '11 not come back; the tidings that I bring 
Will riiake my boldness manners.— Now, good angels 
Ply o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person 
Under their blessed wings! 

K. Hen. Now, by thy looks 

I guess thy message. Is the queen dellver'd? 
Say, ay; and of a boy. 

Lady. Ay. ay, my liege; 

And of a lovely boy: The (Jod of heaver 
Both now and ever bless her— 't is a girl, 
Promi.ses boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
Desires vour visitation, and to be 
Acquainted with this stranger; 't is as like you 
As cherry is to cherry. 

K. Hen. Lovell,— 

Enter Lovell. 

Lov. Sir. 

K. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I '11 to the 
queen. [Exit King. 

Lady. An hundred marks! By this light I '11 have 
more. 
An ordinary groom is for such payment. 
I will have more, or scold it out of him. 
Said I for this the girl is like to him? 
I will have more, or else unsay 't; and now 
While it is hot, I '11 put it to the issue. [Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— Lobby before the Council-Chamber. 

Enter Cranmer; Servants, Door -Keeper, etc., 
attending. 
Cran. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentle- 
man. 
That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me 
To make great haste. Alt fast? what means this?— 

Hoa! 
Who waits there?— Sure, you know me? 

D. Keep. Yes, my lord; 

But vet I cannot help you. 
Cran. Why? 

D. Keep. Your grace must wait till you be call'd for. 

Enter Doctor Butts. 

Cran. So. 

Buffs. This is a piece of malice. I am glad, 
I came this wav so happily; The king 
Shall unrlerstaiid it presently. [Exit Butts. 

Cran. [.isidc] 'T is Butts, 

The kinii's i:)liyslcian; as he pass'd along. 
How earnestly he east his eyes upon me ! 
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace ! For certain. 
This is of purpose laid bv some that hate me, 
(God turn their hearts ! I never soucht their malice.) 
To quench mine honour: they would shame to make 

me 
Walt else at door: a fellow-counsellor, 



Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their 

pleasures 
Must be fulflU'd, and I attend with patience. 

Enter, at a jvindmv above, the King and Butts. 

Butts. I '11 show yovir grace the strangest sight,— " 

K. Hen. What 's that, Butts? 

Butts. I think your highness saw this many a day. 

K. Hen. Body o' me, where is it? 

Buffs. There, my lord: 

The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury; 
Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, 
Pages, and footboys. 

K. Hen. Ha ! 'T is he, Indeed: 

Ts this the honour they do one another? 
'T is well there 's one above them yet. I had thought 
They had parted so much honesty among them 
(At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer 
A man of his place, and so near our favour. 
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures. 
And at the door too, like a post with packets. 
By holy Mary, Butts, there 's knavery: 
Let them alone, and draw the curtain close; 
We shall hear more anon. [Exeiint. 

Tlie Council-Cliamber. 

Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Suffolk, 

Duke of Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, Lord Chamber- 
lain, (Jardiner, and Cromwell. The Chancellor 

places himself at the vpper end of the table on the 

left hand; a seat being left void above him, as for 

the Archbishop of Canterbury. The rest seat them.- 

selves in order on each side. Cromwell at the lower 

end as secretat^. 

Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary: ' 
Why are we met in council? 

Crom. Please your honours. 

The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. 

Gar. Has he had knowledge of it? 

Crom. Yes. 

Nor. Who waits there? 

D. Keep. Without, my noble lords? 

Gar. Yes. 

I). Keep. My lord archbishop; 
And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. 

Chan. Let him come in. 

D. Keep. Your grace may enter now. 

[Cranmer approaches the coxincil-table. 

Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry 
To sit hi>re at this present, and behold 
That chair stand empty: But we all are men. 
In our own natures frail, and capable 
Of our flesh; few are angels: out of which frailty. 
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, 
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little. 
Toward the king first, then nls laws, in filling 
The whole realm, by your teaching and your chap- 
lains, 
(For so we are InfOrm'd,) with new opinions, 
Divers and dangerous; which are heresies. 
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. 

Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too. 
My noble lords: for those that tame wild horses 
Pace them not in their hands to make Ihem gentle: 
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 

them. 
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer 
(Out of "our easiness, and childish pity 
To one man's honour) this contagious sickness. 
Farewell, all physic; and what follows then? 
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighboiiis. 
The upper Germany, can dearly Vvitness, 
Yet freshly pitied In our memories.. , ' 

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progi'ess 
Bothof my life and office, I hav^ latour'd, . - . 
And with no little study, that my teaching. 
And the strong course of my authority. 
Might go one way, and safely; and the end 
Was ever to do well: nor is theie living 
(I speak it with a single heart, my lords) 
A man that more detests, more stirs against. 
Both in his private conscience and his place, 
Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 
'Pray heaven the king may never find a heart 
With less allegiance in it! Men, that make 
Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment. 
Dare bite the best. I do beseech your loi-dships. 
That, in this case of Justice, my accusers, ■ 
Be what they vvill, may stand forth face to face. 
And freely lirge against me. 

Suf. Nay, my lord, 
That cannot be: you are a counsellor. 
And, bv that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 

Gar. My lord, because we have business of more 
moment. 
We will be short with you. 'T is his highness' plea' 

sure. 
And our consent, for better trial of you. 
From hence you be committed to the Tower, 
Where, being but a private man again. 
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, 
Jlore-than, I fear, you are provided for. 

Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank 
vou. 
You are alwavs mv good friend; if you will pass, 
I shall both find vour lordship judge and juror. 
You aie so merciful: I see your end; 
'T is my undoing: Love and meekness, lord. 
Become a churchman better than ambition; 
Win straying souls with modesty again. 
Cast none awav. That I .shall clear myself. 
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience. 
In doing dail.v wrongs. I could .say more. 
But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 

Gar. My lord, rny lord, you are a sectary. 
That 's tlie plain truth; your painted gloss discovers. 
To men that understand you. words and weakness. 

Cro^n. Mv lord of Winchester, you are a little, 
Bv your good favour, too sharp; men so noble. 
However faulty, yet should find respect 
For what thev have been; 't is a cruelty. 
To load a falling man. 

Oar. Good master secretary, 

I crv vour honour mercy; you may, worst 
Of all this table, sav so. 

Crom. Why, my lord? 

Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer 
Of this new sect? ye are not sound. 

Crom. Not sound? 

Gar. Not sound, I say. 

Crom. ' 'Would you were half so honest.' 

Men's pravers then would seek you, not their fears. 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY VTTT. 



209 



Gar. I shall remember this bold language. 

Crom. Do. 

Remember your bold life too. 

Chan. This is too much; 

Forbear, for shame, my lords. 

Gar. I have done. 

CroMi. And I. 

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord.— It stands agreed, 
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith 
You be conveyed to the Tower a prisoner; 
There to remain, till the king's further pleasure 
Be known unto us: Ai-e you all agreed, lords? 

.4//. We are. 

Crau. Is tliere no other way of mercy, 

Bat I must needs to the Tower, my lords? 

Gar. What other 

Would you expect? You are stmngely troublesome: 
Let some o' the guard be ready there. 
Enter Guard. 

Cran. Forme? 

Must I go like a traitor thither? 

Gat\ Receive him, 

And see him safe i' the Tower. 



Thou hnst a cruel nature, and a bloody. 

Good man, [to (^ranmerl sit down. Now let me see the 

proudest 
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee: 
r.v nil that's holv. he had better starve. 
Than but once ttiink this place becomes thee not. 

Sur. May it please your grace,— 

K. Hen. No, sir, it does not jilease me. 

I had thought, I had had men oi some understanding 
And wisdom, of my council; but 1 Hnd none. 
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, 
This good man. (few of you deserve that title,) 
This honest man, wait like a Ious.<- footboy 
At chamber door? and one as gieat as you are? 
Why. what a shame was this? I)id my commission 
Bid ye so far forget youi-selves? 1 gave ye 
I'ower as he was a counsellor to try him. 
Not as a groom. Theie's some of ye, I see, 
More out of malice tlian iiitugj-ity. 
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; 
Which ye shall nevtr have while 1 live. 

Chan. Thus far, 

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed 



Scene Ul.-Thc Palace Yard. 



Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. 

Port. You Ml leave your noise anon, ye i*ascals: Do you 
take the court for Parish garden? ye rude slaves, leave 
your gaping. 

[Within. ^ Good master porter, I belong to the larder. 

part. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue; 
Is this a place to i-oar in?— Fftt-li me a dozen" ciab tree 
staves, and strong ones; Ihise ar*- btit switches to them. 
—I 'U scratch youi- heads- You must be seeing christen- 
ings? Do you look for aie and cakes here, you rude ras- 
cals? 

Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 't is as much impossible 
(Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons) 
To scatter them, as 't is to make them sleep 
On May-day morning; which will never be: 
We may as w ell push against Paul's, as stir them. 

Port. How got they in, and be hang'd? 

Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in? 
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot 




[Momeo and Juliei.] 



Bom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu I 



[act III.— scene v.l 



Cran. Stay, good my lords; 

I have a little '^et to say. Look thei-e, my lords; 
By virtue of vnat ring, I take my cause 
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it 
To a most noble judge, the king my master. 

Cham. Tliis is the king's ring. 

Sitr. 'T is no counterfeit. 

Suf. 'T is the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all. 
When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 
'T would fall upon ourselves. 

Nor. Do you think, my lords. 

The king will suffer but the little finger 
Of this man to be vex'd? 

Cham. 'T is now too certain: 

How much more is his life in value with him! 
'Would I were fairly out on 't. 

Crom. My mind gave me, 

In seeking tales and informations 
Against this man, (whose honesty the de\'il 
And his disciples only envy at,) 
Y'e blew the tire that burns ye; Now have at ye. 

Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat. 

G<Rr. Dread soverign, how much are we bound to 
heaven 
In dailv thanks, that gave us such a prince; 
Not only good and wise, but most religious: 
One that, in all obedience, makes the church 
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen 
That holy duty, out of dear respect. 
His royal self in judgment comes to hear. 
The cause betwixt her and this great offender. 

K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commend- 
ations. 
Bishop of AVinchester. Dut know, I come not 
To hear such flattery now; and in my presence, 
They are too thin and bare to hide ofl^ences. 
To me you cannot reach; you play the spaniel. 
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me; 
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, 1 am sure, 



Concerning his imprisonment, was rather 

(If there be faith in men) meant for his trial. 

And fair purgation to the world, than malice; 

I am sure, in me. 
K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; 

Take him, and use him well, he''s worthy of it, 

I will say thus much for him, if a prince 

May be beholden to a subject, 1 

Am , for his love and service, so to him. 

Make me no more ado, but all embrace him; 

Be friends, for shame, my lords.— My lord of Canter- 
bury, 

I have a suit which you must not deny me; 

That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism, 

You must be godfather, and answer for her. 
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory 

In such an honour; How may I deserve it. 

That Ol\\\ a poor and humble subject to you? 
K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoonS;. 
you shall have 

Two noble partnei-s vrith you, the old duchess of Nor- 
folk, 

And lady marquis Doi*set: Will these please you! 

Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, 

Embrace, and love this man. 
Gar. With a true heart, 

And brother-love, I do it. 
Cran. And let heaven 

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 
K. Hen. Good man, those joyful teai-s show thy true 
heart. 

The common voice. T see, is verified 

Of thee, which says thus, ' Do my lord of Canterbury 

A shrewd turn, aiul he is your friend for ever.' — 

Come, lords, we trifle time away; 1 long 

To have this young one made a christian. 

As I have made ye one, lords, one remain; 

So 1 grow stronger, you more honour gain. [Exe. 



(You see the poor remainder) could distribute, 
1 made no spare, sir. 

Port. You did nothing, sir. 

3Ian. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Colbrand, 
To mow them down before me. but, if I spar'd any 
That had a head to hit, either young or old, 
He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker^ 
Let me never hope to see a chine again; and that 
I would not for a cow, God save her. 

[Within.] Do you hear, master porter! 

Port. I shall be with you presently, good master 
puppy.— Keep the door close, sirrah. 

Man. What would you have me do! 

Port. What sliould you do, but knock them down by 
the dozens? Isthis Moorfields to muster in? or have we 
some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, 
the women so besiege us! Bless me, what a fry of forni- 
cation is at door? On my chiistian conscience, this one 
christening will beget a thousand; ihere will be father, 
godfather, and all together. 

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a 
fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier 
by his face, for. o' my conscience, twenty of the dog- 
days now reign in 's nose; all that stand about him are 
under the line, they need no other penance: That fire- 
di"ake did I hit three times on the head, and three times 
was his nose discharged against me; he stands there, 
like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haber- 
dasher's wife of small wit near him, that i-ailed nj^on mo 
till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kmdling 
such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor 
once, and hit that woman, who cried out, c^Hb.s.' when I 
might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to 
her succour, which were the hope of the Strand where 
she was quartei-ed. They fell on, I made good my place; 
at length they came to the broomstatt to me; I defied 
them still; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, 
loose shot, delivered such a showey of ])fbl)l(.'s. that I 
was fain to draw mine honour in, and let tlifin win the 
work: The devil was amongst them, 1 think, surely. 



^ 



( 



210 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



lACT I. 



Port. These are the youths that thunder at a l)lay- 
house, and fluht for bitten apples; that no audience, 
but the Tribulation of Towerhlll. or the limbs of 
Llmehouse. their dear brothers, are able to endure. 
I have some of them in Liuihn Pdltunt. -.umX there 
they arc like to d.ance these three days; besides the 
running banquet of two beadles, that is to come. 
Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 

Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! 
They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, 
As If we kept a fair here! \\ here are these porters, 
These lazy knaves?— Ye have made a fine hand, fel- 
lows. 
There 's a trim rabble let in: Are all these 
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have 
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladles. 
When they pass back from the christening. 

Fort. An 't please your honour 

We are but men; and what so many may do, 
Not being torn a pieces, we have done: 
An army cannot rule them. 

Cham. As I live, 

If the king blame me for 't, I '11 lay ye all 
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads 
Clap round lines, for neglect: You are lazy knaves; 
And here ye lie baiting ot bumbards, when 
Ye shovdd do service. Hark, the trumpets sound; 
They are come already from the christening: 
Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
To let the troop pass fairly; or I '11 find 
A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months. 

Port. Make way there tor the princess. 

3Ian. You great fellow, stand close up or I '11 make 
your head ache. 

Port. You I'the camblet, get up o' the rail; I'll pick 
you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— The Palace. 

Enter trumpets, sounding; then tivu Aldermen, Lord 
Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk, with his 
marshal's staff, Duke of Suffolk, Tiro Noblemen, 
bearing great standing boinls for the christening 
gifts; then Four Noblemen, bearing a canopy, nnder 
which the Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing 
the child richly habited in a mantle, &c. Train 
borne by a Lady: then follows the Marchioness of 
Dorset, the other godmother, and I,adies. The troop 
pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks. 
Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send 

prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and 

mighty princess of England, Elizabeth! 

Flourish. Enter King and Train. 



Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and the 
good queen, 
My noble partner, and myself, thus pray;— 
All comfort, ioy. In this most gracious lady, 
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, 
May hourly fall upon ye! 

A. Hen. Thaiik you, good lord archbishop. 

What is her name? 

Cran. Elizabeth. 

.K:. Hen. Stand up, lord.— 

[The King kisses the child. 
With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! 
Into whose hands I give thy life. 

Cran. Amen. 

K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too pro- 
digal: 
I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, 
When she has so much English. 

Ci-an. Let me speak, sir. 

For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter 
Let none think flattery, for they '11 find them truth. 
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her!) 
Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings. 
Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be 
(But few now living can behold that goodness) 
A pattern to all princes living with her. 
And all that shall succeed: Saba was never 
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue, 
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces, 
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
With all the virtues that attend the good, 
Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her: 
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 
She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless 

her: 
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn. 
And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows 

with her: 
In her days, every man shall eat in safety 
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing 
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours: 
God shall be truly known; and those about her 
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, 
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: But as when 
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 
Her ashes new create another heir. 
As great in admiration as herself; 
So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 
(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of dark- 
ness,) 



Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour. 
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was. 
And so stand flx'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, ter- 
ror. 
That were the servants to this chosen infant. 
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; 
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall .shine. 
His honour, and the greatness of his name. 
Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish, 
.\nd, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
To all the plains about him: Our children's child- 
ren 
Shall see this, and bless heaven. 
K Hen. Thoti speakest wonders. 
Cran. She .shall be, to the happiness ot England, 
An aged princess; many days shall see her. 
And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
Would I had known no more! but she must die. 
She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, 
A most unspotted lilv, shall she pass 
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. 

K Hen. O lord archbishop. 
Thou hast made me now a man; never, before 
This happy child, did I get anything: 
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me. 
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire 
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. 
I thank ye all,— to you, my good lord mayor. 
And you, good brethren, I am much beholding; 
I have receiv'd much honour by your presence. 
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, 

lords; 
Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye. 
She will be sick else. This day, no man think 
He has business at his house; for all shall stav: 
This little one shall make it holiday. \Ex-eunt. 

EPILOGUE. 
'T Is ten to one, this play can never please 
All that are here: Some come to take their ease, 
And sleep an act or two: but those, we fear. 
We have frightened with our trumpets; so, 't Is clear. 
They 'II say 't is nought: others to near the city 
Abus'd extremely, and to cry,—' that 's witt.v!' 
Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, 
All the expected good we are like to hear, 
For this play at this time, is only in 
The merciful construction of good women; 
For such a one we show'd them: If they smile, 
And say, 't will do, I know, within a while 
All the best men are ours; for 't is 111 hap, 
If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap. 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



PERSONS BEPRESENTEB. 



EscALUS, Prince of Verona. 

Paris, a you/ig nobleman, kinsman to 

the Prince. 
MoNT.\.GUE, ) heads of two houses, at 
Capulet, ( variance loitheachother. 
An old Man, vncle to Capulet. 
Romeo, son to Montague. 
Mercutio, kinsman to the Prince, and 

friend to Romeo. 



Benvolio, nepheiv to Montague, and 

friend to Romeo. 
Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. 
Friar Laurence, a Franciscan. 
Friar John, of the same order. 
Balthasar, sei'vant to Romeo. 

Gregory, \ servants to Capulet. 
Abraji, servant to Montague. 



An Apothecary. 

Three Musicians. 

Chorus. 

Boy. 

Page to Paris. 

Peter. 

An OJfidkr. 



Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 
Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. 
Juliet, daughter to Capulet. 
Nurse to Juliet. 

Citizens of Verona; several Men and 
Women, relations to both houses: 
Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and 
Attendants, 



PROLOGUE. 
Two households, both alike in dignity. 

In fair Verona, where w6 lay our scene, 
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. 

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life: 
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. 
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, 

And the continuance of their parents' rage. 
Which, but their children's end, nought could re- 
move. 

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; 
The which If you with patient ears attend. 

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. 

ACTL 

Scene I.— ^ public Place. 

Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with 

swords and bucklers. 

Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we '11 not carry coals. 

6re. No, for then we should be colliers. 

Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we '11 draw. 

Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the 
collar. 

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. 

Gre. To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to 
stand; therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runn'st 
away. 

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: 
I wi!l take the wall of any man or maid of Monta- 
gue's. 

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weak- 
est goes to the wall. 

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weak- 
er vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:— therefore I 
■will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust 
his maids to the wall. 

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us 
their men. 

Sam. 'T is all one, I will show myself a tyrant: 
when I have fought with the men, I will be civil with 
the maids, and cut off their heads. 

Gie. The heads of the maids? 

Sam. Ay, the heads ot the maids, or their maiden- 
heads; take it in what sense thou wilt. 

Gre. They must take it sense, that feel it. 

Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand; 
and 't is known I am a pretty piece of flesh. 

Gre. 'T is well Ihou art not flsh; if thou hadst, thou 



hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes 
of the house of the Montague's. 

Enter Abram and Balthazar. 

Sam. M.v naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back 
thee. 

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run? 

Sam. Fear me not. 

Gre. No, marry: I fear thee! 

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them be- 
gin. 

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take 
it as they list. 

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite iny thumb at 
them; which is a disgrace to them. If they bear it 

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at ts, sir? 

Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 

Sa?(t. Is the law on our side, if I say— ay? 

Gre. No. 

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; 
but I bite my thumb, sir. 

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 

Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir. 

Sam. If you do, sir, 1 am for you; I serve as good a 
man as you. 

Abr. No better. 

Sam. Well, sir. 

Enter Benvolio, at a distance. 

Gre. Say— better; here comes one of my master's 
kinsmen. 

Sam. Yes, better. 

Abr. You lie. 

,'Sam. Draw, if you be men.— Gregory, remember 
thy swashing blow. [They, fight. 

Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know 
not what you do. [Beats down their swords. 

Enter Tybalt. 
Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless 
hinds? 
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. 

Ben. 1 do but keep the peace; put up thy sword. 
Or manage it to part these men with me. 
Tyb. What, draw and talk of peace? I hate the 
word. 
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: 
Have at thee, coward. [They fight. 

Enter several partisans of both houses, who join the 
fray; then enter Citizens, irith clubs. 
1 at. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them 
down! 
Down with tlie Capulets! down with the Montagues: 



.Enfer Capulet, in his gown; and Lady Capulet. 

Cap. What noise is tliis?— Give me my loiig sword, 
ho! 

Im. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!— Why call you for a 
sword? 

Cap. My sword, I say!— Old Montague is come. 
And flourishes his blade in spite of me. 

Enter Montague and Lady Montague. 

Mon. Thou villain Capulet!- Hold me not, let me 
go. 

La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. 
Enter Prince, with Attendants. 

Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,— 
Will they not hear?— what ho! you men, you beasts,— 
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 
With purple fountains issuing from your veins! 
On pain of torture, from those bloody h;..ids 
Throw your mlstemper'd weapons to the ground. 
And hear the sentence of your moved prince. 
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word, , 

By tUee, old Capulet, and Montague, 
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets; 
And made Verona's ancient citizens 
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 
To wield old partisans, in hands as old, 
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: 
It ever you disturb our streets again. 
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 
For this time, all the rest depart away: 
You, Capulet, shall go along with me; 
And, Montague, come you this afternoon. 
To know our farther pleasure in this case, 
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. 
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 

[Exeunt Prince ciiirf Attendants; Capulet. Lady 
Capulet, 'Tybalt, Citizens, and Servants. 

3Ion. Who set this ancient quarrel (new abroach?— 
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began? 

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, 
And yours, close fighting ere I diel approach: 
I drew to part them; in the instant came 
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; 
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, 
He swung about his head, and cut the winds. 
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn: 
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows. 
Came more and more, and fought on part and part, 
Till the prince came, who parted either part. 

La. 3Ion. O where is Romeo?— saw you him to- 
day? 
Right glad am I, he was not at this fray. 

I3en. Madam, an hour before the worship'd sun 



Scene i.] 



ItOilEO AND JULIET. 



211 



Peei'd forth the srolden window of the east, 

A troubled mind drnve me to walk abroad; 

Where, underneath the grove of sycamore. 

That westward rootetli from this city's side. 

So early walklns did I see your son: 

Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me, 

And stole into the covert of the wood: 

I. measuring his aftections by my own, — 

That most are busied when they are most alone, — 

Pursued m>' humour, not pursuing his. 

And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 

jl/o)i. Many a morning hath he there been seen. 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew. 
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs: 
But all so soon as the all cheering sun 
Should in the farthest east begin to draw 
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed. 
Away from light steals home my heavy son. 
And private in his chamber pens himself; 
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, 
And nuikes himself an artificial night: 
Black and portentous must this humour prove. 
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 
Ben. Jly noble uncle, do you know the cause? 
Mon. I neither know It, nor can learn of him. 
Ben. Have you importuiVd him by any means? 
Mon. Both by myself, and many others, friends: 
But he, his own affections' counsellor. 
Is to himself— I will not say how true- 
But to himself so secret and so close. 
So far Irom soimding and discovery, 
As Is the bud bit with an envious worm, 
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air. 
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, 
"R'e would as willingly give cure, as know. 
Enter Eomeo, at a distance. 
Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step 
aside; 
T '11 know his grievance, or be much denied. 

Mon. I woidd thou wert so happy by thy stay. 
To hear true shrift. — Come, maciam, let 's away. 

iB.reunt Montague and Lady. 
Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 

Horn. Is the day so young? 

Ben. But new struck nine. 

Bom. Ah nte! sad hours seem long. 

Was that my father that went hence so fast? 
Ben. It was:— What sadness lengthens Romeo's 

hours? 
Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them 

short. 
Ben. In love? 
Rom. Out- 

Ben. Of love? 

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. 
Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, 
Should be so tyrannous and rou^h in proofl 

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is mufHed stiil, 
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! 
Where shall we dine?— O me !— What fray was 

here? 
Yet tell me not, for I have heard It all. 
Here 's much to do with hate, but more with love:— 
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! 
O anything, of nothing first created! 
O heavy lightness! serious vanity! 
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! 
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick 

health! 
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!- 
This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
Dost thou not laugh? 
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 

Rom. Good heart, at what? 

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 

Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.— 
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; 
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd 
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown. 
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs; 
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; 
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with loving tears: 
What is it else? a madness most discreet, 
A choking gall, and a perserving sweet. 
Farewell, my coz. [(Joins'. 

Ben. Soft, I will go along; 

And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 

Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; 
This is not Eomeo, he 's some other where. 
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. 
Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? 
Ben. Groan? why, no; 

But sadly tell me, who. 

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: — 
Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! — 
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suijpos'd you lov'd. 
Rom. A right good marksman!— And .she 's fair I 

love. 
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz. Is soonest hit. 
Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she 'il not be hit 
With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; 
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd. 
From love's weak childish bow she lives nnharm'd. 
She will not stay the siege of loving terms. 
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: 
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor 
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live 

chaste? 
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge 
waste; 
For beauty, starv'd with her severity. 
Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair. 
To merit bliss by making me despair; 
She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow. 
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. 
Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think. 
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; 
Examine other beauties. 

Rom. 'T is the way 

To call hers, exquisite, in question more; 
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows. 
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair; 
He that is strucken blind, cannot forget 
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: 
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 
Wliat doth her beauty serve, but as a note 



Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair? 
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. 
Ben. I '11 pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. |Erf. 

SCE.VE II.— .1 Street. 

Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. 

Cap. And Montague Is bound as well as I, 
In penalty alike; and 't is not hard, I think, 
For men so old as we to keep the peace. 

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; 
And pity 't is, you liv'd at odds so long. 
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? 

Coj). But saying o'er what I have said before: 
My child is yet a stranger in the world. 
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; 
Let two more summers wither in their pride, 
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. 

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. 
Earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she. 
She is the hopeful lady of my earth: 
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart. 
My will to her consent is but a part; 
And she agree, within her scope of choice 
Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast. 
Whereto I have invited many a guest. 
Such as I love; and you, among the store. 
One more, most welcome, makes my number more. 
At my poor house, look to behold this night 
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light: 
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel 
When well apparell'd April on the heel 
Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see. 
And like her most, whose merit most shall be; 
Which on more view of many, mine, being one, 
May stand in nvimber, though in reckoning none. 
Come, go with me;— Go, sirrah, trudge about 
Through fair Verona; find those persons out. 
Whose names are written there, [ffii'es a paper,] 

and to them say. 
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 

[^Exeunt Capulet and Paris. 

Serv. Find them out, whose names are written 
here? It is written— tnat the shoemaker should 
meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, 
the flsher with his pencil, and the painter with his 
nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose 
names are writ, and can never find ivhat names the 
writing person here hath writ. I must to the learn- 
ed:— In good time. 

Enter Benvollo and Romeo. 

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burn- 
ing. 

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; 
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; 

One desperate grief cures with another's languish: 
Take thou some new Infection to the eye. 
And the rank poison of the old will die. 

Rom. Your plantain-leaf Is excellent for that. 

Ben. For what, I pray thee? 

Bom. For your broken shin. 

Ben. Whj', Romeo, art thou mad? 

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman 
Is: 
Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 
Whipp'd, and tormented, and— Good-e'en, good fel- 
low. 

Sei-v. God gl' good-e'en.- 1 pray, sir, can you read? 

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune In my misery. 

Serv. Perhaps ^fou have learn'd it without book: 
But I pray, can you read anything you see? 

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. 

Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry! 

Rom. Stay, fellow: lean read. [Reads. 

Signor Martino, and his wife and daughters; 
County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; the lady 
widow of V Hmvio; 6'iomo?- Placentio, and his lovely 
nieces; Mercutlo. and his brother Valentine; Mine 
uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece 
Rosaline; LIvIa; Signor Valentio, and his cousin Tyb- 
alt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. 
A fair assembly; [gives bach the note.] Whither should 
they come? 

Serv. Up. 

Rom. Whither to supper? 

Serv. To our house. 

Rom. Whose house? 

Serv. My master's. 

Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. 

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master 
is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the 
house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup 
of wine. Rest you merry. [Eant. 

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; 
With all the admired beauties of Verona: 
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye. 
Compare her face with some that I shall show, 
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. 

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eve 
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires! 
And these,— who, often drowned, could never die,— 

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! 
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun 
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun. 

Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by. 
Herself pols'd with herself in either eye: 
But in that crystal scales, let there be weigh'd 
Your lady's love against some other maid 
That I will show you, shining at this feast. 
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best. 

Rom. I '11 go along, no such sight to be shown. 
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— A Room in Capulet's House. 

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 

La. Cap. Nurse, Where's my daughter? call her 

forth to me. 
Nurse. Now by my maiden-head,— at twelve year 
old,— 
I bade her come.— What, lamb! what, ladybird!— 
God forbid!— Where's this girl ;— what, Juliet: 
Enter Juliet. 
Jul. How now! who calls? 
Nurse. Your mother. 

Jul. Madam, I am here. 

What is your will? 
La. Cap. This is the matter;— Nurse, give leave 
awhile, 



We must talk in secret,— Nurse, come back again; 
i Iki\c rcinenibt r'd me, thou slintt ln'iir our counsel. 
Tliou know 'st luy d:iiiKli(ir 's nC a pivlly age. 

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 

La. Ca2). She 's not fourteen. 

Nurse. I '11 lay fourteen of mv teeth, 

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,— 
She is not fourteen.— How long is it now 
To Lammas-tlde? 

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. 

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the vear, 
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. 
Susan and she,— God rest all Christian souls!— 
Were of an age.— Well, Su.san is with God; 
She was too good for me: But, as I said. 
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; 
That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 
'T is since the earthquake now eleven years; 
And she was wean'd,— I never shall forget it, — 
Of all days of the year, upon that day: 
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug. 
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, 
My lord and you were then at Mantua:— 
Nay, I do bear a brain:— but, as I said. 
When It did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! 
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. 
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow. 
To bid me trudge. 

And since that time It is eleven years: 
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood. 
She could have run and waddled all about. 
For even the day before, she broke her brow: 
And then my husband— God be with his soul! 
A was a merry man!- took up the child: 
Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face? 
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit; 
Wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy dam. 
The pretty wretch left crying, and said— Ay. 
To see now, how a Jest shall come about 
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 
I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth 

he: 
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said— Ay. 

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy 
peace. 

Nurse. Yes, madam; yet I cannot choose but 
laugh. 
To think it should leave crying, and say— Ay; 
And yet, I warrant. It had upon Its brow 
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; 
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly. 
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face? 
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age; 
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said— Ay. 

Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say L 

Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his 
grace! 
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: 
An I might live to see thee married once, 
I have my wish. 

La. Cap. Marry, that marry Is the very theme 
I came to talk of :— Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
How stands your disposition to be married? 

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. 

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, 
I 'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. 

La. Cap. Wei), think of marriage now; younger 
than you 
Here In Verona, ladies of esteem, 
Are made already mothers: by my count, 
I was a mother much upon these years 
That you are now a maid. Thus, then. In brief; 
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 

Nurse. A mail, young lady! lady, such a man. 
As all the world~Whj', he 's a man of wax. 

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 

Nurse. Nay, he 's a flower; in faith, a very flower. 

La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentle- 
man? 
This night yoit shall behold him at our feast: 
Read o'er the volume of joung Paris' face. 
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; 
Examine every several lineament. 
And see how one another lends content; 
And what obscur'd In this fair volume lies. 
Find written in the margin of his eyes. 
This precious book of love, this unbound lover. 
To beautify him, only lacks a cover: 
The fish lives In the sea; and 't Is much pride. 
For fair without the fair within to hide: 
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory. 
That in gold clasps locks In the golden story; 
So shall you share all that he doth possess. 
By having him, making yourself no less. 

Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by 
men. 

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? 

Jul. I '11 look to like, if looking liking move; 
But no more deep will I endart mine eye. 
Than your consent gives strength to make It fly. 
Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served 
up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse 
cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity. 
I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. 

La. Cap. Wefollowthee.— Juliet, the county stays. 

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. 

[Exeunt. 

(Scene IV.— A Street. 

Enter Romeo, Mercutlo, Benvollo, ivith Five or Six 

Maskers, Torch-Bearers, and others. 

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our 
excuse? 
Or shall we on without apology? 

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: 
We '11 have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, 
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath. 
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; 
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
After the prompter, for our entrance: 
But, let them measure us by ^vhat they will. 
We '11 measure them a measure, and be gone. 

Ront. Give me a torch,— I am not for this am- 
bling; 
Being but heavy I will bear the light. 

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. 

Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes. 
With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead. 
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. 

Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, 
And soar with them above a common bound. 



212 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



LACT 



l\»in. I ani too sore onplercpd with his shaft. 
To soar with his lit,'ht IVathiTs; and so bound, 
I cannot bound a pilch above dull woe; 
Uiuicr lovers heavy bunU-n ilo i sink. 

Mil-. And, to sink In it, should jou burden love: 
Too gn'at oppression for a tender thing. 

Rom. Is love a ti'uder thiuf;'.' it is too rough, 
Too riule. too boist'rt)us; anil it ju-icks like thorn. 

j1/ic. If lo\c be rough with you, be rough with 
love; 
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.— 
Give me a case to put my visage in: 

[Putting on a Mask. 
A visor for a visor!— what care I 
What curious eye doth quote deformities? 
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me. 

Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, 
But every man betake him to his legs. 

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart. 
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; 
For I am proverb'd with agrandsire phrase,— 
1 'II be a caudle-holder, and look on,— 
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 

Mer. Tut! dun 's the mouse, the constable's own 
word: 
If thou art dun, we '11 draw thee from the mire 
Of this, sir reverence, love, wherein thou stick'st 
Up to the ears. — Come, we burn daylight, ho. 

Rom. Nay, that 's not so. 

Mer. I mean, sir, in delay 

We waste our lights in vain, lights, lights, by day. 
Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits 
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. 

Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask; 
But 't is no wi; to go. 

Mer. Why, may one ask? 

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. 

Mer. And so did I. 

Rom. Well, what was yours? 

Mer. That dreamers often lie. 

Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things 
true. 

Mer. O, then, I see queen Mab hath been with 
you. 
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes 
In shape no bigger than an agate stone 
On the fore-linger of an alderman. 
Drawn with a team of little atomies 
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: 
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs. 
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; 
Her traces of the smallest spider's web; 
Her collars of the moonshine's watery beams; 
Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film: 
Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat. 
Not halt so big as a round little worm 
Prick'd fi-om the lazy finger of a maid: 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut. 
Made by the joiner squirel, or old grub. 
Time out o' mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
And in this state she gallops night by night 
Though lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: 
On courtiers' knees, that dreams on court'sies 

straight: 
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees: 
O'er ladles' lips, who straight on kisses dream: 
Whicli oft the angi-.v Jlab with blisters plagues. 
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. 
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: 
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail. 
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep. 
Then dreams he of another benefice: 
Sometime slie driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades. 
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon 
Drums in his ear: at which he starts, and wakes; 
And, being thus frighted, s« ears a prayer or two. 
And sleeps again. This is that ver.v Mab 
That plats the manes of horses in the night; 
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs. 
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs. 
That presses them, and learns them first to bear. 
Making them women of good carriage. 
This is she— 

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace. 

Thou talk'st of nothing. 

Mer. True, I talk of dreams. 

Which are the children of an idle brain. 
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy; 
Which is as thin of substance as the air; 
And more inconstant than the wind who wooes 
Even now the frozen bosom of the north. 
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, 
Turning his face to the dew dropping south. 

iJt-rt. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our- 
selves; 
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 

Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives 
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars. 
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
With this night's revels; and expire the term 
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast. 
By some vile forfeit of untimely death: 
But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 
Direct my sail!— On, lusty gentlemen. 

Ben. Strike, drum. [Exeunt. 

Scene v.— A Hall in Capulet's Hquse. 
Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 

1 Sen: Where 's Potpan, that he helps not to take 
away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher! 

2 iierv. When good manners shall lie all in one or 
two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 't is a foul 
thing. 

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the 
court-cupboard, look to the plate:— good thou, save 
me a piece of marchpane, and, as thou lovest me, let 
the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell,— 
Antony! and Potpan! 

2 Sen: Ay, boy; ready. 

1 Serv. ■you are looked for, and called for, asked 
for. and sought for, in the great chamber. 

2 Sen: We cannot be here and there too.— Cheerly, 
boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. 

[They retire behind. 
Enter Capulet, (Sic., with the Guests, and the 
Maskers. 
Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their 
toes 
Unplagued with corns, will have a bout with you;— 



Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all 

Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, 

I '11 swear, hath corns; Am I come near ye now!'' 

Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day. 

That I have worn a visor; and could tell 

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. 

Such as would please; 't is gone, 't is gone, 't Is gone: 

'Vou are welcome, gentlemen!— Come, musicians, 

play. 
A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls. 

[Mvsic plays, and they dance. 

More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up. 
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. — 
Ah, sirrah, this unlooked-for sport comes well. 
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; 
For .vou and I are past our dancing days: 
How long is 't now, since last yourself and I 
Were in a mask? 
2 Cap. B.v 'r lady, thirty years. 

1 Cap. What, man! 't is not so much, 't is not so 

much: 
'T is since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, 
Some nve-andtwenty years; and then we mask'd. 

2 Call. 'T is more, 't is more: his son is elder, sir; 
His son Is thirty. 

1 Cap. Will you tell me that? 

His son was but a ward two years ago. 

Rom. What lady 's that, which doth enrich the 
hand 
Of yonder knight? 

Serv. I know not, sir. 

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! 
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
As >a rich Jewel in an Ethiop's ear: 
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! 
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. 
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
The measuie done, I '11 watch her place of stand. 
And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. 
Did m.v heart love till now? forswear it, sight! 
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague:— 
Fetch me my rapier, boy:— What! dares the slave 
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face. 
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? 
Now by the stock and honour of m.v kin. 
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 

1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm 
you so? 

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; - 
A villain, that is hither come in spite 
To scorn at our solemnity this night. 

1 Cap. Young Romeo, is 't? 

Tyb. "V is he, that villain Romeo. 

1 CaxJ. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone. 
He bears him like a portly gentleman; 
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him. 
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: 
I would not for the wealth of all this town. 
Here in my house do him disparagement: 
Therefore be patient, take no note of him. 
It is my will; the which if thou respect. 
Show a fair presence, and put oft these frowns. 
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; 
I 'II not endure him. 

1 Cap. He shall be endur'd. 

What, goodman l)o.v!— I say, he shall;— Go to;— 
Am I the master here, or you? go to. 
You 'U not endure him!— God shall mend my soul — 
You '11 make a mutiny among my guests! 
You will set cock a hoop! you '11 be the man! 

Tyb. Why, uncle, 't Is a shame. 

1 Cap. Go to, go to. 

You are a saucy boy:— Is 't so Indeed? 
This trick may chance to scath you;— I know what. 
You must contrar.v me! — marry, 't is time — 
Well said, my hearts!— You are a princox; go:— 
Be quiet, or— More light, more light.— For shame!— 
I '11 make .vou quiet: What!— Cheerly, my hearts. 

Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting 
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, 
Novv seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit. 

Rom. If I profane with my un worthiest hand 

[To Juliet. 

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,— 
M,y lips, two blushing pilgrims read.v stand 

•To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too 
mucn. 

Which mannerly devotion shows in this; 
For saints have hands that pilgrim's hands do touch. 

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? 

Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. 

Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; 
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' 
sake. 

Rom. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I 
take. 
Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. 

[Kissing her. 

Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they h.ave took. 

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! 
Give me my sin again. 

Jul. You kiss by the book. 

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with 
you. 

Rom. What is her mother? 

Nurse. Marry, bachelor. 

Her mother is the lady of the house. 
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous: 
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal; 
I tell you,— he, that can lay hold of lier. 
Shall have the chinks. 

Rom. Is she a Capulet? 

dear account! my life is my foe's debt. 
Ben. Away, ijegone; the sport is at the best. 
Rom. Ay, so I tear; the more is my unrest. 

1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; 
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 
Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all; 

1 thank you, honest gentlemen; good night:— 
More torches here! Come on then; let 's to bed. 
Ah, sirrah, [To 2 Cap.Vby m.v fay, it waxes late; 

I 'II to my rest. [E.reunt all but Juliet and Nurse. 

Jitl. Come hither, nurse;: What is yon gentleman? 
Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 
Jul. What 's he. that now is going out of door? 
Nurse. Jlarry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. 



Jul. What 's he, that follows there, that would not 
dance? 

Nurse. I know not. 

Jul. Go, ask his name:— if he be married, 
My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; 
The oiil.v son of your great enemy. 

Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate! 
Too early seen unknown, and known too late! 
Prodigious birth of love it is to me. 
That I must love a loathed enemy. 

Nurse. Whatjs this? What 's this? 

Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now 

Of one I danc'd wlt'hal. [0»ie calls within, Juliet. 

Nurse. Anon, anon:— 

Come, let 's away; the strangers all are gone. [Exe. 

Enter Chorus. 
Now old desire doth in his death -bed lie. 

And young affection gapes to be his heir; 
That fair, for which love groan'd for, and would die. 

With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. 
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again. 

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; 
But to his foe siippos'd he must complain. 

And she steal love's sweet bait from tearful hooks: 
Being held a foe, he may not have access 

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; 
And she as much in love, her means much less 

To meet her new beloved anywhere: 
But passion lends them power, time means to meet, 
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. {Exit. 

ACT II. 

Scene I.— An open Place adjoining Capulet's 

Garden. 

Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? 
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. 

[He climbs the wall, and leaps doicn within it. 
Enter Benvollo and Mercutio. 

Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! 

Mer. He is wise; 

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. 

Ben. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall; 
Call, good Mercutio. 

Mer. Nay, I '11 conjure too. 

Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! 
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, 
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied. 
Cry but— Ah me! pronounce but love and dove; 
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word. 
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir. 
Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim. 
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid. — 
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; 
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.— 
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes. 
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip, 
B.y her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh. 
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie. 
That ill thy likeness thou appear to us. 

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. 

Mer. This cannot anger him: 't would anger him 
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle 
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand 
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down; 
That were some spite: my invocation 
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, 
I conjure only but to raise up him. 

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these 
trees 
To be consorted with the humoroiis night: 
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. 

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. 
Now will he sit under a medlar tree. 
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, 
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.— 
Romeo, goodnight:— I '11 to my truckle-bed; 
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: 
Come, shall we go? 

Ben. Go, then; for 't is in vain 

To seek him here, that means not to be found. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene II. -Capulet's Garden. 
Enter Romeo. 

Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.— 
fJuliet appears above, at a window. 
But, soft! what light through yonder window bi-eaksl 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!— 
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon. 
Who is already sick and pale with grief. 
That thou her maid art far more fair than she: 
Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
Her vestal livery is but sick and green. 
And none but tools do wear it; cast it off.— 
It is my lady: O, it is my love: 

O, that she knew she were!— , 

She s_peaks, yet she says nothing; What of that? 
Her e.ve discourses, I will answer it.— 
I am too bold, 't is not to me she speaks: 
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven. 
Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
What if her e.ves were there, they in her head? 
The brightness of her cheek would shame thise 

stars. 
As diiylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven 
Would through the airy region stream so bright. 
That birds would sing and think it were not night. 
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! 
O, that I were a glove upon that hand. 
That I might touch that cheek! 

Jul. Ah me! 

Rotn. She speaks:— 

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art 
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, 
.■is is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
Of mortivls, that fall back to gaze on him. 
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds. 
And sails upon the bosom of the air. 

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? 
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name; 
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
.\nd I '11 no longer be a Capulet, 

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? 

[.Aside. 

Jul. 'T is but thy name that is my enemy;— 
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. 
What 's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot. 
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 



Scene iiri 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



213 



BelonRinf? to a man. O, be some other name! 
What 's in a name? that which we call a rose, 
By any other name would snu'll as sweet; 
So Konieo would, \s'ere lie not Romeo calTd, 
Retain tliMt dear jK-rlection which he owes, 
Without that titlc:-Kiuui'<>, dott thy name; , 
And fur thv name, which is no part of thee, ' 
Take all myself. 

Rom. I take thee at thy word; 

Call me but love, and I '11 be new baptiz'd; 
Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 

Jul. What man art thou, that thus besereen'd in 
night. 
So stumblest on my counsel? 

Rom. By a name 

I know not how to tell thee who I am; 
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself. 
Because It is an enemy to thee; 
Had I it written I would tear the word. 

Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words 
Of thy tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound; 
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? 

Rom. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike. 

Jul. How cams't thou hither, tell me? and where 
fore? 
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb; 
And the place death, considering who thou art. 
If any of my kinsmen And thee here. 

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these 
walls: 
For stony limits cannot hold love out: 
And what love can do, that dares love attempt; 
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. 

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 

Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye. 
Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet. 
And I am proof against their enmity. 

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. 

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their 
eyes; 
And, but thou love me, let them find nie here; 
My life were better ended by their hate. 
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 

Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this 
place? 

Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire; 
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far 
As that vast shore wash'd with the fai'thest sea, 
I would adventure for such merchandise. 

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face; 
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek. 
For that which thou hast heard me speak to night. 
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fam deny 
What I have spoke. But farewell compliment! 
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say— Ay; 
And I will take thy word: yet, if thouswear'st. 
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries, 
fhe.v say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, 
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: 
Or. if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
I '11 frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, 
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world. 
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; 
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour light: 
But trust me. gentleman, I '11 prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 
I should have been more strange. I must confess, 
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware. 
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me; 
And not Impute this yielding to light love, 
Which the dark night hath so discovered. 

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, - 

Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant 
moon 
That monthly changes in her circled orb. 
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 

Rom. What shall I swear by? 

Jul. Do not swear at all; 

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self. 
Which is the god of my idolatry. 
And I '11 believe thee. 

Rom. If my heart's dear love— 

Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, 
I have no joy of this contract to-night: 
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; 
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be. 
Ere one can say— It lightens. Sweec, good night! 
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath. 
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest 
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast! 

Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? 

Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? 

Rom. The exchange of thy^ love's faithful vow for 
mine. 

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: 
And yet I would it were to give again. 

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what pur- 
pose, love? 

Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
And yet I wish but for the thing I have: 
My bounty is as boundless as the sea. 
My love as deep; the more I give to thee. 
The more I have, for both are infinite. 

[Nurse calls within. 
I hear some noise within; Dear love, adieu! 
Anon, good nurse!— Sweet Montague, be true. 
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit. 

Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, 
Being in night, all this is but a dream. 
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 

Re-enter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, in- 
deed. 
If that thy bent of love be honourable. 
Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow. 
By one tnat I '11 procure to come to thee, 
where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; 
And all my fortunes at thy foot I 'II lav. 
And follow thee my lord throughout the world. 

Niitsc. [Within.\ Madam, 

Jul. I come, anon:— But if thou mean'st not well, 
I do beseech thee— 

Nurse. [Wrtfttn.] Madam. 

Jul. By and by, I come:— 

To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief: 
To-morrow will I send. 

Rom. So thrive my soul,— 

Jill. A thousand- times good night! {Exit. 

Rom. A thousand times the worse to want thy 
light- 



Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their 

books; 
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. 
[Retiring slowly. 
Reenter Juliet, above. 

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!— O, for a falconer's voice, 
To lure this tassel gentle hack again! 
Bondage is hoarse, and iii.iy not speak aloud; 
Else would 1 t<'ar tlie cave wiici-e echo lies, 
And make lier airy longiii' more hoarse than mine 
With repetition of m.y Romeo. 

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name: 
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night. 
Like softest music to attending ears! 

Jul. Romeo. 

Rom. My— 

Nur.'ie. [ Within.] Madam. 

Jill. What o'clock tomorrow 

Shall I send to thee? 

Rom. Bv the hour of nine. 

Jul. I will not fall; 't is twenty years till then. 
I have forgot why I did call thee back. 

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember It. 

Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, 
Rememb'ring how I love thy company. 

Rom. And 1 'II still stay, to have thee still forget. 
Forgetting any other home but this. 

Jul. 'T is almost morning, I would have thee gone: 
And yet no further than a wanton's bird; 
Who lets it hop a little from her hand. 
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves. 
And with a silk thread plucks it back again. 
So loving jealous of his liberty. 

Rom. I would were thy bird. 

Jul. Sweet, so would I; 

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sor- 
row. 
That I shall say good night, till it be morrow. [Ex. 

Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace In thy 
breast!— 
'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! 
Hence will I to my ghostly friar's close cell; 
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. 
Scene III.— i^riar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter F)-iar Laurence, with a basket. 

Fri. The greyey'd morn smiles on the frowning 
night. 
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; 
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
From forth day's path, and Titan's fiery wheels; 
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye. 
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
I must up-flll this osier cage of ours. 
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 
The earth, that 's nature's mother, is her tomb; 
What is her burying grave, that is her womb: 
And from her womb children of divers kind 
We sucking on her natural bosom find: 
Many for many virtues excellent, 
None but for some, and yet all different. 
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies 
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: 
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live. 
But to the earth some special good doth give; 
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use. 
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: 
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; 
And vice sometime 's by action dignified. 
Within the infant rind of this weak flower 
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power: 
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each 

part; 
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
Two such opposed kings encamp them still 
In man as well as herbs,— grace, and rude will; 
And, where the worser is predominant. 
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 
Enter Romeo. 

Rom. Good morrow, father! 

Fri. Benedicite ! 

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?— 
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head. 
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: • 

Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, 
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; 
But where unbrulsed youth with unstuff'd brain 
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: 
Therefore thy earllness doth me assure. 
Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature. 
Or if not so, then here I hit It right— 
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. 

Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? 

Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; 
I have forgot that name, and that name 's woe. 

Fri. That 's my good son; But where hast thou 
been then? 

Rom. I '11 tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
I have been feasting with mine enemy; 
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me. 
That 's by me wounded; both our remedies 
Within thy help and holy physic lies: 
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo, 
My Intercession likewise steads my foe. 

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift: 
Riddling confession finds but riddling .shrift. 

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love Is 
set 
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: 
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; 
And all comiiin'd, save w^hat thou must combine ' 
By lioly marriage: When, and where, and how. 
We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow, 
I '11 tell thee as we pass; but this I pray. 
That thou consent to marry ns today. 

Fri. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here! 
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear. 
So soon forsaken? young mens' love then lies 
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine 
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! 
How much salt water thrown away in waste. 
To season love, that of it doth not taste! 
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
Thy old gixjans ring yet in my ancient ears; 
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
Of an old tear that is notlwash'd oft yet: 
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine. 
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline; 
And art thou ciiang'd? pronounce this sentence 
then- 



Women may fall, when there 's no strength in men. 

Rom. Thou chid'st iiic oft for loving Rosaline. 

Frt. For doting, not lor loving, pupil mine. 

Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 

i'Vi. Not In a grave 

To lay one in, another out to have. 

Rom. I pray thee, chidetnot: she, whom I love now, 
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; 
The other did not so. 

F^i. O, she knew well. 

Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. 
But coine, young waverer, come go with me. 
In one respect I '11 thy assistant be; 
For this alliance may so happy prove. 
To turn your households' rancour to pure love. 

Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. 

Fri. Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run 
fast. [Exeunt. 

Scene lY.—A Street. 
Enter Benvolio and Mercutlo. 

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? — 
Came he not home to-night? 

Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. 

Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that 
Rosaline, 
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 

Mer. A challenge, on my life. 

Ben. Romeo will answer it. 

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter. 

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how 
he dares, being dared. 

Mer. Alas, poor Eomeo, he Is already dead! stab- 
bed with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough 
the ear with a love -song; the very pin of his heart 
cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft; And is he 
a man to encounter Tybalt? 

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? 

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, 
he is the courageous captain of compliments. He 
fights as you sing prick song, keeps time, distance, 
and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, 
and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a 
silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the 
verj; first house,— of the first and second cause: Ah, 
the immortal passado! the puncto reverso! the hay! 

Ben. The what? 

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fan- 
tasticoes; these new tuners of accents!— by Jesu, a 
very good blade!— a very tall man!— a very good 
whore!— Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grand- 
sire, that we should be thus afflicted with these 
strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardon- 
mes, who stand so much on the new form that they 
cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, 
their 6o™«.' 

Enter Romeo. 

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 

Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring:— O, 
flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!— Now is he for 
the numbers that Petrarch flowed in; Laura, to his 
lady, was but a kitchen-wench;- marry, she hadia 
better love to berhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleo- 
patra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and har- 
lots; Thisby, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. 
— Signlor Romeo, bon jour! there 's a French saluta- 
tion to your French slop. You gave us the counter- 
feit fairly last night. 

Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counter- 
feit did I give you? 

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; Can you not conceive? 

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was 
great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain 
courtesy. 

Mer. 'That 's as much as to say— such a case as 
yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 

Rom. Meaning— to court'sy. 

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 

Rom. A most courteous exposition. 

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. 

Rom. Pink for flower. 

Jlfer. Right. 

Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. 

Mer. Sure wit. Follow me this jest now, till thou 
has worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole 
of it Is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, 
solely singular. 

Rom. O, single-soled jest, solely singular for the 
singleness! 

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio: my wits 
faint. 

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I '11 
cry a matoh. 

Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I 
have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in 
one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole 
five: Was I with you there for the goose? 

Rom. Thou was never with me for anything, wheu 
thou wast not there for the goose. 

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 

Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 

Mer. Thy wit Is very bitter sweeting; it is a most 
sharp sauce. 

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose.'- 

Mer. O, here 's a wit of cheverel, that stretches; 
from an inch narrow to an ell broad! 

Rom. I stretch it out for that word— broad: which 
added to tlie goose, proves thee far and wide a 
broad goose. 

Mer. Wh.v, is not this better now than groaning- 
for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou 
Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well 
as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great 
natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide hia 
bauble in a hole. 

Ben. Stop there, stop there. 

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against 
the hair. 

Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large. 

Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it 
short; for I was come to tlie whole depth of my 
tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument na- 
longer. 

Rom. Here 's goodly gear! 

Enter Nurse and Peter. 

Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail! 

Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock. 

Nurse. Peter! 

Peter. Anon? 

Nurse. My fan, Peter. 



nOMEO AND JULIET. 



LACT HI. 



Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; foi- )ier fan 's 
the fairer face. 

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. 

J>Tei: God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. 

Nurse. Is it good den? 

Mer. 'T Is no less, I toll yo\i; for the bawdy hand of 
the dial is now upon tlie pricit of noon. 

Ni/r.-se. Out upon you! wluit a man are you! 

Horn. One, gentlewonuin, tliat God nath made 
himself to mar. 

Nitrse. By my troth, it is well said;— For himself to 
mar, quoth a?— Gentlemen, can any of you tell me 
where I may And the young Romeo? 

Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be old- 
er when you have found him, than he was when you 
sought him: I am tlie youngest of that name, for 
'fault of a worse. 

Nurse. You say well. 

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' 
faith; wisely, wisely. 

Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire. some confidence 
witl\ you. 

Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 

Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho! 

Eom. What hast thou found? 

Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten 
pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. 
An old hare hoar, 
And an old hare hoar, 
Is very good meat in lent: 
But a hare that Is hoar. 
Is too much for a score. 
When It hoars ere it be spent.— 
Romeo, will you come to your father's? we '11 to 
dinner thither. 

Bom. I will follow you. 

JIfer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, 
lady. f Exeunt Slercutio and BenvoUo. 

Nurse. Marry, farewell!— I pray you, sir, what 
saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his 
ropery? 

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear him- 
self talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he 
will stand to in a month. 

Nurse. An 'a speak anything against me, I '11 take 
him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty 
such Jacks; and if I cannot, I '11 find those that 
shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I 
am none of his .skains-mates:— And thou must stand 
by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his 
pleasure? 

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure: it I 
had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I 
warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, 
if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on 
my side. 

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every 
part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!— Pray you, 
sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade 
me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will 
keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should 
lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a 
very gross kind of behaviour, as they say: for the 
gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should 
deal double with her, ti'uly it were an ill thing to be 
offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. 

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- 
tress. 1 protest unto thee, — 

Nurse. Good heart! and i' faith, I will tell her as 
much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. 

Eom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not 
mark me. 

Nurse. I will tell her, sir,— that you do protest; 
which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. 

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift 
This afternoon; 

And there she shall at friar Laujence' cell 
Be shriv'd, and married. Here ft for thy pains. 

Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. 

Rom. Go to; I say, you shall. 

iViirse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. 

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey- 
wall: 
Within this hour my man shall be with thee; 
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair- 
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy 
Must be my convoy in the secret night. 
Farewell!— Be trusty, and I '11 'quite thy pains. 
Farewell' — Commend me to thy mistress. 

Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee!— Hark you, 
sir. 

Rom. Why say'st thou, my dear nurse? 

Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear 
say 
Two may keep counsel, putting one away? 

Rom. 1 warrant thee; my man 's as true as steel. 

Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady 
—Lord, lord!- when 't was a little prating thing,— 
O, there 's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that 
would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, 
had as lieve to see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I 
anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the 
properer man; but, I 'U warrant you, when I say so, 
she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. 
Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a 
letter? 

Rom. Ay, nurse; What of that? both with an R. 

Nurse. Ah, mocker! that 's the dog's name. R is 
for the do" No; I know it begins with some other 
letter: and she hath the pi'ettiest sententious of it, 
of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to 
hear it. 

Rom. Commend me to thy lady. [Exit. 

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times.— Peter! 

Pet. Anon? 

Nurse. Before, and apace. [Exeunt. 

Scene V.— Capulet's Garden. 
Enter Juliet. 
Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the 
nurse; 
In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
Perchance, she cannot meet him:— that 's not so.— 
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts. 
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, 
Driving back shadows over loWring hills: 
Therefore do nimble-plnion'd doves draw love. 
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wiugs. 
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve 
I< three long hours,— yet she is not come. 
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood, 
She 'd be as swift In motion as a bail; 



My words v ould bandy her to my sweet love. 
And his to me; 

But old folks, many feign as they were dead; 
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
Enter Nurse and Peter. 

God, she comes!— O honey nurse, what news? 
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man awav. 

Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter. 

Jul. Now, good sweet nurse,— O lord! why look'st 
thou sad? 
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; 
If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news 
By iilaying it to me with so sour a face. 

N^lrse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile; — 
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! 

Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news; 
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak;— good, good nurse, 
sjjeak. 

Nurse. Jesu, What haste? can you not stay awhile? 
Do you not see that I am out of breath? 

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast 
breath 
To say to me— that thou art out of breath? 
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay 
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; 
Say either, and I '11 stay the circumstance: 
Let me be satisfied, is 't good or bad? 

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you 
know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not 
he; though his face be better than any man's, yet 
his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, 
and a body,— though they be not to be talked on, 
yet they are past compare: He is not the flower of 
courtesy,— but, I '11 warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. 
—Go thy ways, wench; serve God,— What, have you 
dined at home? 

Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before; 
What says he of our marriage! what of that? 

Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head 
have I! 
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. 
My back o' t' other side,— O, my back, my back! — 
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about. 
To catch my death with jaunting up and down! 

Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well: 
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my 
love? 

Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, 
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome. 
And, I warrant, a virtuous:— Where is your mother? 

Jul. Where is my mother?— why, she is-within; 
Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest: 
Your love says, like an honest gentleman^ — 
Where is your mother? 

Nurse. O, God's lady dear! 

Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow; 
Is this the poultice for my aching bones? 
Henceforward do your messages yourself. 

Jui. Here 's such a coil,— Come, what says Romeo? 

Nu)-se. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? 

Jul. I have. 

Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, 
There stays a husband to make you a wife: 
Now comes the wanton blood up In your cheeks 
They '11 be in scarlet straight at any news. 
Hie you to church; I must another way. 
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 
Must climb a bird's-nest soon, when it is dark: 

1 am the drudge, and toil in your delight; 
But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
Go, I '11 to dinner; hie you to the cell. 

Jul. Hie to high fortune!— honest nurse, farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene YI.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 

Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 

Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act 
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not! 

Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can 
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
That one short minute gives me in her sight: 
Do thou but close our hands with holy words, 
Then love-devouring death do what he dare, 
It is enough I may but call her mine. 

F)n. 'Ihese violent delights have violent ends. 
And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, 
Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey 
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness. 
And in the taste confounds the appetite: 
Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so; 
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 

Enter Juliet. 
Here comes the lady;— O, so light a foot 
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: 
A lover may bestride the gossamer 
That idles in the wanton summer air, 
And yet not fall; so light is vanity. 

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 

Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. 

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much. 

Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
This neighbour air. and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagiu'd happiness that both 
Receive in either by this dear encounter. 

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words. 
Brags of his substance, not of ornament: 
They are but beggars that can count their worth; 
But my true love is grown to such excess, 
I cannot sum up halt my sum of wealth. 

Fri. Come, come, with me, and we will make short 
work; 
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, 
'Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunt. 

ACT in. 
Scene I.— .4. Public Place. 
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants. 
Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let 's retire; 
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad. 
And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl; 
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. 

Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when 
he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his 
sword upon the table, and says, God send me no need 
of thee! and, by the operation of the second cup, 
draws it oji the drawer, when, indeed, there is no 
need. 
Ben. Am I like such a fellow? 



Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy 
mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be 
moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 

Ben. And what to? 

Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have 
none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! 
why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair 
more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. 
Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, hav- 
ing no other reason but because thou hast hazel 
eyes. What eye, but such an eye, would spy out 
such a qu.arrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels, as 
an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been 
beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou 
hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the 
street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath 
lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with 
a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? 
with another,f or tying his new shoes with old riband? 
and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! 

Ben. An I were so apt to ouarrel as thou art, any 
man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour 
and a quarter. 

Jlfer. The fee-simple? O simple! 

Enter Tybalt and others. 

Ben. By my head, here come the Capuleta. 

Mer. By my heel, I care not. 

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. 
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. 

Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple It 
with something; make it a vvord and a blow. 

Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an 
you will give me occasion. 

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without 
giving? 

Tub. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo,— 

Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? 
an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing 
but discords: here 's my fiddlestick; here 's that 
shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! 

Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: 
Either withdraw unto some private place, 
Or reason coldly of your grievances. 
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on ns. 

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them 
gaze; 
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 

Enter Romeo. 

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes my 
man. 

Mer. But I 'II hang'd. sir, if he wear your livery: 
Marry, go before to field, he '11 be your follower; 
Your worship in that sense, may call him— man. 

Tub. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford 
No better term than this— Thou art a villain. 

Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee 
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage 
To such a greeting:— Villain am I none; 
Therefore, farewell; I see thou know'st me not. 

Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
That thou hast done me; therefore turn, and draw 

Eom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee; 
But love thee better than thou canst devise. 
Till thou Shalt know the reason of my love: 
And so, good Capulet,— which name I tender 
As dearly as mine own,— be satisfied. 

Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! 
Alia stoccata carries it away. [Draws. 

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? 

Tub. What would'st thou have with me? 

3Ier. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your 
nine lives, that I mean to make bold withal, and, as 
you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the 
eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pllcher 
by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your 
ears ere it be out. 

Tyb. I am for you. [Di-awing. 

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 

Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight. 

Rom. Draw, Benvolio. Beat down their weapons. 
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage; 
Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath 
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets. 
Hold, Tybalt— good Mercutio— 

[Exeunt Tybalt and his Partisans. 

Mer. I am hurt — 
A plague o' both your houses!— I am sped: 
Is he gone, and hath nothing? 

Ben. What, art thou hurt? 

Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marrj-, 't is 
enough. — 
Where is my page?— go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 

[Exit Page. 

Rom. Courage, man: the hurt cannot be much. 

Mer. No, 't is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as 
a church door; but 't is enough, 't will serve: ask 
for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave 
man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.— A 
plague o' both your houses!— What, a dog, a rat, 3, 
mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, 
a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of Arith- 
metic!— Why, tlie devil, came you between us? I was 
hurt under your arm. 

Rom. I thought all for the best. 

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, 
Or I shall faint. — A plague o' both your housesf 
They have made worm's meat of me: 
I have it, and soundly, too:— Your houses. 

[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio. 

Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, 
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 
In mv behalf; my reinitation stain'd 
Witli Tybalt's slanuer, Tybalt, that an hour 
Hath been my cousin.— O sweet Juliet, 
Thy beauty hath made me etfeniinute. 
And in my temper sof teii'd valour's steel. 
Reenter Benvolio. 

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio 's dead; 
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds. 
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. 

Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth de- 
pend; 
This but begins the woe, others must end. 
Re-enter Tybalt. 

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. 

Rom. .\live: in triumph! and Mercutio slain! 
Away to heaven, respective lenity, 
.\iid fire-eyed fury be m.v conduct now!— 
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again. 
That late thou gav'st me; for MercOtio's soul 
Is but a little way above our heads, 



SCE.NE i. 



ROMEO AKD JULIET. 



215 



Staying fov thine to keep liini company: 
Either thou, or I, or botli, must go witli him. 

Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him 
here, 
Shalt with him hence. 

Rom. This shall determine that. 

[They fight; Tybalt /aJis. 

Ben. Romeo, away, he gone! 
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain:— 
Stand not amaz'd:— the prince will doom thee death. 
If thou art taken:— hencel— be gonel— away! 

Rom. Ohl I am fortune's fool! 

Ben. Why dost thou stay! 

[firit Romeo. 
Enter Citizens, &c. 

1 at. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mereutio? 
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? 

Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 

1 at. Up, sir, go with me; 

I charge thee In the prince's name, obey. 
Enter Prince attended; Montague, Capulet, their 
wives, and others. ■ 

Prin. Where are the vile begiuners of this fray? 

Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all 
The unlucky manageot this fatal brawl: 
There lies tlie man slain by young Romeo, 
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mereutio. 

La, Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! 
prince,— O cousin,— husband,— the blood is spiU'd 
Or my dear kinsman!— Prince, as thou art true, 
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.— 

cousin, cousin! 

Prin. Benvolio, who began this fray? 

Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did 
slay; 
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink 
How nicethe quarrel was, and urg'd withal 
Your high displeasure:— All this— uttered 
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly 

bo%v'd— 
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts 
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast; 
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point. 
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 
Cold death aside, and with the other sends 
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud. 
Hold, friends! friends, part! and swifter than his 

tongue. 
His agile arm beats down their fatal points. 
And 'wixt them rushes; underneath whose arm 
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
Of stout Mereutio, and then Tybalt fled: 
But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge. 
And to 't they go like lightning; for ere I 
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain; 
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly; 
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague, 
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true: 
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife. 
And all those twentj; could but kill one life: 

1 beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; 
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mereutio; 
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? 

il/on. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; 
His fault concludes but what the law should end, 
The life of Tybalt. 

Prin. And for that offence, 

Immediately we do exile him hence: 
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding. 
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding; 
But I '11 amerce you with so strong a fine. 
That you shall all repent the loss of mine: 
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; 
Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses, 
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste. 
Else, when he 's found, that hour is his last. 
Bear hence his body, and attend our will: 
Mer^y but murders, pardoning those that kill. \_Exe. 

Scene II.— .A Room in Capulet's House. 
Enter Juliet. 
Jill. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds. 
Towards Phoebus' lodging; such a waggoner 
As Phaeton would whip you to the west. 
And bring in cloudy night immediately. — 
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night. 
That runaway's eyes may wink; and Romeo 
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen! — 
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
By their own beauties: or, if love be blind. 
It best agrees with night. — Come, civil night, 
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black. 
And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods. 
Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks. 
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown 

bold. 
Think true love acted, simple modesty. 
Come, night!— Come, Romeo! come, thou day in 

night! 
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 
Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back. — 
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd 

night. 
Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die. 
Take him and cut him out in little stars, 
And he will make the face of heaven so fine. 
That all the world will be in love with night, 
And pay no worship to the garish sun. 
O, I have bought the mansion of a love. 
But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold. 
Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day. 
As is the night before some festival 
To an impatient child, that hath new robes 
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse. 

Enter Nurse, leith cords. 
And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks 
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.— 
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the 

cords 
That Romeo bade thee fetch? 
^^urse. Ay, ay, the cords. 

[throws them down. 
Jul. Ah me! what news? why dost thou wring thy 

hands? 
Nurse. Ah, well-a-day! he 's dead, he 's dead, he 's 
dead ! 



We are imdone, lady, we are undone!— 

Alack the day!— he 's gone, he 's kill'd, he 's dead!— 

Jut. Can heaven be so envious? 

Nurse. Romeo can. 

Though heaven cannot;— O Romeo, Romeo!— 
Whosever would have thought it?— Romeo! 

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me 
thus? 
This tortine should be roar'd in dismal hell. 
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I, 
And that bare vowel /shall poison more 
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: 
lam not I, it there be such an I; 
Or those eyes shut, that make the answer, /. 
If he be slain, say—/; or if not, no: 
Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe. 

Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,— 
God save the mark!— here on his manly breast: 
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; 
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, 
All in gore blood;— I swoonded at the sight. 

Jul. O break, my heart!— poor bankrout, break at 
once! 
To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty! 
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; 
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier! 

Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! 

courteous Tybalt: honest gentleman! 
That ever I should live to see thee dead! 

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary? 
Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead? 
My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?— 
Then, dreadtul trumpet, sound the general doom! 
For who is living, if those two are gone? 

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; 
Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. 

Jul. O God!— did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's 
blood? 

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. 

Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! 
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? 
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! 
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! 
Despised substance of divinest show! 
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, 
A damned saint, an honourable villain:— 
O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell. 
When tliou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?— 
Was ever book containing such vile matter 
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell 
In such a gorgeous palace! 

Nurse. There 's no trust. 

No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd. 
All forsworn, all nought, all dissemblers.— 
Ah, where 's my man? give me some aqua vitce: — 
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me 

old. 
Shame come to Romeo! 

Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, 

For such a wish! he was not born to shame: 
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; 
For 't is a throne where honour may be crown'd 
Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
O, what a beast was I to chide at him! 

Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your 
cousin? 

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? 
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy 

name. 
When I, thy three hours' wife, have mangled it?— 
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? 
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: 
Back, foolish tears, back to j'our native spring; 
Your tributary drops belong to woe. 
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; 
And Tybalt dead, that would have slain my hus- 
band: 
All this is comfort: wherefore weep I then? 
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; 
But O' it presses to my memory. 
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds. 
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo— banished; 
That — banished, that one vvord — banished. 
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 
Was woe enough, if it had ended there: 
Or,— if sour woe delights in fellowship. 
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,— 
Why follow'd not, when she said— Tybalt 's dead. 
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both. 
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd? 
But with a rearward following Tybalt's death, 
Romeo is banished,— to speak that word. 
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
All slain, all dead:— /Jo?nco is banished,— 
There is no end, no limit, measure, boimd, 
In that word's death; no words can that woe 

sound.— 
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? 

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: 
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. 

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall 
be spent. 
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
Take up those cords:— Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, 
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd: 
He made you for a highway to my bed; 
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. 
Come, cord; come, nurse; I '11 to my wedding bed; 
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! 

Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I '11 find Romeo 
To comfort you:— I wot well where he is. 
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night; 

1 '11 to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 

Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight. 
And bid him come to take his last farewell. [Exe. 

Scene lU.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter F>-iar La-urence and Romeo. 
Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful 
man; 
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts. 
And thou art wedded to calamity. 
Rom. Father, what news? what Is the prince's 
doom? 
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, 
That I yet know not? 

Fri. Too familiar 

Is my dear son with such sour company: 
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 
Rom. What less than dooms-day Is the prince's 
doom? 



Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, 
Not body's death, but body's banishment. 

Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say— death. 
For exile hath more terror in his look. 
Much more than death: do not say— banishment. 

Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished: 
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 

Ro7n. There is no world without Verona walls. 
But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
Hence banished is banish'd from the world. 
And world's exile is death:— then banished 
Is death mis-term'd. Calling death banishment. 
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe. 
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. 

Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! 
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, 
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law. 
And turn'd that black word death to banishment. 
This is dear mercy, and thou seest It not. 

Rom 'T is torture, and not mercy: heaven is here. 
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog. 
And little mouse, every unworthy thing. 
Live here in heaven, and may look on her, 
But Romeo may not.— More valitlity. 
More honourable state, more courtship lives 
In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize 
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand. 
And steal immortal blessing from her lips; 
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty. 
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; 
This may flies do, when 1 from this must fly— 
fAnd say'st thou yet, that exile is not death) — 
But Romeo may not, he is banished. 
Had 'St thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife. 
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, 
But— banished— to kill me; banished? 

friar, the damned use that word in hell; 
Howlings attend It: How hast thou the heart, 
Being a divine, a ghostly confes.sor, 

A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd. 
To mangle me with that word— banished? 
Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak. 
Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. 
Fri. I '11 give thee armour to keep off that word; 
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. 
To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 
Rom. Yet banished?— Hang up philosophy! 
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
Displant a town, reverse apiince's doom; 
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. 
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. 
Rom. How should they, when that wise men have 

no eyes? 
Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 
Rom. Thou canst not speak ot that thou dost not 
feel: 
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love. 
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered. 
Doting like me, and like me banished. 
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear 

thy hair. 
And fall upon the ground, as I do now. 
Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 
Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thy- 
self. [Knocking ivithin. 
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick 
groans. 
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. 

I Knocking. 
Fri. Hark, how they knock !— Who 's there ?— 
Romeo, arise; 
Thou wilt be taken:— Stay awhile;— stand up; 

[Knocking. 
Run to my study:— By and by:— God's will! 
What simpleness is this?— I come, I come. 

[Knocking. 
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what 's 
your will? 
Nurse. [Within.] Let me come In, and you shall 
know my errand; 

1 come from lady Juliet. 

Fri. Welcome then. 

Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar. 
Where is my lady's lord, where 's Romeo? 

Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears 
made drunk. 

Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case. 
Just in her case! 

Fri. O woeful sympathy! 

Piteous predicament! 

Nurse. Even so lies she. 

Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering:— 
Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man: 
For Juliet's sake, tor her sake, rise and stand; 
Why should you fall into so deep an O? 

Rom. Nurse! 

Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir!— Well, death 's the end of 
all. 

Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? 
Doth not she thilik me an old murderer, 
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
With blood remov'd but little from her own? 
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says 
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? 

Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and 
weeps; 
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, 
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, 
And then down falls again. 

Rom. As if that name 

Shot from the deadly level of a gun, 
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd her kinsman.— O tell me, friar, tell me. 
In what vile part of this anatomy 
Doth my name lodge! tell me, that I may sack 
The hateful mansion. [Draws his sword. 

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: 

Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art; 
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote 
The unreasonable fury of a beast; 
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man! 
And ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both! 
Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order, 
I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou Slav thyself? 
And Slay thy lady that in thy life lives. 
By doing damned hate upon thyself? 
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? 
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 
In thee at once; which thou at once would'st lose. 
Fie, fle! rhou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit; 
Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all, 



216 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act IV 



And nscst none In that true \ise indeeit 

Wlilcii should bedeck thy shape, Ihy love, thy wit. 

Thy noble shape is but a I'onii of wax, 

Di^i-i'ssinc; from the valour ol' a man: 

Thy tlear love sworn, liut hollow per.iury. 

Killing that love whieli tliou hast vovv'd to cherish. 

Thy wit, that ornament to shaiie and love. 

Mis-shapen in the eonduet ot them both. 

Like jiowder in a skill less soldier's flask. 

Is set a-tire b>' tl^int* o\\ n ii;noi'auce, 

And thou dismember'il witli thine own defence. 

What, rouse thet-. man! tliy .iuliet is alive. 

For whose dear sake thou Vast but lately dead; 

There thou art happy: Tybalt would kill thee. 

But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy: 

The law, that thveaten'd death, became tliy friend, 

And turn'd it to exile; there art thou iiappy: 

A pack of blessing lights upon tliy bade; 

Happiness courts thee in her best array; 

But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench, 

Thou puttest up thy fortune and thy love: 

Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 

Go. get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 

Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her; 

But, look thou stay not till the watch be set, 

For tlien thou canst not pass to Mantua; 

Where thou Shalt live, till we can And a time 

To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 

Beg pardon of thy prince, and call thee back 

With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 

Then thou went'st forth in lamentation. 

Go, before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; 

And bid her hasten all the house to bed, 

W'hich heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: 

Eomeo is coming. 

Nurse. O Lord, I could have .staid here all the 
night. 
To hear good counsel: O, what learning Is! — 
Jly lord, I '11 tell my lady you will come. 

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: 
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. 

[Exit Nurse. 

Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! 

Fri. Go hence: Good night; and here stands all 
your state; 
Either be gone before the watch be set, 
Or by the break of day disguis'd from Iienee; 
Sojourn in Mantua: I '11 find out your man, 
And he shall signify from time to time 
Every good hap to you, that chances here: 
Give me thy hand; 't is late: farewell; good night. 

Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
It were a grief so hriet to part with thee: 
Farewell. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— A Room in Capulet's Honse. 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. 

Cap. Things liave fallen out, sir, so unluckily. 
That we have had no time to move our daugliter: 
Look you, slie lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, 
And so did I;— Well; we were born to die.— 
'T is very late, she '11 not come down to-night: 
I promise you, but for your company, 
I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 

Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo; 
Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. 

La. Cap. I win, and know her mind early to-mor- 
row; 
To-night she 's mew'd up to her heaviness. 

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender 
Of my child's love; I think she will be rul'd 
In all respects by ine; nay more, I doubt it not. 
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; 
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; 
Ana bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next— 
But, soft; What day is this? 

Par. Monday, my lord. 

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, AVednesday is too 
soon, 
O" Thursday let it be:— o' Thursday, tell her, 
She shall be married to this noble earl:— 
Will you be ready? do you like this haste? 
We '11 keep no great ado;— a friend, or two:— 
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, 
It may be thought we held him carelessly 
Being our kinsman, it we revel much: 
Therefore we '11 ha^e some half a dozen friends, 
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? 

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-mor- 
row. 

Cap. Well, get you gone:— O' Thursday be it 
then:— 
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, 
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. — 
Farewell, my lord.— Light to my chamber, ho! 
Afore me, it is so very late, that we 
May call it early by and by:— Good night. [Exeunt. 

Scene Y.— Loggia to Juliet's Chamber. 

Enter Romeo and Juliet. 

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day; 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark. 
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn. 
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks 
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: 
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain's tops; 
I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 

Jul. Yon light is not day light, I know it, I; 
It is some meteor that the sun exhales. 
To be to thee this night a torch bearer. 
And light thee on thy way to Mantua: 
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; 
I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
I 'II say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
'T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; 
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: 
I liave more care to stay than will to go,— 
Come, death, and welcome!— Juliet wills it so. — 
How is 't, my soul? let 's talk, it is not day. 

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away; 
It is the lark that sings .so out of tune, 
^training harsh discf)rds, and unpleasing sharps. 
Some say, the !ark makes sweet division; 
Tlris doth not so, for she divideth us: 
Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes; 
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too! 



Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray. 
Hunting thee hence withhunts-up to the day. 
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. 

Rom. More light and |light?— more dark and dark 
our woes. 

Enter Nui'se. 

Nurse. Madam! 

Jul. Nurse!' 

Nnrse. Your lady mother 's coming to your cham- 
ber: 
The day is broke; be wary, look about. 

[E.vit Nurse. 

Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. 

Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I 'II de- 
scend. [ Romeo descends. 

Jul. Art thou gone so? love! lord! ay— husband, 
friend! 
I must hear from thee every day in the hour. 
For in a minute there are many days: 
O! l5y this count I shall be much in years, 
Erel again behold my Romeo. 

Rom. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity 
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 

Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? 

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve 
For sweet discourses in our time to come. 

Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining soul; 
Metliinks, I see thee, now thou art so low. 
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: 
Either my eyesight fails, or tliou look'st pale. 

Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. 
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu! 

[Exit Romeo. 

Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: 
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; 
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long. 
But send him back. 

La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up? 

Jul. Who is 't that calls? is it my lady mother? 
Is she not down so late, or up so early? 
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? 
Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet? 

Jul. Madam, I am not well. 

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's 

death? 

What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? 

An if thou could'st, thou could 'st not make him live: 

Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of 

love; 
But much of grief shows still some want of wit. 

Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. ' 

La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the 
friend 
Which you weep for. 

Jul. Feeling so the loss, 

I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for 
his death. 
As that the villain lives that slaughter'd him. 

Jul. What villain, madam? 

La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo. 

Jul. Villain and he be many miles asunder. 
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; 
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart. 

La. Cap. That is because the traitor lives. 

Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my 
hands. 
'Would, none bvit I might vengemy cousin's death! 

La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou 
not: 
Then weep no more. I '11 send to one in Mantua,— 
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,— 
Shall give him such an unaccustomed dram. 
That Jrie shall soon keep Tybalt company; 
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied. 

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied 
AVlth Romeo, till I behold him— dead- 
Is my poor heart, so for a kinsman vex'd: 
Madam, if you could find out but a man 
To bear a poison, I would temper it; 
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, 
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors 
"To hear him nam 'd— and cannot come to him,— 
To wreak the love I bore my cousin 
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him! 

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I '11 find such 
a man. 
But now I 'II tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time; 
What are they, I beseech your ladyship? 

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, 
child; 
One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness. 
Hath sorted out a sudden day of jo.v. 
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. 

Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that? 

La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday 
morn. 
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman. 
The county Paris, at St. Peter's church. 
Shall happily make thee a joyful bride. 

Jul. Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too. 
He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
I wonder at this haste; that I must wed 
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. 
I pray you tell my lord and father, madam, 
I will not marry yet, and, when I do, I swear. 
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate. 
Rather than Paris:— These are news indeed! 

La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so 
yourself. 
And see how he will take it at your hands. 
Enter Capulet and Nurse. 

Cap. When the sun sets, the earth doth drizzle 
dew; 
But for the sunset of my brother's son. 
It rains downright.— 

How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? 
Evermore showering? In one little body 
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind: 
For still thy eyes, which 1 may call the sea. 
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body Is, 
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; 
Who,— raging with thy tears, and they with them, — 
Without a sudden calm, will overset 
Thy tempe.'it-tossed body.— How now, wife? 
Have you deliver'd to her our decree? 

La Ca-p. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you 
thanks. 
I would the fool were married to her grave: 



Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, 
wife. 
How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? 
Is she not proud? doth she not count her bless'd. 
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
So worthy a gentleman to be Iter bridegroom? 

Jxil. Not proud you have; but thankful, that you 
have; 
Proud can I never be of what I hate; 
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. 

Cap. How now! how now, eliop-logici What is 
this? 
Proud,— and, I thank you,— and, I thank you not;— 
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds. 
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thurday next. 
To go with Paris to St. Peter's church. 
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! 
You tallow face! 

La. Cap. Fie, fie! what! are you mad? 

Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees. 
Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient 
wretch! 
I tell thee what,— get thee to church o' Thursday, 
Or never after look me in the face: 
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; 
My fingers itch.— Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd 
That God had lent us but this only child; 
But now I see this one is one too much, 
And that we have a curse m having her; 
Out on her, hilding! 

Nurse. God in heaven bless her!— 

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 

Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your 
tongue. 
Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. 

Nurse. I speak no treason. 

Cap. O, God ye good den! 

Nurse. May not one speak? 

Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool! 

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl. 
For here we need it not. 

La. Cap. You are too hot. 

Cop. God's bread! it makes me mad. 
Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play. 
Alone, in company, still my care hath been 
To have her match'd; and having now provided 
A gentleman of noble parentage. 
Of fair demesnes, youtnful, and nobly train'd, 
StufE'd (as they say,) with honourable parts. 
Proportion 'd as one's thought would wish a man,— 
And then to have a wretched puling fool, 
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender. 
To answer— 7 'II not ived,—I cannot love, 
I avi too younq, — I pray you, pardon ine; — 
But, an you will not wed, I '11 pardon you: 
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me. 
Look to 't, think on 't, 1 do not use to jest. 
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: 
An you be mine, I '11 give you to my friend; 
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets. 
For, by .my soul, I '11 ne'er acknowledge thee. 
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: 
Trust to 't, bethink you, I 'II not be forsworn. [Exit. 

Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds. 
That sees into the bottom of my grief? 
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! 
Delay this marriage for a month, a week; 
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 

La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I '11 not speak a 
word; 
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. 

Jul. O God!— nurse! how shall this be prevent- 
ed? 
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; 
How shall that faith return again to earth. 
Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
By leaving earth?— comfort me, counsel me.— 
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise strata- 
gems 
Upon so soft a subject as myself! 
What say 'St thou? hast thou not a word of joy? 
Some comfort, nurse. 

Nm-se. 'Faith, here 't is: Romeo 

Is banished; and all the world to nothing, 
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; 
Or, If he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
■Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
I think it best you married with the county. 
O, he 's a lovely gentleman! 
Romeo 's|a disliclout to him; an eagle, madam, 
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye 
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
I think you are happy in this second match. 
For it excels your first: or if it did not. 
Your first is dead; or 't were as good he were. 
As living here and you no use of him. 

Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart? 

Nurse. From my soul too; 

Or else beshrew them both , 

Jul. Amen! 

'Nurse. What? 

Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous 
much. 
Go in; and tell my lady I am gone. 
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell. 
To make confession, and to be absolv'd. 

Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. 

[Exit. 

Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked flend! 
Is it more sin— to wish me thus forsworn. 
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue 
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare 
So many thousand times?— Go, counsellor; 
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. — 
I '11 to the friar, to know his remedy; 
If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit. 

ACT IV. 
Scene l.—Priar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. 
Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. 
Par. My father Capulet will have it so: 
And I am" nothing slow, to slack his ha.ste. 

Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind; 
Uneven is the course, I like it not. 

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death. 
And therefore have I little talk'd of love: 
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous 
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway 



I 






Scene i.l 



BOMEO AND JULIET. 



air 



And In his wisdom, liastos our marriage, 
To stop the inundation of her tears; 
Which, too much niindid by herself alone, 
May be put from hei- by societj-; 
Noiv do vou Icnow the reason of this haste. 
Fri. I woulil I knew not why it should be slow'd. 

Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 
Enter Juliet. 

Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife! 

Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 

Par. That u;ay be, must be, love, on Thursday 
next. 

Jul. What must be shall be. 

Pri. That 's a certain text. 

Par. Come you to make confession to this father? 

Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you. 

Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me. 

Jul. I will confess to you, that I love him. 

Par. So will vou, I am sure, that you love me. 

Jul. If I do so. It will be of more price, 
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. 

Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. 

Jul. The tears have got.small victory by that; 
For it was bad enough, before their spite. 

Par. Thou wrong' st it, more than teai-s, with that 
report. 

Jul. That Is no slander, sir, which is a truth; 
And what I spake, I spake it to my face. 

Par. Thy face Is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. 

Jul. It may be so. for it is not mine own.— 
Are vou at leisure, holy father, now; 
Or shall I come to you at evening mass? 

Fri. My leisure serves me. pensive daughter, now:— 
My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 

Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion!— 
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you: 
Till then, adleul and keep this holy kiss. 

I Exit Paris. 

Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done 
so. 
Come weep with me: Past hope, past care, past 
help! 

Fri. O Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
It strains me past the compass of my wits: 
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it. 
On Thursday next be married to this county. 

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou heai'st of this. 
Unless thou tell me hoiv I may prevent it: 
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, 
Do thou but call my resolution wise, 
And with this knife I '11 help it presently. 
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; 
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd. 
Shall be the label to another deed. 
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
Turn to another, this shall slay them both: 
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time. 
Give me some present counsel; or, behold, 
'Twi.xtmy extremes and me this bloody knife 
Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that 
Which the commission of thy years and art 
Could to no issue of true honour bring. 
Be not so long to speak; I long to die, 
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. 

Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope. 
Which craves as desperate an execution 
As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
If, rather than to marry county Paris, 
Thoit hast the strength of will to slay thyself. 
Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake 
A thing like death to chide away this shame, 
That cop St with death himself to 'scape from it; 
And, if thou dar'st, I '11 give thee remedy. 

Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
From oft the battlements of yonder tower; 
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents aie; chain me with roaring bears; 
Or hide me nightly in a charnel-house, 
O'er-eover'd quite with deadmen's rattling bones. 
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls; 
Oi- bid me go into a new-made grave. 
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; 
Things that, to hear them told, have made me 

tremble; 
And I will do it wTthout fear or doubt. 
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 

Fri. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent 
To marry Paris: Wednesday is tomorrow; 
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone. 
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: 
I ake thou this phial, being then in bed, 
And this distilled liquor drink thou off: 
Wlien, presently, through all thy veins shall run 
A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse 
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease. 
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st; 
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall. 
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; 
Each part, depriv'd of supple government. 
Shall .stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death; 
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
Thou Shalt continue two-andforty hours, 
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
Now when the bridegi'oom in the morning comes 
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: 
Then (as the manner of our country is,) 
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier. 
Be borne to burial In thy kindreds' grave: 
Thou Shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, 

Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake. 
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift; 
And hither shall he come; and he and I 
AVill watch thy waking, and that very night 
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
And this shall free thee from this present shame; 
If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, 
Abate thy valour in the acting it. 
Jul. Give me, give me! O tell not me of fear. 
Fri. Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosper- 
ous 
In this resolve: I '11 send a friar with speed 
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 
Jul. Love, give me strength! and strength shall 
help afford. 
Farewell, dear father! [Exeunt. 



ScESE n. -.1 Poom in Capulet's House. 

Enter Capulet, ZkK?i/SCapulet, Nurse, and 

Servants. 

Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.— 

[ Exit Servant. 
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 

2 Serv. You shall hove none ill, sir; for I '11 try if 
they can lick their lingers. 

Cap. How canst thou try them so? 

2 Serv. Marry, sir, 't is an ill cook that cannot lick 
his own fingers; therefore he that cannot lick his 
fingers goes not with me. 

Cop. Go, begone.— [Exit Servant. 

We shall be much unfurnlsh'd for this time.— 
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? 

Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 

Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on 
her: 
A peevish self will'd harlotry it is. 
Enter Juliet. 

Nurse. See, where she comes fronr shrift with 
merry look. 

Cap. How now. my headstrong? where have you 
been gadding? 

Jul. Where 1 have learn'd me to repent the sin 
Of disobedient opposition 
To you, and your behests; and am enjoin'd 
Byholy Laurence to fall prostrate here. 
To beg your pardon:— Pardon, I beseech you! 
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you. 

Cap. Send for the county; go tell him of this; 
I '11 have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. 

Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; 
And gave him what becomed love I might, 
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. 

Cap. Why, I am glad on 't; this is well,— .stand 
up: 
This is as 't should be.— Let me see the coimty; 
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. — 
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar. 
All our whole city is much bound to him. 

Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet. 
To help me sort such needful ornaments 
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? 

La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is time 
enough. 

Cap. Go, nurse, go with her:— we '11 to church to- 
morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. 

La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision; 
'T is now near night. 

Cap. Tush! I will stir about, 

And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: 
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; 
I '11 not to bed tonight;— let me alone; 
I '11 play the housewife for this once.— What, hoi— 
They are all forth: Well, I will walk myself 
To county Paris, to prepare him up 
Against to-morrow: my heart is wond'rous light. 
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exe. 

Scene III.— Juliet's Chamber. 

Enter Juliet and Nurse. 

Jul. Ay, those attires are best:— But,, gentle nurse, 
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night; 
For 1 have need of many orisons 
To move the heavens tosmile upon my state, 
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. 
Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What, are you busy, ho? Need you my 
help? 

Jul. No, madam; we have cuU'd such necessaries 
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow. 
So please you, let me now be left alone. 
And let the nurse this night sit up with you; 
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all. 
In this so sudden business. 

La. Cap. Good night! 

Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. 

[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 

Jul. Farewell!— God knows, when we shall meet 
again. 
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins. 
That almost freezes up the heat of life: 
I '11 call them back again to comfort me;— 
Nurse!— What should she do here? 
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.— 
Come, phial. — 

What if this mixture do not work at all? 
Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? 
No, no;— this shall forbid it:— lie thou there.— 

[Laying down a dagger. 
What if it be a posion, which the friar 
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead; 
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd. 
Because he married me before to Romeo? 
I fear, it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, . 
For he hath still been tried a holy man: 
How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
I wake before the time that Romeo 
Come to redeem me? there 's a fearful point! 
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault. 
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breaths in. 
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? 
Or, if I live, is it not very like. 
The horrible conceit of death and night, 
Together with the terror of the place- 
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle. 
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
Of all my buried ancestors are paek'd; 
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say. 
At some hours in the night spirits resort;— 
Alack, alack! it is not like, that I, 
So early waking,— what with loathsome smells; 
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, 
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;— 
01 if I wake, shall I not be distraught. 
Environed with all these hideous fears? 
And madly play with my forefathers' .ioints? 
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? 
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone. 
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? 
O, look! methinks. I see my cousin's ghost 
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
Upon a rapier's point:— Stay, "Tybalt, stay!— 
Konieo, Romeo, Romeo, I drink to thee. 

[She throws herself on the bed. 
Scene IV.— Capulet's Hall. 
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 

La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more 
spices, nurse. 



Nurse. They call for dates, and quinces In the 
pastry. 

Enter Capulet. 
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath 
crow'd. 
The curfeu bell hath rung, 't Is three o'clock;— 
Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica: 
Spare not for cost. 

Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, goi 

Get you to bed; 'faith, you '11 be sick to inorrow 
For this night's watching. 
Cap. No, not a whit; What, I have watch'd ere 
now 
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 
La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your 
time: 
But I will watch you from such watching now. 

[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
Cap. A .1eaIous-hood, a jealous-hood!— Now, fel- 
low. 
What 's there? 

Enter Servants, tvith si)its, logs, and baskets. 

1 Serv. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not 

what. 
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Serv.]— 
Sirrah, fetch drier logs; 
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 

2 Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, 
And never trouble Peter for the matter. [E.rit. 

Cajj. 'Mass, and well said; A merry whoreson! ha, 
Thou Shalt be logger-head.— Good father, 't is day: 
The county will be here with music straight, 

[Music within. 
For so he said he would. I hear him near:— 
Nurse! — Wife!— what, ho!— what, nurse, I say! 

Enter Nurse. 
Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her up; 
I '11 go and chat with Paris:— Hie, make haste, 
Make haste! the bridegroom he is come already; 
Make haste, I say. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. — Juliet's Chamber; Juliet on the bed. 
Enter Nurse. 

Nurse. Mistress!— What, mistress! -Juliet!— fast, I 
warrant her, she:— 
Why, lamb!— Why, lady!— fie, you sluga-bed!- 
Why, love, I say!— madam! sweetheart!— why, 

bride!— 
What, not a word?- you take your pennyworths 

now; 
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant. 
The county Paris hath set up his rest 
That you shall rest but little.— God forgive me, 
(Marry, and amen!) how sound is she asleep! 
I must needs wake her:— Madam, madam, madam! 
Av, let the county take you in your bed: 
He '11 fright you up, i' faith.— Will it not be? 
What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! 
I must needs wake you: Lady! lady! lady! 
Alas! alas!— Help: help! my lady 's dead!— 
O, well-aday, that ever I was born!— 
Some aquavitEe. ho: my lord: my lady! 
Enter Lady Capulet. 

La. Cap. What noise is here? 

Nurse. O lamentable day! 

La. Cap. What is the matter? 

Nu7-se. Look, look! O heavy day! 

La. Cap. O me, O me!— my child, my only life. 
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!— 
Help, help!— call help. 

L'nter Capulet. 

Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is 
come. 

Nurse. She 's dead, deceas'd, she's dead; alack the 
day! 

La. Cap. Alack the day! she 's dead, she 's dead, 
she 's dead. 

Cap. Ha! let me see her:— Out, alas! she 's cold; 
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; 
Life and these lips have long been separated: 
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost 
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 

Nurse. O lamentable day! 

La. Cap. O woeful time! 

Cap. Death, that hath ta'enher hence to make me 
wall. 
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians. 

Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church? 

Cap. Ready to go, but never to return: 
O son, the night before thy wedding-day 
Hath death lain with thy wife:— There she lies, 
Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; 
My daughter he hath wedded! I will die, 
And leave him all; life leaving, all is death's. 

Par. Have I tliought long to see this morning's 
face. 
And doth it give me such a sight as this? 

La. Cap. Accurs'd. unhappy, wretched, hateful 
day! 
Most miserable hour, that e'er time saw 
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! 
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child. 
But one thing to rejoice and solace in. 
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight. 

Nurse. O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! 
Most lamentable day! most woeful day. 
That ever, ever, I did yet behold! 
O day! O day! O dayl O hateful day! 
Never was seen so black a day as this: 
O woeful day, O woeful day! 

Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! 
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd. 
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown:— 
love! O life! not life, but love in death: 

Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! 
Uncomfortable time! why cam'st thou now 
•To murder, murder our solemnity?— 
O child! O child!— my soul, and not my child!— 
Dead art thou!— alack! my child is dead! 
And, with my child, m.y joys are buried! 

Fri. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives 
not 
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all. 
And all the better is it for the maid: 
Your part in her you could not keep from death; 
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
The most you sought was her promotion; 
For 't was your heaven, she should be advanc'd: 



^ 



218 



ROMEO AND JULIET. 



[Act v. 



And weep yp now, seelne she Is advanc'd, 
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
O. In this love, you love youi' child so 111, 
That you run niiid. si'ciiig that she is well: 
She's not well niarriccl tliat lives married long; 
But she 's best niurriod that dies married young. 
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
Onthfs fair corse; and, as the custom is. 
In all her best array bear Iier to cliurcli: 
For though some nature bids us all lament. 
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 

Cop. All things that we ordained festival. 
Turn from their office to black funeral; 
Our, instruments to melancholy bells; 
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast; 
Our solemn Hymns to sullen dirges change; 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse. 
And all things change them to the contrary. 

Fri. Sir, go you in,— and, madam, go with him;— 
And go, sir Paris;— every one pi-epare 
To follow tills fair corse unto iier grave. 
The heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill; 
Move them no more, by crossing their higli will. 
\Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capiilet, Paris, and Friar. 

1 mis. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be- 
gone. 

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up. 
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [E.r. Nur. 

1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. 
Enter Peter. 

Pet. Musicians, O, musicians. Heart's ease, heart's 
ease; O, an you will have me live, play heart's ease. 

1 Mils. Why heart's ease'? 

Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays— 
My heart is full: O, play me some merry dump, to 
comfort me. 

2 3Ins. Not a dump we; 't is no time to play now. 
Pet. You will not then? 

Mus. No. 

Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 

1 Mils. What will you give us? 

Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will 
give you the minstrel. 

1 3Tus. Then will I give you the serving creature. 

Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger 
on your pate. I will carry no crochets; I '11 re you, 
I '11/a you; Do you note me? 

1 Mus. An you re us, and /a us, you note us. 

2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out 
your wit. 

Pet. Then have at you with my wit; I will dry-beat 
you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger:— 
Answer me like men: 

When griping griefs the heart doth wound. 
And doleful dumps the mind oppress. 
Then music, with her silver sound; 
Why, silver sound? why music with her silver 
sound? 
What say you, Simon Catling? 

1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
sound. 

Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? 

2 Mus. I say— silver sound, because musicians 
sound for silver. 

Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Sound-post? 

3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. 

Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I 
will say for you. It is— music with her silver sound, 
because musicians have no gold for sounding:— 

Then music with her silver sound. 
With speedy help doth lend redress. 

iPxit, singing. 

1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same? 

2 3Iiis. Hang him. Jack! Come, we 'II in here; tarry 
for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

ScKNE I.— Mantua. A Street. 

Enter Romeo. 

Ron-i. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep. 
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: 
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; 
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit 
Lifts me above tlie ground with cheerful thoughts. 
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead; 
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to 

think,) 
And iireath'd such life with kisses in my lips. 
That 1 reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd. 
When but love's shadows are so rich in Joy! 

Enter Balthasar. 
News from Verona!— How now, Balthasar? 
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? 
How doth my lady? Is my father well? 
How doth my lady Juliet? That I ask again; 
For nothing can be ill, if she be well. 

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill. 
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument. 
And her immortal part with angels lives. 
1 saw her laid low in lier kindred's vault. 
And presently took post to tell it.vou: 

pardon me for bringing these ill news, 
Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 

Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!— 
Thou knovv'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, 
And hire post-horses; I willhence tonight. 

Bal. I do beseech you, sir, have patience. 
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
Some misadventure. 

Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd; 

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do: 
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? 

Bal. No, my good lord. 

Rom. No matter: get thee gone, 

And hire those horses; I '11 be with thpe straight. 

(K.rft Balthasar. 
Well, Juliet, Iwill lie with thee to night. 
Let 's see for means:— O, mi.schief! thou art swift 
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! 

1 do remember an apothecary,— 

And hereabouts he dwells,— which late I noted 

In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 

Culling of simples; meagre were his looks. 

Sharp misery liad worn him to the bones: 

And in his needy shop a tortoise hung. 

An alllgatorstufT'd, and ofherskins 

Of illshap'd fishes; and about his shelves 

A beggarly account of empty bo.xes, 

Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 

Bemnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses. 



Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. 
Noting this penury, to myself I said— 
And if a man did need a poison now. 
Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 
Here lives a catiff wretch would sell it him. 
O, this same thought did but forerun my need; 
And this same needy num must sell it me. 
As I remember, this should be the house: 
Being lioliday, tlie beggar's shop Is shut.— 
What, lio! apothecary! 

Enter Apothecary. 

Ap. Who calls so loud? 

Rom. Comehlther, man.— I see that thou ari poor: 
Hold, there is forty ducats; let me have 
A dram of poison; such soon -speeding gear 
As will disperse itself through all the veins. 
That the life-weary taker may fall dead; 
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath 
As violently as hasty powder fir'd 
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law- 
Is death to any he that utters them. 

Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, 
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks. 
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, 
Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back. 
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. 
The world affords no law to make thee rich; 
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 

Ap. My povert.v, but not my will, consents. 

Rom. I pray thy poverty, and not thy will. 

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing vou will, 
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 
Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 

Rom. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's 
souls. 
Doing more murther in this loathsome world. 
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not 

sell: 
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh.— 
Come, cordial, and not poison; go with me 
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exe. 

Scene 11.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
Enter Friar John. 

John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! 
Enter Friar Laurence. 

Lau. This same Should be the voice of friar John.— 
Welcome from Mantua: Wliat says Romeo? 
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. - 

John. Going to find a bare-foot brother out. 
One of our order, to associate me. 
Here in tliis city visiting the sick. 
And finding him,— the searchers of the town. 
Suspecting that we both were in a house 
Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 
Seal'd up tlie doors, and would not let us forth 
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 

Lau. Who bare my letter then to Romeo? 

John. 1 could not send it,— here It is again,— 
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee; 
So fearful were they of infection. 

Lau. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, 
Tlie letter was not nice, but full of charge 
Of dear import; and the neglecting it 
May do much danger: Friar John, go hence; 
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 
Unto my cell. 

John. Brother, I '11 go and bring it thee. I Exit. 

Lau. Now must I to the monument alone; 
Within this tliree hours will fair Juliet wake. 
She willbeshrew me much, that Romeo 
Hath had no notice of these accidents; 
But I will write again to Mantua, 
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come. 
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! ( Exe. 

Scene III.— A Church-yat d; in it, a Monument belong 

ing to the Capulets. 

Enter Paris, and his Page, hearing flowers and a 

torch. 

Par. Give me thy torch, boy; Hence, and stand 
aloof;— 
Yet put it out, for 1 would not be seen. 
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along. 
Holding thine ear close to the liollow ground; 
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread 
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves). 
But thou Shalt hear It: whistle then to me. 
As signal that thou hear'st something approacli. 
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 

Page. 1 am almost afraid to stand alone 
Here in the church-yard; yet I will adventure. 

[Retires. 

Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal-bed I 
strew: 
O woe, thy canopy is dust and stones. 
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew. 
Or wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans; 
The obsequies that I for thee will keep, 
Nightly shall be, to strew thy grave and weep. 

[The Boy v:histles. 
The boy gives warning, something doth approach. 
Wliat cursed foot wanders this way to-night. 
To cross my obsequies, and true-love's rite? 
What, with a torcn!— muffle me, night, a while. 

[Retires. 
Enter Romeo and Balthasar ivith a torch, mattock, 
&c. 

Rom. Give me that mattock, and the WTenching- 
iron. 
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning 
See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
Give me the light; Upon thy life I charge thee, 
Whate'er thou liear'st or seest, stand all aloof. 
And do not interrupt me in my course. 
Why I descend into this bed of death. 
Is, partly, to behold my lady's face: 
But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger 
A precious ring; a ring, tliat I must use 
In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone:— 
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
In what I further shall intend to do. 
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, 
And strew this hungrychurch-yard with thy limbs: 
The time and my intents are savage wild; 
More fierce, and more inexorable far. 
Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 

Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 

Rom. So Shalt thou show me friendship.— Take 
thou that: 



Live and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. 

Bal. For all this same, 1 'II hide me hereabout; 
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires. 

Rom. Thou detestablp maw, thou womb of (ieath, 
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, 
Tlius I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, 

[Breaking open the door of the monument. 
And, in despite, I '11 cram thee with more food! 

Par. This is that banish "d haughty Montague, 
That murder'd my love's cousin;— with which grief, 
It is supposed the fair creature died,— 
And here is come to do some villainous shame 
To the dead bodies; I will apprehend him.— 

[Advances. 
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague. 
Can vengeance be pursu'd fiu-ther than death? 
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: 
Obey, and go witli me; for thou must die. 

Rom. I must, indeed; and thereforecame I hither. 
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. 
Fly hence and leave me;— think upon these gone; 
Let them affright thee.— I beseech thee, youth. 
Put not another sin upon my he.id. 
By urging me to fury :— O, begone! 
By heaven, I love thee better than myself: 
For I come hither arm'd against myself; 
Stay not, be gone;— live, and hereafter say— 
A madman's mercy bade thee run away. 

Par. 1 do defy thy commiseration. 
And apprehend thee for a felon here. 

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, 
boy. [Theyflght. 

Page. O lord! they fight: I will go call the watch. 

{Exit Page. 
I Par. 0,1 am slain! rfa"«.J— If thou be merciful. 
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. 

Rom. In faith, I will:- Let me penise this face;— 
I Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris;— 
I What said my man, when my betossed soul 
I Did not attend him as we rode? I think, 
j He told me Paris should have married Juliet; 
t Said he not so? or did I dream it so? 
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
To think it was so?— O, give me thy hand. 
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! 
I 'II bury thee in a triumphant grave,— 
A grave? O, no; a lantern, slaughter'd youth. 
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 

[Laying Paris in the monument. 
How oft when men are at the point of death. 
Have they been merry! which their keepers call 
A lightning before death: O, how may I 
Call this a lightning?— O, my love! my wife! 
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: 
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks. 
And deatii's pale flag is not advanced there. — 
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? 
O, what more favour can I do to thee. 
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain. 
To sunder ills that was thine enemy? 
Forgive me, cousin!— Ah, dear Juliet, 
Why are thou yet so fair? Shall I believe 
That unsubstantial death is amorous; 
And that the lean abhorred monsier keeps 
Thee here in dark to be his paramour? 
For fear of that, I still will stay with Ihee; 
And never from this palace of dim night 
Depart again; here, here will I reriiain 
With worms that are thy chamber maids; O, here 
Will I set up my everlasting rest; 
And shake the yoke of inauspicioits stars 
From this world wearied flesh.— Eyes, look your 

last! 
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you 
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!— 
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! 
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! 
Here 's to my love!— [I'j'infcs. ) O, true apothecary; 
Thy drugs are quick.— Thus with a kiss I die. [Dies. 
Enter at the other end of the church-yard, Fi-iar 
Laurence icith a lantern, crow, and spade. 

Fri. Saint Francis be my speed: how oft touLght 
Have my old feet stumbled at graves!— Who 's there? 

Bal. Here 's one, a friend, and one that knows you 
iveli. 

Fri. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend. 
What torch is yond', that vainly lends his light 
To grubs and eyeless skulls; as I discern, 
It burneth in the Capels' monument. 

Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there s my master. 
One that you love. 

Fri. Who is it? 

Bal. Romeo. 

Fri. How long hath he been there? 

Bal. Full half an hour. 

Fri.'Go with me to the vault. 

Bal. I dare not. sir: 

My master knows not but I am gone hence; 
And fearfully did menace me with death. 
If 1 did stay to look on his Intents. 

F-i. Stay then, I 'II go alone:— Fear comes upon 
me; 
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
I dreamt my master and another fought. 
And tliat my master slew him. 

Fri. Romeo! — [Advances. 

Alack, alack, what blood is this, whicii stains 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre?— 
What mean these masterless and gory swords 
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? 

[Enters the monument. 
Romeo! O, pale!— Who else? what, Paris too? 
And steep'd in blood?— .A.h, what an unkind hour 
Is guilt.v of this lamentable chance!— 
The lady stiis. [Juliet tvakes and stirs. 

Jul. O, comfortable friar! where is my lord? 
I do remember well where I should be. 
And there I am;— Where Is my Romeo? 

[Noise within. 

Fri. I hear some noise.— Lady, come from that 
nest 
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: 
A greater Power than we can contradict 
Hatli thwarted our intents; come, come, away 
Thy husliand in thy bosom there lies dead; 
And Paris too; come, I '11 dispose of thee 
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns 



Scene ni.] 



OTllELLi). 



219 



Stay not to question, for the watch is cominc; 
Come, go, sooil Juliet,— [iVoisc aga\n'\ I dare no 
longer st.iy. \_Exit. 

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I wiU not away.— 
What 's here? a cup, cios'd in my true love's hand? 
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:— 
O churl! drinli all; and left no friendly drop, 
To help me after?— I will kiss thy lips; 
Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, 
To make me die with a restorative. [Kisses him. 

Thv lips are warm! 
1 Watch, rwithin.'] Lead, boy:— Which way? 
Jul. Yea, noise?— then I '11 be brief.— O happy 
dagger! [Snatching Romeo's dagger. 

This is thy sheath; [Stabs herself] there rust, and 
let me die. ^ , ^ , j ,. 

[Falls on Borneo s body, and dies. 

Enter Watch, with the Page o/ Paris. 
Page. This is the place; there, where the torch doth 
burn. „ , , J. J.,. 

1 Watch. The ground is bloody; Search about the 

church-yard: 
Go, some of you, whoe'er you find, attach. 

[Exeunt some. 
Pitiful sight! here lies the'eounty slain;— 
And .Tuliet bleeding: warm, and newly dead, 
■rtTio here hath lain these two days buried. 
Go, tell the prince.— run to the Capuiets,— 
Eaise up the Montagues,— some others search;— 

[E.i-eunt other Watchmen. 
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; 
But the true ground of all these piteous woes, 
We cannot without circumstance descry. 

Enter some of the Watch, tcith Balthasar. 

2 Watch. Here 's Romeo's man, we found him In 

the church-yard. 
1 Watch. Hold him in safety till the prince come 

hither. 
Enter another Watchman, ivith Friar Laurence. 

3 Watch. Here is a friar, (hat trembles, sighs, and 

weeps: 
We took this mattock and this spade from him, 
As he was coming from this church-yard side. 
1 Watch. A great suspicion; Stay the friar too. 

Enter the Prince and Attendants. 
Pi-ince. What misadventure is so early up. 
That calls our person from our morning's rest? 

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others. 
Cap. What should it be, that the.v so shriek abroad? 
La. Cap. The people in the streets cry — Romeo, 
Some— Juliet, and some— Paris; and all run. 
With open outcry, toward our monument. 
Prince. %Vhat fear is this, which startles in your 

ears? 
1 Watch. Sovereign, here lies the county Paris 
slain; 
And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, 
Warm and new kill'd. 



Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul mur- 
der comes. 
1 Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's 
man; 
With instruments upon them, fit to open 
These dead men's tombs. 
Cap. O, heaven!— O, wife! look how our daughter 
bleeds! 
This dagger hath mista'en,— for, lo! his house 
Is empty on tlie back of Montague,— 
And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom. 

La. Cap. O me! this sight of deatli is as a bell. 
That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 

Enter Montague and others. 

Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up, 
To see thv son and heir now early down. 

Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; 
Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: 
What further woe conspires against my age? 

Prince. Look, and thou Shalt see. 

3Ion. O thou untaught! what manners is in this, 
To press before thy father to a grave? 

Prince. Seal up tiie mouth of outrage for a while, 
Till we can clear these ambiguities. 
And know their spring, their head, their true de- 
scent; 
And then will I be general of your woes. 
And lead you even to death: Meantime forbear. 
And let mischance be slave to patience. — 
Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 

Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least. 
Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
Doth make against me, of this direful murder; 
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge 
Myself condemned and myself excus'd. 

Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know in 
this. 

F)-i. I will be brief, for my short date of breath 
Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 
Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet, 
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: 
I married them; and their stolon marriage-day 
Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death 
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city; 
For whom, and not for T.vbalt, Juliet pin'd. 
You, to remove that siege of grief from her, 
Betroth'd and would have married her perforce 
To county Paris;— Then comes she to me; 
Aud, with wild looks, bid me devise some means 
To rid her from this second marriage. 
Or. in my cell there would she kill herself. 
Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, 
A sleeping potion; which so took effect 
As I intended, for it wrought on her 
The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, 
That he should hither come as this dire night. 
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave. 
Being the time the potion's force should cease. 
But he which bore my letter, friar John, 
Was stay'd by accident; and yesternight 
Return'd my letter back: Then all alone, 



At the prefixed hour of her waking, 
Came I to take her frniii her kindred's vault; 
Meaning to keep Iiit closely at my cell. 
Till I conveniently coul<l send to Romeo: 
But when I came (soinc luimitf ere the time 
Of her awaking,) licic uulirjicly lay 
The noble Paris, and Irue Kdimo, dead. 
She wakes; and 1 entreated her come forth. 
And bear this work of heaven with patience: 
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; 
And she, too desperate, would not go with me, 
But (as It seems) did violence on lierself. 
Ail this I know; and to the marriage 
Her nurse is privy, and, if aught in this 
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life 
Be sacrilic'd, some hour before the time, 
Unto the rigour of severest law. 

i^-ince. We still have known thee for a holy man.— 
Where's Romeo's man? what can he say to this? 

Bat. I brought my master news of Juliet's death; 
And then in post he came from Mantua, 
To this same place, to this same monument. 
This letter he early bid me give his father; 
And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault. 
If I departed not, and left him there. 

Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it.— 
Where is the county's page, that rais'd the watch?— 
Sirrah, what made your master in this place? 

Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's 
grave: 
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: 
Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb; 
And, by and by, my master drew on him; 
And then I ran away to call the watch. 

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's 
words, 
Their course of love, the tidings of her death; 
And here he writes— that he did buy a poison 
Of a poor pothecar.v, and therewithal 
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. 
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!— 
See, what a scourge is laid upon your bate, 
■That heaven finds means to kill your Joys with love! 
And I, for winking at your discords too. 
Have lost a brace of kinsmen:— all arejpunlsh'd. 

Cap. O, brother Montague, give me thy hand. 
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more 
Can I demand. 

Mon. But I can give thee more: 

For I will raise her statue in pure gold; 
That whiles Verona by that name is known, 
There shall no figure at that rate be set. 
As that of true and faithful Juliet. 

Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie; 
Poor sacrifices of our enmity! 

I^nce. A glooming peace this morning with it 
brings; 

The sun for sorrow will not show his head: 
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; 

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: 
For never was a story of more woe 
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exeunt. 



OTHELLO. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Duke op Venice. 

Brabantio, a senator;' father to Des- 

demona. 
Two other senators. 
GR.1TIAN0, brother to Brabantio. 
LoDOVico, kinsman to Brabantio. 



Othello, the Moor. 
Cassio, his lieutenant. 
Iago, his ancient. 
BODERiGO, a Venetian gentleman. 
MONTAjNO, Othello's predecessor in the 
government of Cyprus. 



Clown, servant to Othello. 
Herald. 

Desdemona, wife to Othello. 
Emilia, wife to Iago. 
BiANCA, a courtezan. 



Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musi- 
cians, Sailors, Attcndants,<t;c. 

SCENE.— J'or the First Act in Venice; 
during the rest of the Play at a sea- 
port m Cypkus. 



Sce!JE I.— Venice. A Street. 
Enter Roderigo and Iago. 

Rod. Never tell me; I take it much unkindly 
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse 
As if the strings were thine, should'st know of this. 

Iago. But you'll not hear me. If ever I did dream 
Of such a matter, abhor me. 

Rod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy 
hate. 

Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of 
the city. 
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
Oft'-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man, 
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place: 
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes. 
Evades them; with a bombast circumstance, 
Horribly stufl'd with epithets of war. 
Nonsuits my mediators. For, certes, says he, 
I have already chose my officer. 
And what was he? 
Forsooth, a great arithmetician. 
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 
A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife, 
That never set a squadron in the field. 
Nor the division of a battle knows 
More than a spinster; unless the bookish theorick. 
Wherein the tongued consuls can propose 
As masterly as he mere prattle without practice. 
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election: 
And I,— of whom his eyes had seen the proof 
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds 
Christen'd and heathen,— must be belee'd and 

calm'd 
By debitor and creditor- this counter-caster, 
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 
And I,— bless the mark! his Moor-ship's ancient. 

Rod, By heaven, I rather would have been his 
hangman. 

Iago. Why, there 's no remedy, 't is the curse of 
service; 
Preferment goes by letter and affection, 
And not by old gradation, where each second 
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, 
Whether I in any just term am affin'd 
To love th£ Moor. 

Rod. I would not follow him then. 



Iago. O sir, content you; 
I follow him to serve my turn upon him: 
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave. 
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage. 
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass. 
For nought but provender; and when he 's old, 

cashier'd; 
Whip me such honest knaves: Others there are 
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty. 
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves; 
And, throirtng but shows of service on their lords. 
Do well thrive by them, and, when they have lin'd 

their coats. 
Do themselves homage; these fellows have some 

soul; 
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir. 
It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago. 
In following him I follow but myself; 
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty. 
But seeming so, lor my peculiar end: 
For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
The native act and figure of my heart 
In compliment extern, 't is not long after 
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am. 

Rod. What a fall Fortune does the Thicklips owe. 
If he can carry 't thus! 

Iago. Call up her father, 

Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight. 
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen. 
And though he in a fertile climate dwell. 
Plague him with files: though that his joy be joy. 
Yet throw such chances of vexation on 't. 
As it may lose some colour. 

Rod. Here is her father's house; I '11 call aloud. 

Iago. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire yell. 
As when (by night and negligence) the fire 
Is spied in populous cities. 

Rod. What, hoa! Brabantio! signlor Brabantio, 
hoa! 

Iago. Awake : what, hoa ! Brabantio ! thieves ! 
thieves! 
Look to your house, your daughter and your bags! 
Thieves! thieves! 



Brabantio, above. 

Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons? 
What is the matter there? 

Rod. Signlor, is all your family within? 

Iago. Are your doors lock'd? 

Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this? 

Iago. Sir, you are robb'd; for shame put on your 
gown; 
Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul: 
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram 
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise; 
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, 
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: 
Arise, I say. 

Bra. What, have you lost your wits? 

Rod. Most reverend signlor, do you know my 
voice? 

Bra. Not I; what are you? 

Rod. My name is Roderigo. 

Bra. The worser welcome: 

I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my doors: 
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say 
My daughter is not for thee: and now, in madness, 
(Being full of supper and distempering draughts,) 
Upon malicious knavery, dost thou come 
■To start my quiet. 

Rod. Sir, sii-, sir,— 

Bra. But thou must needs be sure. 

My spirit and my place have in then- power 
To make this bitter to thee. 

Rod. Patience, good sir. 

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is 
Venice; 
My house is not a grange. 

Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 

In simple and pure soul I come to you. 

Iago. Sir, you are one of those that will not serve 
God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do 
you service, and you think we are ruffians, you '11 
have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse: 
you '11 have your nejihews neigh to you: you 'U 
have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans. 

Bra. What profane wretch art thou? 

Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your 
daughter and the Moor are making the beast with 
two backs. 

Bra. Thou art a villain. 

Iago. You are a senator. 



OTHELLO. 



[Act I. 



Bra. Tills thou shalt answer. I know thee, Roderigo. 
Rod. Sir, I will answer anything. But I beseech 

.VOll, 

If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent, 

(As partly I nnd it is,) that your fair daughter, 

At tills odil-even and dull watch o' the night, 

Transiioi'tod with no worse nor better guard. 

But with a kiKivc of common hire, a gondolier, 

'I'o till' yross c'hisps of a la.scivious Moor: 

If tiiir^ be known to you, and your .illowance. 

We then liavi' tloiie >ou bokl and saue.v wrongs; 

But if you know not tliis, my iiianners tell me 

M'e have vour ^\■^oIlg rebuke. Do not believe 

That, from the sense of all civility, 

I thus would play and trifle with your reverence: 

Your daughter,— it you have not given her leave,— 

I sa,\' a^nin. liatli made a f^ross revolt; 

Tyini; her iliity, beauty, wii, and fortunes. 

In an extr;nagant and wlierlin^^ stranger. 

Of here ami everywhere: Straight satisfy yourself: 

If she be in her chamber, or your house. 

Let loose on me the justice of the state 

For thus deluding you. 

Bra. Strike on the tinder, hoa! 

Give me a taper; call up all my people: 
This accident is not unlike my dream; 
Belief of it oppresses me already: 
Light, I say! light! \Exit from above 

Jago. Farewell; for I must leave you: 

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, 
To be produc'd (as, if I stay, I shall) 
Against the Moor: For, I do know, the state, 
(However this may gall him with some check,) 
Cannot with safetj' cast him. For he 's embark'd 
With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars, 
(Which even now stand in act,) that for their souls. 
Another of his fathom they have none 
To lead their business: in which regard. 
Though I do hate him as I do hell pains. 
Yet, for necessity of present life, 
I must show out a flag and sign of love. 
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely fliid 

him. 
Lead to the Saglttary the raised search; 
And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [Exit. 
Enter, below, Brabantio, and Servants, with torches. 

Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is; 
And what's to come of my despised time 
I.s nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 
Where didst thou see her?— O, unhappy girl!— 
With the Moor say'st thou?— Who would be a fath- 
er?— 
How didst thou know 'twas she? — O, she deceives 

me 
Past thought!— What said she to you? —Get more 

tapers; 
Raise all my kindred.— Are they married, think you? 

Rod. Truly, I think they are. 

Bra. O heaven!— How got she out?— O treason of 
the blood !- 
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' 

minds 
By what you see them act.- Are there not charms 
!w which the property of youth and maidhood 
May be abus'd? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
Of some such thing? 

Rod. Yes, sir; I have indeed. 

Bra. Call up my brother. — O, would you had had 
her!— 
Some one way, some another.— Do you know 
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor? 

Rod. I think I can discover him, if you please 
To get good guard, and go along with me. 

Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; 
I may command at most;— Get weapons, hoa! 
And raise some special officers of night.— 
On, good Roderigo. I will deserve your pains. 

\ Exeunt. 

Scene II.— The same. Another Street. 

Enter Othello, lago, and Attendants, lolth torches. 

lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men, 
Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience. 
To do no contrlv'd murder: I lack Iniquity 
Sometime to do me service: Nine or ten times 
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the 
ribs. 

Oth. 'T is better as it is. 

lago. Nay, but he prated. 

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
Against your honour. 
That, with the little godliness I have, 
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir. 
Are you fast married? Be assur'd of this, 
That the magnifico is much belov'd, ' 
And hath, in his effect, a voice potential. 
As double as the duke's: he will divorce you; 
Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
The law (with all his might to enforce It on) 
Will give him cable. 

Oth. Let him do his spite: 

My services, which I have done the signiory. 
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'T is yet to know, 
(Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, 
I shall ijromulgate,) I fetch my life and being 
From men of royal siege; and my demerits 
May speak, unbonneted, to as proud a fortune 
As this that I have reach'd: For know, lago. 
But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
I would not my unhoused free condition 
Put into circumscription and conflne 
For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come 
yond? 

Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain OfBcers with 
torches. 

lago. Those are the raised father and his friends; 
You were best go In. 

Oth. Not I: I must be found; 

My parts, my title, and my perfect soul. 
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they? 

lago. B.y Janus, I think no. 

Oth. The servants of the duke; and my lieutenant. 
The goodness of the night upon you, friends! 
What Is the news? 

Cas. The duke does greet you, general; 

And he requires your haste-post-haste appearance, 
Even on the instant. 

Oth. What is the matter, think you? 

Caa. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine: 
It is a business of some heat. The galleys 
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
This very night, at oue another's heels; 



And many of the consuls, rais'd and met. 

Are at the duke'.s already: You have been hotly 

eall'd for; 
When, being not at your lodging to be found. 
The senate hath sent about three several quests. 
To search you out. 

Oth. 'T is well I am found by you. 

I will but spend a word here in the house. 
And go with you. [Exit. 

Cas. Ancient, wliat makes he here? 

lago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land 
carack; 
If it prove lawful prize he 's made for ever. 

Cas. I do not understand. 

lago. He 's married. 

Cas. To who? 

Re-enter Othello. 

lago. Marry, to— Come, captain, will you go? 

Oth. Have with you. 

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officers with 
torches. 

lago. It is Brabantio: -general, be advls'd; 
He comes to bad intent. 

Oth. Hola! stand there! 

Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 

Bra. Down with him, thief ! 

[Thev draw on both sides. 

lago. You, Roderigo! Come, sir, I am for you. 

Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will 
rust them. 
Good signior, you shall more command with years 
Than with your weapons. 

Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my 
daughter? 
Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her: 
For I '11 refer me to all things of sense, 
(If she in chains of magic were not bound,) 
Whether a maid so tender, fair, and happy. 
So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd 
The wealth}' euiied dearllng of our nation. 
Would ever have, to incur a general mock. 
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 
Of such a thing as thou,— to fear, not to delight. 
Judge me the world, if 't is not gross in sense. 
That thou hast practised on her with foul charms; 
Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals. 
That weaken motion:— I '11 have it disputed on; 
'T is probable, and palpable to thinking. 
T therefore apprehend and do attach thee, ^ 
For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant: 
Lay hold upon him; if he do resist. 
Subdue him at his peril. 

Oth. Hold your hands. 

Both you of my inclining, and the rest: 
^Vere it my cue to flght, I should have known It 
Without a prompter.— Where will you that I go 
To answer this your charge? 

Bra. To prison: till fit time 

Of law, and course of direct session. 
Call thee to answer. 

Oth. What if I do obey? 

How may the duke be therewith satisfied; 
Whose messengers are here about my side. 
Upon some present business of the state. 
To bring me to him? 

Off. 'T is true, most worthy signior, 

The duke 's in council; and your noble self, 
I am sure is sent for. 

Bra. How! the duke in council? 

In this time of the night?— Bring him away: 
Mine 's not an idle cause: the duke himself. 
Or any of my brothers of the state. 
Cannot but feel this wrong as 't were their own: 
For if such actions may have passage free. 
Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen be. 

[E.i'eiint. 

Scene III.— TTie Same. A Council Chamber. 

The Duke, and Senators, sitting; OfBcers 
attending. 
Duke. There Is no composition in these news. 
That gives them credit. 

1 Sen. Indeed, they are dlsproportion'd; 
My letters say, a hundred and seven galleys. 

Duke. And mine, a hundred fort.v. 

2 Sen. And mine, two hundred: 
But though they jump not on a just account, 

(As in these cases where the aim reports, 

'T is oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm 

A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to C.vprus. 

Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment: 
I do not so secure me in the error. 
But the main article I do approve 
In fearful sense. 

Sailor. [Within.i What hoa! what hoa! what hoa! 

Enter Sailor. 

Off. A messenger from the galleys. 

Duke. Now? the business? 

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes! 
So was I bid report here to the state, 
By signior Angelo. 

Duke. How say you by this change? 

1 Sen. This cannot be. 

By no assay of reason; 't is a pageant. 
To keep us In false gaze: When we consider 
The importancy of (jypiiis to the Turk; 
And let ourselves again but understand 
That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
So may he with more facile question bear it, 
For that It stands not In such vvarlike brace, 
But altogether lacks the abilities 
That Rhodes is dress'd In: If we make thought of this, 
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful. 
To leave that latest which concerns him first. 
Neglecting an attempt of ease and gain. 
To wake and wage a danger profitless. 

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he 's not for Rhodes. 

Off. Herp is more news. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The Ottomltes, reverend and gracious. 
Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, 
Have there injolnted them with an after fleet. 

1 Sen. Ay, so I thought:— How many, as you guess? 

Mess. Of thirt.v sail: and now they do re-stem 
Their backward course, bearing with frank appear- 
ance 
Their purposes towards Cyprus. Signior Montano, 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 



With his free duty, recommends you thus. 
And prays you to believe him. 

Duke. 'T is certain then for Cyprus. 
Marcus Luccicos, is not he In town? 
1 Sen. He 's now In Florence. 
Duke. Write from us to him, post— post-haste, de- 
spatch. 
1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant 
Moor. 
Enter Brabantio, Othello, lago, Roderigo, and 
Ofticer.s. 
Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ 
you ' 

' Against the general enemy Ottoman. 
I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior: 
„. , , , , ^To Brabantio. 

I W e lack'd your counsel nnd your help to-night. 
I Bra. So did I yours: good your grace, pardon me; 
Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business. 
Hath rais'd me from my bed; nor doth the general 

care 
Take hold on me; for my particular gi-ief 
Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature. 
That It engluts and swallows other sorrows. 
And it is still itself. 
Duke. Why, what 's the matter? 

Bra. My daughter! O, my daughter! 
Sen. Dead? 

Bra. Ay, to me; 
She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks: 
For nature so preposterously to err. 
Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense. 
Sans witchcraft could not— 

Duke. Whoe'er he be, that in this foul proceeding 
Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself. 
And you of her, the bloody book of law 
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter. 
After your own sense; yea, though our proper son 
Stood in your action. 

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 

Here is the man, this Moor; whom now. It seems. 
Your special mandate, for the state affairs. 
Hath hither brought. 
All. We are very sorry for 't. 

Duke. What, In your own part, can you say to this? 

[To Othello. 
Bra. Nothing but this is so. 
Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors. 
My very noble and approv'd good masters, — 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter 
It Is most true; true, I have married her; 
The very head and front of my offending 
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I In my speech. 
And little bless'd with the .soft phrase of peace; 
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith. 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
Their dearest action in the tented field; 
And little of this great world can I speak. 
More than pertains to feats of broils and battle; 
And therefore little shall I grace my cause. 
In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious pa- 
tience, 
I will a round unvarnlsh'd tale deliver 
Of my whole course of love: what drugs, what 

charms. 
What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
(For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) 
I won his daughter. 

Bra. A maiden never bold; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her rnotion 
Blush'd at herself: and she, in spite of nature, 
Of years, of country. Credit, every thing. 
To fall in love-with what she fear'd. to look on? 
It is a judgment malm'd, and most imperfect. 
That will confess, perfection so could err 
Against all rules of nature; and must be driven 
To find out practices of cunning hell. 
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again. 
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood. 
Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect. 
He wrought upon her. 

Duke. ' To vouch this is no proof; 

Without more wider and more over test. 
Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods 
Of modern seeming, do prefer against him. 

1 Sen. But, Othello, speak: 
Did you by Indirect and forced courses 
Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? 
Or came It by remiest, and such fair question 
As soul to soul aitordeth? 

Oth. I do beseech you. 

Send for the lady to the Saglttary, 
And let her speak of me before her father: 
If you do find me foul in her report. 
The trust, the office, I do hold of you. 
Not only take away, but let your sentence 
Even fall upon my life. 
Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 

Oth. Ancient, conduct them: you best know the 
- place. [Exeunt lago and Attendants. 

,4nd, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
I do confess the vices of my blood. 
So justly to your grave ears I '11 present 
How I did thrive in this fair lady's love. 
And she in mine. 
Duke. Say it, Othello. 

Oth. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; 
Still question'd me the story of my life. 
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortune. 
That I have pass'd. 

I ran It through, even from my boyish days. 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances; 
Of moving accidents by flood and field; 
Of hairbreadth 'scapes 1' the imminent deadly 

breach; 
Of being taken by the insolent foe 
And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence. 
And portance. In my traveller's history, 
(Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle. 
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch 

heaven. 
It was my hint to speak,) such was my process;— 
And of the Cannibals that each other eat. 
The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to 

hear 
Would Desdemona seriously incline: 
But still the house affairs would draw her thence; 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch. 
She 'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse: Which I observing. 



Scene iii.'I 



■ OTHELLO. 



221 



Took once a pliant hour; and found good means 

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 

That I would all niv pilgrimage dilate. 

Wlu'i-eof by piuvi-ls she had something heard. 

But not iiifi lUlvi'ly: I did couM'ut; 

And ol'tcii did brt;uile Irt of h.'r tears, 

When 1 did sjieak of some distressful stroke 

That my youth suft'er'd. Jly story being done. 

She gave nie for my pains a world of sighs: 

She swore,— In faith, 't was strange, 't was passing 

strange; 
'T was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful: 
She wlsn'd she had not heard it; yet she wisli'd 
That heaven liad made her such a man: she thank'd 

me; 
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
I should but teach him how to tell my story. 
And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: 
She loVd me for the dangers I had pass'd; 
And I lov'd her that she did pity them. 
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd; 
Here conies the lady, let her witness it. 

Enter Desdemona, lago, and Attendants. 

Ihike. I think this tale would win my daughter too. 
Good Brabant io. 

Take up this mangled matter at the best: 
Men do their broken weapons rather use. 
Than their bare hands. 

Bra. I pray you, hear her speak: 

If she confess that she was half the wooer. 
Destruction on my head if my bad blame 
Light on the man!— Come hither, gentle mistress; 
Do yo\i perceive ln all this noble company 
Where most you owe obedience? 

Des. . My noble father, 

I do perceive here a divided dtity: 
To vou, I am bound for life and education; 
My life and education both do learn me 
How to respect you; you are the lord of duty;— 
I am hitherto your daughter: But here 's my hus- 
band; 
And so much duty as my mother show'd 
To you, preferring you before her father, 
So much I challenge that I may profess 
Due to the Moor, m.v lord. 

Bra. God be with youl— I have done:— 

Please it your grace on to the state affairs; 
I had rather to adopt a child than get it. 
Come hither. Moor: 

I here do give thee that with all my heart. 
Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
I would keep from thee.— For your sake, Jewel, 
I am glad at soul I have no other child; 
For thy escape would teach me tyranny, 
To hang clogs on them.— I have done, my lord. 

Dicke. Let me speak like yourself; and lay a sen- 
tence. 
Which, as a grise, or step, may help these lovers. 
When remedies are past, the griefs are ended, 
Hv seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. 
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone 
Is the next wa.v to draw new mischief on. 
What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, 
Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
The robb'd that smiles steals something from the 

thief; 
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief. 

Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; 
We lose it not so long as we can smile. 
He bears the sentence well that nothing bears 
But tlie free comtort which from thence he hears; 
But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow 
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall. 
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal: 
But words are words; I never yet did hear 
Tliat the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear. 
1 humblv beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation 
makes for Cyprus:— Othello, the fortitude of the 
place is best known to you: And though we have 
there a substitute of most allowed sufBcleucv, yet 
opinion, a more sovereign mistress of effects, throws 
a more safer voice on you: you must therefore be 
i content to slubber the gloss of your new fortunes 
with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. 

Oth. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize 
A natural and prompt alacrity 
I find in hardness; and do undertake 
These present wars against the Ottomites. 
Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
I crave fit disposition for my wife; 
Due reference of place, and exhtbition; 
With such accommodation, and besort. 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. Why; at her father's. 

Bra. I will not have it so. 

Oth. Nor 1. 

I)es. Nor I. I would not there reside. 
To put my father in impatient thoughts. 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke. 
To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear. 
And let me find a charter in your voice 
To assist 'my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemona? 

Des. That I love the Moor to live with him. 
My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
May trumpet to the world: my heart 's subdued 
Even to the very quality of my lord; 
I saw Othello's visage in his mind; 
And to his honours and his valiant parts 
Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
A moth of peace, and he go to the war. 
The lights for why I love him are bereft me, 
And I a heavy Interim shall support 
By his dear absence: Let me go with him. 

Oth. Let her have your voice. 
Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not. 
To please the palate of my appetite; 
Nor to comply with heat (the young affects 
In me defunct and proper satisfaction;! 
But to be free and bounteous to her mind: 
And heaven defend your good souls, that you think 
I will your serious and great business scant. 
When she is with me: No, when Ught-wlng'd toys 
Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dullness 
My speculative and offlc'd instrument. 
That my disports corrupt and taint my business, 
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, 
And all indign and base adversities 



Make liead against my estimation. 

Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine. 
Either for her stay or going; tlie affair cries haste. 
And spee<l must answer it. 
1 Sen. You must away tonight. 
Oth. With all my heart. 

Duke. At nine 1' the morning here we '11 meet 
again. 
Othello, leave some ofBcer behind, 
And he shall our commission bring to you; 
And such things else of quality and respect 
As doth Import you. 

Ot)i. So please your grace, my ancient; 

A man he is of honesty and trust: 
To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
With what else needful your good grace shall think 
To be sent after me. 

Duke. Let it be so. 

Good night to every one.— And, noble slgnior, 

[To Brabantio. 
If virtue no delighted beauty lack. 
Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 
1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor! use Desdemona well. 
Bra. Look to her. Moor, if thou hast eyes to see; 
She has deceived her father, and may thee. 

[K.reunt Duke, Senators, Officers, t£-c. 
Oth. My life upon her faith! Honest lago. 
My Desdemona must I leave to thee; 
I prithee let thy wife attend on her; 
And bring them after in the best advantage. 
Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matter and direction. 
To spend with thee: we must obey the time. 

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. 
Rod. lago. 

Jafjo. What say'st thou, noble heart? 
Rod. What will I do, thlnk'st thou? 
/ii(/o. Why, go to bed and sleep. 
Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 
lago. If thou dost I shall never love thee after. 
Why, thou silly gentleman! 

Rod. It is silliness to live when to live is torment: 
and then have we a prescription to die when death 
is our physician. 

lago. O villainous! I have looked upon the world 
for four times seven years; and since I could dis- 
tinguish betwixt a benefit and an injury, I never 
found man that knew how to love himself. Ere I 
would say I would drown myself for the love of a 
Guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with a 
baboon. 

Rod. What should I do? I confess it is my shame 
to be so fond; but it is not in my virtue to amend it. 
lago. Virtue? a flgl 't is in ourselves that we are 
thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens; to the 
which our wills are gardeners: so that it we will 
plant nettles, or sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed 
up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs, or 
distract it with many; either to have it sterll with 
idleness, or manured with industry; why, the power 
and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If 
the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason 
to poise another of sensuality, the blood and base- 
ness of our natures would conduct us to most pre- 
posterous conclusions: But we have reason to cool 
our raging motions, our carnal stings, our unbitted 
lusts; whereof I take this, that you call love, to be 
a sect or scion. 
Rod. It cannot be. 

lago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a per- 
mission of the will. Come, be a man: Drown thyself? 
drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed me 
thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving 
with cables of perdurable toughness. I could never 
better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse; 
follow thou the wars; defeat thy favour with an 
usurped beard; I say, put money in thy purse. It 
cannot be long that Desdemona should continue her 
love to the Moor,— put money in thy purse;— nor he 
his to her: it was a violent commencement in her, 
and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration;— 
put but money in thy purse.— These Moors are 
changeable in their wills;— flU thy purse with money: 
the food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, 
shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintlda. She 
must change for youth: when she is sated with his 
body she will find the errors of her choice. There- 
fore put money in thy purse.— If thou wilt needs 
damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than drown- 
ing. Make all the money thou can.st: If sanctimony 
and a frail vow, betwixt an erring barbarian andsu- 
persubtle Venetian, be not too hard for my wits and 
all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy her; therefore 
make money. A pox of drowning thyself! it Is clean 
out of the way; seek thou rather to be banged in 
compassing thy Joy, than to be drowned and go 
without her. 

Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend on 
the issue? 

lago. Thou art sure of me;— Go, make money: I 
have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again and 
again, I hate the Moor: My cause is hearted; thine 
hath no less reason: Let us be conjunctive in our 
revenge against him: it thou canst cuckold him, thou 
dost thyself a pleasure, me a sport. There are many 
events in the womb of time which will be delivered. 
Traverse; go; provide thy money. We will have 
more of this tomorrow. Adieu. 
Rod. Where shall we meet i' the morning? 
lago. At my lodging. 
Rod. I '11 be with thee betimes. 
lago. Go to; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigo? 
Rod. What say you? 

lago. No more of drowning, do you hear? 
Rod. I am changed. I '11 sell all my land. 
lago. Go to; farewell! put money enough in your 
purse. [Exit Rodengo. 

Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: 
For I mine own galn'd knowledge should profane. 
If I would time expend with such a snipe. 
But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor; 
And it Is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets 
He has done my ofBce: I know not if 't be true; 
But I, for mere suspicion in that kind. 
Will do, as if for surety. He holds me well: 
The better shall my purpose work on him. 
Casslo 's a proper man: Let me see now; 
To get his place, and to plume up my will; 
In double knavery,— How? how?— Let 's see:— 
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear 
That he is too familiar with his wife: 
He hath a person, and a smooth dispose. 
To be suspected; fram'd to make women false. 
The Moor Is of a tree and open nature, 



That thinks men honest that but seem to be so; 
And w ill as tenderly be led by the nose. 
As asses are. 

1 have 't;— it is engender'd:— Hell and night 

Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. 

[Exit. 
ACT IL 
Scene I.— A Sea-port Town in Cyprus. 
Enter Montano and Tu;o Gentlemen. 

Mon. What from the cape can you discern at sea? 

1 Gent. Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood; 
I cannot, 'tjvlxt the heaven and the main. 
Descry a sail. 

Mon. Methinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at land; 
A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements: 
If it hath rvifflan'd so upon the sea. 
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them. 
Can hold the mortise? what shall we hear of this? 

2 Gent. A segregation of the Turkish fleet: 
For do but stand upon the foaming shore. 
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds; 

The windshak'd surge, with high and monstrous 

mane. 
Seems to cast water on the burning bear, 
.\nd quench the guards of the ever-flxed pole; 
I never did like molestation view 
On til' enchated flood. 

Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 

Be not enshelter'd and embay'd, they are drown'd; 
It Is impossible to bear it out. 

Enter a Third Gentleman. 

3 Gent. News, lads! our wars are done: 

The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks. 
That their designnient halts: A noble ship of Venice 
Hath seen a grievous wrack and sufferance 
On most part of their fleet. 

Mon. How! is this true? 

3 Gent. The ship is here put in, 

A Veronessa: Michael Casslo, 
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello, 
Is come on shore: the Moor himself 's at sea, 
And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 

Mon. I am glad on 't; 't is a worthy governor. 

3 Gent. But tills same Casslo, — though he speak of 
comfort. 
Touching the Turkish loss,— yet he looks sadly, 
-iiid prays the Moor be safe; for they were parted 
With foul and violent tempest. 

Mon. 'Pray heaven he be; 

For I have serv'd him, and the man command.s 
Like a full soldier. Let 's to the sea-side,— hoa! 
As well to see the vessel that 's come in 
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello; 
Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue. 
An Indistinct regard. 

3 Gent. Come, let 's do so. 
For every minute is expectancy 

Of more arrivance. 

Enter Casslo. 

Cas. Thanks, you the valiant of the warlike isle. 
That so approve the Moor! O, let the heavens 
Give him defence against the elements. 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea! 

Mon. Is he well shipp'd? 

Cos. His bark is stoutly tlmber'd, and his pilot 
Of very expert and approv'd allowance; 
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death. 
Stand in bold cure. 

[Within.'] A sail, a sail, a sail! 

Enter another Gentleman. 

Cas. What noise? 

4 Gent. The town is empty; on the brow o' the sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry— a sail. 

Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 

2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy: 

[Guns heard. 
Our friends, at least. 

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth. 
And give us truth who 't is that is arriv'd. 

2 Gent. I shaU. [Exit. 

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv'd? 

Cas. Most fortunately: he hath achiev'd a maid 
That paragon's description and wild fame; 
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 
And in the essential vesture of creation 
Does tire the ingener.- How now? who has put in? 
Re-enter Second Gentleman. 

2 Gent. 'T is one lago, ancient to the general. 

Cas. He has had most favorable and happy speed: 
Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds. 
The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, 
■Traitors ensteep'd to enclog the guiltless keel, 
As having sense of beauty do omit 
Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
•The divine Desdemona. 

Mon. What is she? 

Cos. She that I spake of, our great captain's cap- 
tain. 
Left in the conduct of the bold lago; 
Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, 
A sen'night's speed.— Great Jove, Othello guard. 
And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath; 
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship. 
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona 's arms 
Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits. 
And bring all Cyprus comfort!— O behold. 

Enter Desdemona, Emilia, lago, Roderigo, and 
Attendants. 
The riches of the ship is come on shore! 
You men of Cyprus, let her have your knees: 
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven. 
Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
Enwheel thee round! 

Des. I thank you, valiant Casslo: 

What tidings can you tell me of my lord? 

Cas. He is not yet arriv'd; nor know I aught 
But that he 's well, and will be shortly here. 

Des. O, but I fear— How lost you company? 

Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
Parted our fellowship: But hark! a sail. 

[Cry within, A sail! a sail! Then guns heard. 

2 Gent. "They give their greeting to the citadel; 
This likewise is a friend. 

Cos. See for the news.— 

[Exit Gentleman. 
Good ancient, you are welcome;— Welcome, mis- 
tress:— [To Emilia. 
L«t It not gall your patience, Good lago. 
That I extend my manners; 't is my breeding 



228 



OTHELLO. 



[Act n. 



That gives me this bold show of courtesy. 

\Kissing her, 

lago. Sir, would she Rive yovi so much of lier lips 
As of her toiiKue she ou bestows on me. 
You'd have enough. 

Des. Alas, she has no speech. 

Ia(io. In'falth, too mucli; 
I find It still when I have list to sleep: 
Marry, before your ladyship, I grant 
She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
And chides with thinking. 

Em il. You have little cause to say so. 

lago. Come on, come on: you ai-e pictures out of 
door; 
Bells in your parlours; wild cats In your kitelieus; 
Saints in your injuries; devils being offoiided; 
Players in your huswifery: and huswives in your 
beds. 

Des. O, fye upon thee, slanderer! 

lago. Nay, it is true, or else I ama Turk; 
You rise to play, and go to bed to work. 

Emil. You shall not write my praise. 

lago. No, let me not. 

Des. What would'st write of me if thou should'st 
praise me? 

lago. O gentle lady, do not put rae to 't; 
For I am nothing if not critical. 

Des. Come on, assay: — There 's one gone to the 
harbour? 

lago. Ay, madam. 

Des. lam not merry; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
Come, how would'st thou praise me? 

lago. I am about it; but, indeed, my Invention 
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from frize, — 
It plucks out brains and all: But my muse labours. 
And thus she is deliver'd. 
If she be fair and wise,— fairness, and wit, 
The one 's for use, the other useth it. 

Des. Well prais'd! How if she be black and witty? 

lago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, 
She '11 find a white that shall her blackness fit. 

Des. Worse and worse. 

Emil. How, If fair and foolish? 

lago. She never yet was foolish that was fair: 
For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 

Des. These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools 
laugh 1' the alehouse. What miserable praise hast 
thou for her that 's foul and foolish? 

lago. There 's none so foul, and foolish thereunto, 
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. 

Des. O heavy ignorance!— thou praisest the worst 
best. But what praise could'st thou bestow^ on a de- 
iserving woman Indeed? one, that, in the authority 
of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very 
malice itself. 

lago. She that was ever fair, and never proud; 
Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud; 
Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay; 
Fled from her wish, and yet said,— now I may; 
She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly; 
She that in wisdom never was so frail. 
To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; 
She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind, 
See suitors following, and not look behind; 
She was a wight, if ever such wights were, 

Des. To do what? 

lago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. 

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion! — Do 
not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. 
—How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane and 
liberal counsellor? 

Cos. He speaks home, madam; you may relish him 
more in the soldier than in the scholar. 

Jago. r^sMe.J He takes her by the palm; Ay, well 
said, whisper: with as little a web as this will 1 
ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, 
do; I will gyve thee in thine own com'tship. You say 
true; 't is so, indeed: if such tricks as these strip 
you out of your lieutenantry, it had been better you 
had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which 
now again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very 
good! well kissed, and excellent courtesy! 't is so, 
indeed. Yet again your fingers to your lips? would 
they were clyster-pipes for your sake!— [Trumpef.] 
The Moor, I know his trumpet. 

Cas. 'T is truly so. 

Des. Let 's meet him, and receive him. 

Cas. Lo, where he comes! 

Enter Othello, and Attendants. 

0th. O my fair warrior! 

Des. My dear Othello! 

0th. It gives me wonder great as my content. 
To see you here before me. O my soul's joy! 
If after ever.y tempest come such calms. 
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death! 
And let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, 
Olympus-high; and duck again as low 
As hell 's from heaven! If it were now to die, 
'T were now to be most happy; for, I fear 
My soul hath her content so absolute. 
That not another comfort like to this 
Succeeds in unknown fate. 

Des. The heavens forbid 

But that our loves and comforts should Increase, 
Even as our days do grow! 

0th. Amen to that, sweet powers!— 

I cannot speak enough of this content. 
It stops me here; it is too much of joy; 
And this, and tliis, the greatest discords be 

[Kissing her. 
That e'er our hearts shall make! 

lago. O, you are well tun'd now! 

But I '11 set down the pegs that make this music. 
As honest as I am. {Aside. 

Oth. Come; let 's to the castle.— 

News, friends; our wars are done, tiie Turks are 

drown'd. 
How does my old acquaintance of this isle? 
Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus, 
I have found great love amongst them. O my sweet, 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts.— I prithee, good lago. 
Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers; 
Bring thou the master to the citadel; 
He is a good one, and his worthiness 
Does challenge much respect.— Come, Desdemona, 
Once more well met at Cyprus. 

[Exeunt Oth., Des., and Attend. 

lago. Do thou meet mc presently at the harbour. 
Come thither. If thou be'st valiant, (as they say, 
base men being In love have then a nobility in their 



natures more than is native to them,) list me. The 
lieutenant to-niglit watches on the court of guard:— 
First, I must tell thee this— Desdemona is directly in 
love with him. 

Rod. With hlni! why 't is not possible. . 

lago. Lay thy finger- thus, and let thy soul be in- 
structed. Mark me with what violence she first 
loved the Moor, but for bragging and telling her fan- 
tastic lies: To love him still for prating,— let not thy 
discreet heart think it Her eye must be fed; and 
what delight shall she have to look on the devil? 
When the blood is made dull with the act of sport, 
there should be, again to inflame it and to give satie- 
ty a fresh appetite, loreliness in favour; .sympathy 
in years, manners, and beauties; all which the Moor 
is defective in: Now, for want of these required con- 
veniences, her delicate tenderness will find itself 
abused, begin to heave the gorge, disrelish and ab- 
hor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it, and 
compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, this 
granted, (as it is a most pregnant and unforced posi- 
tion,) who stands so eminent; in the degree of this 
fortune as Cassio does;— a knave very voluble; no 
further conscionable than in putting on the mere 
form of civil and humane seeming, for the better 
compassing of his salt and most hidden loose affec- 
tion? why, none; wh.v, none: A slipper and subtle 
knave; a finder of occasions; that lias an eye can 
stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true ad- 
vantage never present itself: A devilish knave! be- 
sides, the knave is handsome, young; and hath all 
those requisites in him that folly and green minds 
look after: A pestilent complete knave; and the 
woman hath found him already. 

Rod. I cannot believe that in her; she is full of 
most bless'd condition. 

Rkjo. Bless'd flg'send: the wine she drinks Is made 
of grapes: if she had been bless'd, she ^\'■ould never 
have loved the Moor: Bless'd pudding! Didst thou 
not see her paddle with the palm of hus hand? didst 
not mark that? 

Rod. Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy. 

lago. Lechery, by this hand; an index and obscure 
prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. 
They met so near with their lips that their breaths 
embraced together. "Villainous thoughts, Roderigo! 
When these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at 
hand comes the master and main exercise, the in- 
corporate conclusion: Pish!— But, sir, be you ruled 
by me: I have brought you from Venice. Watch 
you to-night; for the command, I '11 lay "t upon you: 
Cassio knows you not;— I '11 not be far from you: Do 
you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by 
speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline, or from 
what other course .you please, which the time shall 
most favourably minister. 

Rod. Well. 

lago. Sir, he 's rash, and very sudden in choler; 
and, haply, may strike at you: Provoke him that he 
may: for even out of that will I cause these of Cy- 
prus to mutiny; whose qualification shall come into 
no true taste again, but by the displanting of Cassio. 
So shall you have a shorter journey to your desires, 
by the means I shall then have to prefer them; and 
the impediment most profitably removed, without 
the which there was no expectation of our prosper- 
ity. 

Rod. I will do this, it you can bring it to any op- 
portunity. 

lago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at the 
citadel. I must fetch his necessaries ashore. Fare- 
well. 

Rod. Adieu! [Exit. 

lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; 
That she loves him, 't is apt, and of great credit: 
The Moor— howbeit that I endure him not,— 
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature; 
And, I dare think, he '11 prove to Desdemona 
A most dear husband. Now I do love her too; 
Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure, 
I stand accountant for as great a sin,) 
But partly led to diet my revenge. 
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
Hath leap'd into my seat: the thought whereof 
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my Inwards; 
And nothing can or shall content my soul. 
Till I am even'd with him, %vife for wife; 
Or, failing so, vet that I put the Moor 
At least into a jealousy so strong 
That judgment cannot cure, "which thing to do, — 
If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trace 
For ills quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
I '11 have our Michael Cassio on the hip; 
Abuse him to the Moor in the right garb,— 
For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too; 
Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me, 
For making him egregiously an ass, 
And practising upon his peace and quiet 
Even to madness. 'T is here, but yet confus'd: 
Knavery's plain face is never seen till us'd. [Exit. 

Scene II.— ^ Street. 
Enter a Herald, with a proclamation; People 
following. 
Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and valiant 
general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, im- 
porting the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, 
every man put himself into triumph: some to 
dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what 
sport and revels his addiction leads him; for, be- 
sides these benefleial news, it is the celebration of 
his nuptial: So much was his pleasure should be 
proclaimed. All offices are open; and there is full 
liberty of feasting, from this present hour of five till 
the bell have told eleven. Bless the isle of Cyprus, 
and our noble general, Othello! [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— .A Hall in the Castle. 
Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
Attendants. 
Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- 
night; 
Let 's teach ourselves that honourable stop, 
Not to out-sport discretion. 

Cas. lago hath direction what to do; 
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
Will I look to 't. 

Oth. lago is most honest. 
Michael, good night; To-morrow, with your earli- 
est. 
Let me have speech with you.— Come, my dear 

love. 
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; 

[To Desdemona. 



That profit 's yet to come 'tween me and you.— 
Good night. [Exeunt Oth., Des., and Attend. 

Enter lago. 

Cas. Welcome, lago: We must to the watch. 

lago. Not this hour, lieutenant; 't is not yet ten o' 
th' clock: Our general cast us thus early for the love 
of his Desdemona, whom let us not therefore blame- 
he hath not yet made wanton the night with her; and 
she is sport for Jove. 

Cos. She 's a most exquisite lady. 

lago. And, I 'II warrant her, full of game. 

Cos. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate crea- 
ture. 

Jago. What an eye she has! inethinks it sounds a 
parley to provocation. 

Cas. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right mo- 
dest. 

lago. And when she speaks is it not an alarm to 
love? 

Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. 

lago. Well, happiness to their sheets! Come, lieu- 
tenant, I have a stoop of wine: and here without are • 
a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have a 
measure to the health of black Othello. 

Cas. Not to-night, good lago; I have very poor and 
unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish 
courtesy would invent some other custom of enter- 
tainment. 

lago. O, they are our friends; but one cup; I 'U 
drink for you. 

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that 
was craftily qualified too,— and, behold, what inno- 
vation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the in- 
firmity, and dare not task my weakness with any 
more. 

lago. What, man! 't is a night of revels; the gal- 
lants desire it. 

Cas. Where are they? 

lago. Here at the door; I pray you call them in. 

Cas. I '11 do 't; but it di.slikes me. [Ex-it Cassio. 

lago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him. 
With that which he hath drunk to-night already. 
He '11 be as full of quarrel and offence 
As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool, 

Roderigo, 
Whom love has turn'd almost the wrong side out. 
To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
Potations pottle deep; and he 's to watch: 
Three lads of Cyprus,— noble swelling spirits, 
That hold their honours in a wary distance. 
The very elements of this warlike isle- 
Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups. 
And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 

drunkards. 
Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
That may offend the isle:— But here they come: 
If consequence do but approve my dream. 
My boat sails freely, both with wiud and stream. 
Re-enter Cassio, with hin^ Montano, and Gentlemen. 

Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouse 
already. 

Mon. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, as I 
am a soldier. 

lago. Some wine, hoa! 
And let me the canakin clink, clink, [Sings. 

And let me the canakin clink: / 

A soldier 's a man; O man's life 's but a span; 
Why then let a soldier drink. 
Some wine, boys! [Wine brought in. 

Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. 

logo. I learned it in England, where, indeed, they 
are most potent in potting: your Dane, your German, 
and your- swag-bellied Hollander,— Drink, hoa!— are 
nothing to your English. 

Cas. Is your Englishman so exquisite in his drink- 
ing? 

lago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane 
dead drunk; he sweats not to overthrow your Al- 
main; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next 
pottle can be fllled. 

Cas. To the health of our general. 

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I '11 do you just- 
ice. 

lago. O sweet England! 

King Stephen was a worthy peer. 
His breeches cost him but a crown; 

He held them sixpence all too dear. 
With that he call'd the tailor, down. 

He was a wight of high renown, . 

And thou art but of low degree: 
'T is pride that pulls the country down, 
Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
Some wine, hoa! 

Cas. Why this is a more exquisite song than the 
other. 

lago. Will you hear it again? 

Cas. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his place 
that does those things.— Well,— Heaven 's above all; 
and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls 
must not be saved. 

Jago. It 's true, good lieutenant. 

Cas. For mine own part,— no offence to the gene- 
ral, nor any man of quality,— I hope to be saved. 

lago. .\nd so do I too, lieutenant. 

Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before rae; the 
lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let 's 
have no more of this: let 's to our affairs.— Forgive 
us our sins!— Gentlemen, let 's look to our business. 
Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my an- 
clent;— tills is my right hand, and this is my left:— I 
am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I 
speak well enough. 

All. Excellent well. 

Cas. Why, very well then: you must not think then 
that I am drunk. [E.vit. 

Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let 's set the 
watch. 

lago. You see this fellow that is gone before;— 
He is a soldier fit to stand by Caesar 
And give direction: and do but see his vice; 
'T is to his virtue a just equinox. 
The one as long as the other: 't is pity of him. 
I fear, the trust Othello puts him in. 
On some odd time of his infli-mity. 
Will shake this island. 

Mon. But is he often thus? 

lago. "V is evermore his prologue to his sleep. 
He '11 watch the horologe a double set, 
If drink rock not his cradle. 

Mon. It were well 

The general were put in mind of it. 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO. 



233 



Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature 
Prizes the virtue that appears in Casslo, . 
And loolcs not on his evils. Is not this true? 
.Enfcr Roderigo. 

lagu. How now, Roderigo? (.4s((Jc. 

Iprav vou, after the lieutenant; go. [Exit Rod. 

Moil.' And 't is great pit}-, that the noble Moor 
Should hazard such a place, as Ills own second, 
With one of an ingraft infirmity; 
It were an honest action, to say so 
To the Jloor. 

lago. Not I, for this fair island: 

I do love Casslo well, and would do much 
To cure him of this evil. But hark! what noise? 
Enter Cassio, pursuing Roderigo. 

Cos. You rogue! you rascal! 

Mon. What 's the matter, lieutenant? 

Cos. A knave!— teach me my duty! 
I 'U beat the knave into atwiggen bottle. 

Eod. Beat me! 

Ca^. Dost thou prate, rogue? 

^Striking Roderigo. 

Mon. Nay, good lieutenant; [Staying him. 

I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 

Cos. ■ Let me go, sir, 

Or I "11 knock you o'er the mazzard. 

Mon. Come, come, you 're drunk. 

Cas. Drunk! [They fight. 

lago. Away, I say! go out, and cry— a mutiny. 

rjsi'de to Rod., who goes out. 
Nav, good lieutenant,— alas, gentlemen,— 
Help, hoa!— Lieutenant,— sir Montano,— 
Help, masters!— Here 's a goodly watch. Indeed! 

[Bell rings. 
Who 's that which rings the bell?— Diablo, hoa! • 
The town will rise: Fie, ile, lieutenant! hold; 
You '11 be asham'd for ever. 

Enter Othello and Attendants. 

Oth. What is the matter here? 

Mon. I bleed still; I am hurt to the death.— He 
dies— 

Oth. Hold, for your lives. 

lago. Hold, hoa! Lieutenant,— sir Montano,— gen- 
tlemen, — 
Have vou forgot all sense of place and duty? 
Hold! 'the general speaks to you; hold, for shame! 

Oth. Whv, how now, hoa! from whence ariseth 
tlils? 
Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that 
Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? 
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: 
He that stirs next to care for his own rage. 
Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. 
Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle 
From her propriety.- What is the matter, masters?— 
Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
Speak, who began this? on thy love I charge thee. 

lago. I do not know;— friends all but now, even 
now. 
In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
Divesting them for bed: and then, but now, 
(As if some planet had unwitted men,) 
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
Any beginning to this peevish odds; 
And, 'would in action glorious I had lost 
Those legs that brought me to a part of it! 

Oth. How comes it. Michael, you are thus forgot? 

Cos. I pray you, pardon me, I cannot speak. 

Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont to be civil; 
The gravity and stillness ot your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
In mouths of wisest censure: What 's the matter 
That you unlace your reputation thus. 
And spend your rich opinion, for the name 
Of a night -bra^vler? give me answer to it. 

i)ib»i. "Worthy Othello. I am hurt to danger; 
Your officer, lago. can inform you— 
While I spare speech, which something now offends 

me,— 
Of all that I do know: nor know I aught 
By me that 's said or done amiss this night; 
Unless self -charity be sometimes a \-iee, 
And to defend ourselves it be a sin 
When violence assails us. 

Oth. Now, by heaven, 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule; 
And passion, having my best judgment coUied, 
Assavs to lead the way: If I once stir. 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
How this foul rout began, who set it on; 
And he that is approv'd in this offence. 
Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, 
Shall loose me.— What! in a tow=n of war. 
Yet n-ild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, 
To manage private and domestic quarrel. 
In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 
' 'T is monstrous.— lago, who began 't? 

Mon. If partially affin'd, or leagu'd in oflSce, 
Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
Thou art no soldier. 

lago. Touch me not so near: 

I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth, 
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio; 
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
Shall nothing wrong him.— This it is, general. 
Montano and myself being in speech. 
There comes a fellow crying out for help; 
And Cassio following him with determin'd sword, 
To execute upon him: Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause; 
Myself the crying fellow did pursue. 
Lest, bv his clamour, (as it so fell out,) 
The town might fall in fright: he, swift of foot, 
Outran my purpose; and I return'd then rather 
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords. 
And Cassio high in oath; which, till to-night, 
I ne'er might say before: When I came back, 
(For this was brief,) I found them close together. 
At blow, and thrust; even as again they were 
When you yourself did part them. 
Jlore of this matter cannot I report:— 
But men are men: the best sometimes forget:— 
Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, — 
As men in rage strike those that wish them best,— 
Yet surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd 
From him that fled some strange indignity, 
Which patience could not pass. 

Oth. I know, lago, 

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter. 
Making It light to Cassio:— Cassio, I love thee; 



But never more be officer of mine. 

J^iifei'Desdemona, attended. 
Look, If my gentle love be not rais'd up;— 
I '11 make thee an example. 

Des. What is the matter, dear? 

Oth. All 's well, sweeting. 

Come awav to bed. Sir, for your hurts, 
Mvself will be your surgeon: Lead him off. 

[ To Jlont.ino, u-lio is led off. 
lago, look with care about the town; 
And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. 
Come, Desdemona: 't is the soldiers' life 
'ro have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. 

[Exeunt all but lago and Casslo. 

Jago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? 

Cas. Ay, past all surgeiT. 

lago. Marry, heaven forbid! 

Cos. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have 
lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of 
myself, and what remains is bestial.- My reputa- 
tion, lago, my reputation. 

lago. As I am an honest man I had thought you 
had received some bodily wound: there is more 
sense in that than in reputation. Reputation is an 
idle and most false imposition; oft got without 
merit, and lost without deserving: You have lost no 
reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a 
loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the 
general again: You are but now cast in his mood, a 
punishment more in policy than in malice; even so 
as one would beat his offenceless dog to affright an 
imperious lion: sue to him again, and he is j-ours. 

Cos. I will rather sue to be despised, than to de- 
ceive so good a commander with so slight, so drunk- 
en, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk? and speak 
parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and dis- 
course fustian with one's own shadow?— O thou in- 
visible spirt of wine, if thou hast no name to be 
known by, let us call thee devil! 

7oj7o. What was he that you followed with your 
sword? What had he done to you? 

Cas. I know, not. 

lago. Is 't possible? 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing 
distinctly; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore.- 
that men should put an enemy in their mouths to 
steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, 
pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves 
Into beasts! 

lago. Why, but you are now well enough: How 
came you thus recovered? 

Cos.' It hath pleased the devil drunkenness, to 
give place to the devil wrath: one unperfeetness 
shows me another, to make me frankly despise my- 
self. 

lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler: As 
the time, the place, and the condition of this coun- 
try stands, I could heartil.y wish this had not befal- 
len; but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own 
good. 

Cos. I will ask him for my place again; he shall 
tell me I am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as 
Hydra such an answer would stop them all. To he 
now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently 
a beast! O strange!— Every inordinate cup is un- 
bless'd, and the ingredient is a devil. 

lago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar 
creature, if it be well used; exclaim no more against 
it. And, good lieutenant, I think you think I love 
you. 

Cas. I have well approved it, sir.— I drunk! 

lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at a 
time, man. I '11 tell you what you shall do. Our 
general's wife is now the general:— I may say so in 
this respect, tor that he hath devoted and given up 
himself to the contemplation, mark, and devote- 
ment of her parts and graces: — confess yourself 
freely to her; importune her help to put you in j-our 
place again: she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in her good- 
ness not to do more than she is requested: This 
broken joint, between you and her husband, entreat 
her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay 
worth naming, this crack of your love shall "gi-ow 
stronger than it was before. 

Ca3. You advise me well. 

lago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest 
kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely; and, betimes in the morn- 
ing, I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to un- 
dertake for me: I am desperate of mj' fortunes if 
they check me. 

lago. You are in the right. Good night, lieuten- 
ant; I must to the watch. 

Cas. Good night, honest lago. [Exit Cassio. 

lago. And what 's he then that says I play the 
villain? 
When this advice is free, I give, and honest, 
Probal to thinking, and indeed the course 
To win the Moor again? For 't is most easy 
The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
In any honest suit; she 's fram'd as fruitful 
As the free elements. And then for her 
To win the Moor,— were 't to renounce his baptism, 
All seals and s.vmbols of redeemed sin, — 
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, 
That she may make, unmake, do what she list. 
Even as her appetite shall play the god 
With his weak function. How am I then a villain. 
To counsel Cassio to this parallel course. 
Directly to his good? Divinity of hell! 
When devils will the blackest sins put on, 
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows. 
As I do now: For whiles this honest fool 
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortune. 
And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
I '11 pour this pestilence into his ear,— 
That she repeals him for her body's lust; 
And by how much she strives to do him good, 
She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
So will I turn her virtue into pitch; 
And out of her own goodness make the net 
That shall enmesh them all.— How now, Roderigo? 
Enter Roderigo. 

Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a hound 
that hunts, but one that Alls up the cry. My money 
is almost spent; I have been to-night exeeedingl.v 
well-cudgelled; and, I think, the issue will be I shall 
have so much experience for my pains: and so, with 
no money at all, and a little more wit, return to 
Venice. 

lago. How poor are they that have not patience! 
What wound did ever heal but by degrees? 



Thou know'st, we work by wit and not by witch- 
craft; 
And wit depends on dilatory time. 
Does 't not go well? Casslo hath beaten thee. 
And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashler'd Cas.slo: 
Though other things grow fair against the sun. 
Vet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe: 
Content thyself awhile.— In troth, 't is morning; 
Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short. 
Retire thee; go where thou art billeted: 
Away, I say, thoushalt know more hereafter: 
Nay, get thee gone. [Exit Rod. J Two things are to 

be done,— 
My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress, 
I '11 set her on; 

Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart. 
And bring him Jump where he may Cassio find 
Soliciting his wife;— Ay, that 's the way; 
Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit. 

ACT TIL 

Scene I.— Before the Castle. 

Enter Cassio, and some Musicians. 

Cas. Masters, play here, I will content your pains, 
Something that 's brief; and bid. Good morrow, 
general. [Music. 

Enter C\owTi. 

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments been in 
Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus? 

1 Mils. How, sir, how? 

Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind instruments? 

1 Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 

Clo. O, thereby hangs a tail. 

1 Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir? 

Clo. JIarry, sir, by many a wind instrment that I 
know. But, masters, here 's money for you: and the 
general so likes your music tliat he desires you, for 
love's sake, to make no more noise with it. 

1 Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 

Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard, 
to 't again: but, as they say, to hear music the gene- 
ral does not greatly care. 

1 Mus. We have none such, sir. 

Clo. Then put up your pipes in j-our bag, for I 'U 
away: Go; vanish into air; awaj-. 

[E.xennt Musicians. 

Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend? 

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. 

Cas. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There 's a poor 
piece of gold for thee: if the gentlewoman that at- 
tends the general's wife be stirring, tell her, there 's 
one Cassio entreats her a little favor of speech: Wilt 
thou do this? 

Clo. She is stirring, sir; If she will stir hither I shall 
seem to notify unto her. [Exit. 

Enter lago. 

Cos. Do, good my friend.— In happy time, lago 

Jago. You have not been a-bed then? 

Cas. Why, no; the day had broke 
Before we parted. I have made bold, lago 
To send in to your wife: My suit to her 
Is that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
Procure me some access. 

lago. I '11 send her to you presently; 

And I '11 devise a mean to draw the Moor 
Out of the way, that your converse and business 
Blay be more free. [Exit. 

Cos. I humbly thank you for 't. I never knew 
A Florentine more kind and honest. 
Enter Emilia. 

Emil. Good morrow, good lieutenant: lam sorry 
For your displeasure; but all will sure be well. 
The "general and his wife are talking of it, 
And slie speaks for you stoutly: The Moor replies, 
That he you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, 
And gi-eat affinity; and that, in wholesome wisdom. 
He might not but refuse j'ou: but he protests he 

loves you; 
And needs no other suitor, but his likings. 
To take the saf 'st occasion by the front. 
To bring you in again. 

Cos. Yet, I beseech you,.^ 

If you think fit, or that it may be done- 
Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
With Desdemona alone. 

Emil. Pray you, come in; 

I will bestow you where you will have time 
To speak your bosom freely. 

Cos. I am much bound to you. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— A Boom, in the Castle. 
Enter Othello, lago, and Gentlemen. 
Oth. These letters give. lago, to the pilot; 
And, by him, do my duties to the senate: 
That done, I will be w-alking on the works,^ 
Repair there to me. 
lago. Well, my good lord. I '11 do it. 

Oth. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we see 't? 
Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Be/ore the Castle. 
Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 

Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
All my abilities in th.v behalf. 

Emit. Good madam, do; I warrant it grieves my 
husband. 
As if the cause were his. 

Des. O, that 's an honest fellow.— Do not doubt, 
Cassio, 
But I will have my lord and you again 
As friendly as you were. 

Ca.s. Bounteous madam. 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
Ho 's never anything but your true servant. 

Des. I know 't.— I thank you: You do love my lord? 
You have known him long; and be you well as- 
sur'd 
He shall in strangeness stand no farther off 
Than in a politic distance. 

Cos. Ay, but, lady, 

That policy may either last so long, ■ 
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
That, I being absent, and my place supplied. 
My general will forget my love and service. 

'/)es. Do not doubt that; before Emilia here, 
I give thee warrant of thy place: assure thee, 
If I do vow a friendship I '11 perform it 
To the last article: my lord shall never rest; 
1 'U watch him tame, and talk him out of patience; 
His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; 



i 



224 



OTIIMLLO. 



[ACT II. 



I '11 Intermingle every thing he does 

With Casslo's suit: Therefore be merry, Casslo, 

For thy solii'itor shall rather die 

Than give tby t-aiise away. 

Euti-r Othello and lago at a distance. 

Kmil. Madam, here comes 

My lord. 

Cas. Madam, I '11 take m.y leave. 

Des. Why, stay. 

And hear me speak. 

Cas. Madam, not now; I am very ill at ease, 
Unfit for mine own purposes. 

/)c,s. Well; do your diseretlon. \Ex-it Casslo. 

lano. Ha! I like not that. 

Oth. What dost thou say? 

laao. Nothing, my lord; or if— I know not what. 

Oth. Was not that Casslo parted from my wife? 

lago. Casslo, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it. 
That he would steal away so guilty-like. 
Seeing .your coming. 

Oth. I do believe *t was he. 

Des. How now, my lord? 
1 have been talking with a suitor here, 
A man that languishes in your displeasure. 

Oth. Who is 't you mean? 

Dps. Why, your lieutenant Casslo. Good my lord, 
If I have any grace, or power to move you, 
His present reconciliation take; 
For, if he be not one that truly loves you, 
That errs in ignorance and not i!) cuiming, 
I have no judgment in an honest face: 
I prithee call iilm back. 

Oth. Went he hence now? 

Des. Av, sootli; so humbled, 
That lie hath left part of his grief with me. 
To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 

Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemona: some other time. 

Des. But shall 't be shortly? 

Oth. The sooner, sweet, for you. 

Des. Shall 't be to-night at supper? 

Oth. No, not to-night. 

Des. To-morrow dinner then? 

Oth. I shall not dine at home: 

I meet the captains at the citadel. 

Des. Why then, to-morrow night; on Tuesday 
morn; 
On Tuesday noon, or night; on Wednesday morn; — 
I prithee name the time; but let it not 
Exceed three days: In faith he 's penitent; 
And yet his trespass, in our common reason, 
(Save that, they say, the wars must make example 
Out of their best,) is not almost a fault 
To incur a private check: When shall he come? 
Tell me, Othello. I wonder In my soul. 
What you would ask me that I should deny. 
Or stand so mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, 
That came a wooing with you; and so many a time. 
When I have spoke of you dispraisingly. 
Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do 
To bring him in! Trust me, I could do much, — 

Oth. Prithee, no more: let hira come when he will; 
I will deny thee nothing. 

Des. Why, this is not a boon; 

'T is as I should entreat j'ou wear your gloves, 
Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm; 
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit 
To your own person: Na.v, when I have a suit 
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, 
It shall be full of poise and difHcult weight. 
And fearful to be granted. 

Oth. I will deny thee nothing: 

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this. 
To leave me but a little to myself. 

Des. Shall I deny you'^ no: Farewell, my lord. 

Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona: I '11 come to thee 
straight. 

Des. Emilia, come:— Be as your fancies teach you; 
Whate'er you be, I am obedient. [Ex., with Emil. 

Oth. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul 
But I do love thee! and when I love thee not 
Chaos is come again. 

laqo. My noble lord,— 

Oth. What dost thou say, lago? 

Jago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my 
lad.v. 
Know of your love? 

Oth. He did, from first to last: Why dost thou ask? 

lago. I3ut for a satisfaction of my thought: 
No further harm. 

Oth. Why of thy thought, lago? 

Jago. I did not think he had been acquainted with 
her. 

Oth. O, yes; and went between us very oft. 

lago. Indeed? 

Oth. Indeed? ay, indeed:— Discern 'st thou aught in 
that? 
Is he not honest? 

lago. Honest, my lord? 

Oth. Honest? Ay, honest. 

lago. My lord, for aught I know. 

Oth. What dost thou think? 

lago. Think, my lord? 

Otii. Think, my lord? Alas! thou echoest me 
As if there were some monster in thy thought 
Too hideous to be shown.— Thou dost mean some- 
thing: 
I heard thee say even now,— Thou lik'dst not that, 
When Cassio left my wife: AVhat didst not like? 
And, when I told thee he was of my counsel 
In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst, indeed? 
And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 
As if thou then hadst shnt up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit: If thou dost love me 
Show me thy thought. 

lugo. My lord, you know I love you. 

Oth. I think thou dost; 

And, for I know thou 'rt full of love and honesty. 
And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them 

breath. 
Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: 
For such things in a false disloyal kn:vve 
Are tricks of custom; but In a man that 's just. 
They 're close delations, working from the heart. 
That passion cannot rule. 

lago. For Michael Cassio, — 

I dare be .sworn I think that he is honest. 

Oth. I thin!c so too. 

Jago. Men should be what they seem; 

Or, those that be not 'would the.v might .seem none! 

Oth. Certain, menshould be what they seem. 

Jago. Why then, I think Casslo 's an honest man. 

Oth. Nay, yet there 's more in this: 
I prithee speak to me, as to thy thinkings. 



As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of 

thoughts 
The worst of words. 

Jago. Good my lord, pardon me; 

Though I am bound to every act of diit.v, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
Utter my thoughts? Why, say, they are vile and 

false,- 
As where 's that palace wherelnto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not?- who has ,a breast .so pure, 
But some uncleanly a|iprehensions 
Keep leets and law days, and in sessions sit 
With meditations lawful? 

Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy fiiend, lago, 
If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

Jago. I do beseech you 

Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess, 
(As I confess it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses, and of my jealousy 
Shape faults that are not,) that your wisdom 
From one that so imperfectly conceits 
Would take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble 
Out of his scattering and unsure observance: 
It were not for your quiet, nor your good. 
Nor for my manhood, honesty, and wisdom. 
To let you know my thoughts. 

Oth. What dost thou mean? 

Jago. Good name in man and woman, dear my 
lord. 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls: 
Who steals m.y purse steals trash; 't Is something, 

nothing; , 

'T was mine, 't is his, and has been slave, to thou- 
sands; 
But he that filches from me mv good name, 
Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
And makes me poor indeed. 

Oth. I 'II know thy thoughts. 

Jago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; 
Nor shall not, whilst 't is my custody: 

Oth. Ha! 

Jago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; 

It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on: That cuckold lives in bliss 
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; 
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er. 
Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet fondly loves! 

Oth. O misery! 

Jago. Poor and content, is rich, and rich enough; 
But riches, flneless, is as poor as winter. 
To him that ever fears he shall be poor: 
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
From jealousy! 

Oth. Why, why is this? 

Think'st thou, I 'd make a life of jealous.v. 
To follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions? No: to be once in doubt. 
Is once to be resolv'd: Exchange me for.a goat, 
When I shall turn the business of my soul 
To such exsufflicate and blow'd surmises. 
Matching thy inference. 'T is not to make me jeal- 
ous. 
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company. 
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances; 
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous: 
Nor from mine own weak merits will I dravr 
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt; 
For she had eyes, and chose me: No, lago; 
I 'II see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove; 
And, on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
Away at once with love, or jealous}'. 

Jago. I am glad of this; for now I shall have reason 
To show the love and dut.v that I bear you 
With franker spirit: therefore, as I am bound. 
Receive it from me:— I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your wife; observe her well with Cassio; 
Wear your eyes thus,— not jealous, nor secure; 
I would not have your free and noble nature, 
Out of self-bounty, be abus'd; look to 't: 
I know our country disposition well; 
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
They dare not show their husbands; their best con- 
science 
Is not to leave undone, but keep unknown. 

Oth. Dost thou say so? 
. Jago. She did deceive her father, marrying you; 
And when she seem'd to shake and fear your'looks. 
She lov'd thee most. 

Oth. And so she did. 

lago. Why, go to, then; 
She that so young could give out such a seeming. 
To seel her father's e.yes up, close as oak. 
He thought 't was witchcraft:- But I am nmch to 

blame; 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon. 
For too much loving you. 

Oth. I am bound to thee for ever. 

Jago. I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 

Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 

Jago. Trust me, I fear it has. 

I liojje you will consider what is spoke 
Comes from my love:— But, I do see you are mov'd:— 
I am to pray you not to strain my speech 
To grosser issues, nor to larger reach. 
Than to suspicion. 

Oth. I will not. 

Jago. Should you do so, my lord. 
My speech shall fall into such vile success 
Which my thoughts aim'd not. Cassio's my worthy 

friend:— 
My lord, I see you are mov'd. 

Oth. No, not much mov'd:— 

I do not think but Desdemona 's honest. 

/a(/o. Long live she .so! and long live you to think 
so! 

Oth. And .vet, how nature erring from itself,— 

Jago. Ay, there's the point:— As,— to be bold with 
you,— 
Not to altect many proposed matches 
Of her own clime, complexion, and degree; 
Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends: 
Foh! one may smell in such a will most rank, 
Foul disproportions, thoughts unnatural, — 
But, pardon me; I do not in position 
Distinctly speak of her: though I ma.v fear, 
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, 
Ma.v fall to match you with her country forms, 
And, happily, repent. 

Oth. Farewell, farewell: 

If more thou dost perceive let me know more; 
Set on th.v wife to observe: Leave me, lago. 

Jago. My lord, I take my leave. [Going, 



Oth. Why did I marry?— This honest creature, 
doubtless. 
Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 

Jago. My lord. I would I might entreat vour hon- 
our 
To scan this thing no farther: leave it to time: 
Although 't is fit that Casslo have his place. 
(For sure, he fills it up with great ability,) 
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile. 
You shall by that perceive him and his means: 
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
With any strong or vehement importunity; 
Much will be seen in that. In the mean time. 
Let me be thouglit too busy in my fears, 
(As worthy cause I have to fear I am,) 
And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 

Oth. Fear not m.y government. 

Jago. 1 once more take m.y leave. [Exit. 

Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 
And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
Of human dealings: If I do prove her haggard. 
Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, 
I 'd whistle her ofj, and let her down the wind. 
To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black; 
Ana have not those soft parts of conversation 
That chamberers have: Or, for I am declin'd 
Into the vale of years;— yet that's not much;— 
She's gone; I am abus'd; and my relief 
Must be to loath her. O curse of marriage. 
That we can call these delicate creatures ours. 
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad 
And live upon tne vapour of a dungeon. 
Than keep a corner in the thing I love. 
For other's uses. Yet 't is the plague of great ones; 
Prerogativ'd are they less than the base; 
'T is destiny unshunnable, like death; 
Even then this forked plague is fated to us 
When we do quicken. Look, where she comes: 

Enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
If she he false, O, then heaven mocks Itself!— 
I '11 not believe 't. 

Des. How now, my dear Othello? 

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
By you invited, do attend your presence. 

Oth. I am to blame. 

J3es. Why do you speak so faintly? 

Are you not well? 

Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 

Des. Why, that 's with watching; 't will away 
again: 
Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
It will be well. 

Oth. Your napkin Ls too little: 

[He puts the handt^erchief frcnn him, ««(J it drops. 
Let it alone. Come, I '11 go In with you. 

Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 

[Exeunt Oth. and Des. 

Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin; 
This was her first remembrance from the Moor; 
My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
Woo'd me to steal It: but she so loves the token, 
(For he conjured her she should ever keep it,) 
That she reserves it evermore about her. 
To kiss, and talk to. I '11 have the work ta'en out. 
And give 't lago; what he will do with it 
Heaven knows, not I: 
I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 
Enter lago. 

Jago. How now! what do you here alone? 

Emil. Do not you chide; I have a thing for yoti. 

Jago. A thing for me?— it is a common thing— 

Kmil. Ha! 

Jago. To have a foolish wife. 

Em,il. 0, is that all? What will you give me now 
For that same handkerchief?' 

Jago. What handkerchief? 

Emit What handkerchief? 
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona; 
Thatvwhich so often you did bid me steal. 

Jago. Hast stolen it from her? 

Emil. No; but she let it drop by negligence: 
And, to the advantage, I, being here, took 't up. 
Look, here it is. 

Jago. A good wench; give it me. 

Emil. What will you do witii 't, that you have 
been so earnest 
To have me filch it? 

Jago. Why, what's that to you? 

[Snatching it. 

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, 
Give 't me again: Poor lady! she '11 run mad 
When she shall lack it. 

Jago. Be not acknown on 't: I have use for it. 
Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 

I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, 
And let him find It; "Trlnes, light as air. 
Are to the jealous confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. 
Tlie Moor already changes with my poison: 
Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons. 
Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste; 
But, with a little act upon the blood. 
Burn like the mines of sulphur.— I did say so— 
Look, where he comes! Not poppy, nor mandragora. 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world. 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
Which thou ow'dst yesterday. 

Enter Othello. 

Oth. Ha! ha! false to me? 

Jago. Why, how now, general? no more of that. 

Oth. Avaunt! be gone! thou hast set me on the 
rack.— 
I swear, 't is better to be much abus'd. 
Than but to knoiv 't a little. 

Jago, How now, m.y lord? 

Oth. What sense had I In her stolen hours of lust? 
I saw 't not, thought It not, it harm'd not me: 
I slept the next night well, fed well, was free and 

merry; 
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips: 
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen. 
Let him not know 't, and he 's not robb'd at all. 

Jago. I am sprry to hear this. 

Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp. 
Pioneers, and all. had tasted her sweet body. 
So I had nothing known: O now, for ever. 
Farewell the tranquil uiiiid! farewell content! 
Farewell the pUinifd troops, and the big wars. 
That make amliitioii viitucl O. farewell! 
Farewell the uelKhing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit stirriiii; drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
■The royal banner; and all quality. 



wm 



Scene m.l 



OTHELLO. 



SS5 



Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! 
And O you miutal engines, wliose rude tl>roats 
The immortal .Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, 
JFarewelll Othello's occupation 's gone! 

lago. Is 't possible, my lord/ 

Oth. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore; 
Be sure of it; give nie the ocular proof; 

\Toking him by the throat. 
Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul. 
Thou hadst been better have been born a dog 
Than answer my wak'd wrath. 

lago. Is 't come to this? 

Oth. Make me to see 't; or, at the least, so prove it, 
That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, 
To hang a doubt on: or woe upon thy life! 

laao. My noble lord,— 

Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, 
Never pray more: abamlon all remorse; 
On horror's head horrors accumulate: 
1)0 deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd, 
For nothing canst thou to damnation add, 
Greater than that. 

lago. O grace! O heaven forgive mel 



^ViU give you satisfaction, you might have 't. 

(ith. Give nie a living reason she 's disloyal. 

Iiigo. I do not like the office: 
But, slth I am enter'd in this cause so far, 
Priek'd to 't by foolish honesty and love, 
I will go on. I la.v with Cassio latel.v; 
And, being troubled with a I'aging tooth, 
I could not sleep. 

There are a kiiui of men so loose of soul. 
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs; 
One of this kind is Cassio: 
In sleep I heard him say,— Sweet Desdemona, 
Let us be wary, let us hide our loves! 
And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my hand, 
Cry,— O sweet creature! then kiss me hard. 
As it he pluck'd up kisses by the roots, 
That grew upon my lips; lay his leg o'er my thigh, 
And sigh, and kiss; and then cry,— Cursed fate 
That gave thee to the Moor! 

Oth. O monstrous! monstrous! 

lago. Nay, this was but his dream. 

Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion; 
'T Is a shrewd doubt, though It be but a dream. 



Witness, you everburning lights above! 

You elements that clip us round about! 

Witness, that here lago doth give up 

The execution of his wit, hands, heart. 

To wrong'd Othello's service! let him command, 

And to obe.v shall be in me remorse, 

What bloody business ever— 

Oth. I greet thy love. 

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounte- 
ous. 
And will upon the instant put thee to 't: 
Within these three days let me hear thee say 
That Cassio's not alive. 

lago. My friend is dead; 'tis done, at your request; 
But let her live. 

Oth. Damn her, lewd minx! O, damn her! 
Come, go with me apart: I will withdraw, 
To furnish me with some swift means of death 
For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 

lago. I am your own forever. [Exeunt, 

Scene IV.— The same. 
Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 




IacT III. — SCENE rv.] 



Oth. Fetch 't, let me see it. * * * Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind misgives. 



Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense?— 

God be wi' you; take mine office.- O wretched fool, 

That lov'st to make thine honesty a vice!— 

monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world, 
To be direct and honest is not safe. 

1 thank you for this profit; and, from hence, 

I '11 love no friend, sith love breeds such offence. 

Oth. Nay, stay:— Thou should'st be honest. 

lago. I should be wise; for honesty's a fool. 
And loses that it works for. 

Oth. By the world, 

I think my wife be honest, and think she is not; 
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not; 
I '11 have some proof: My name, that was as fresh 
As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
As mine own face.— If there be cords, or knives. 
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, 
1 '11 not endure it.— Would I were satisfied! 

lago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion: 
I do repent me that I put it to you. 
You would be satisfied? 

Oth. Would? nav, and I will. 

lago. And may: But how? how satisfied, my lord? 
Would you the supei'vision grossly gape on? 
Behold her topp'd! 

Oth. Death and damnation! O! 

lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think. 
To bring them to that prospect: Damn them then, 
If ever mortal eye do see them bolster. 
More than their own! What then? how then? 
What shall I say? Where 's satisfaction? 
It is impossible you should see this. 
Were they as prime a.s goats, as hot os monkeys. 
As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say. 
If imputation, and strong circumstances, 
Whien lead directly to the door of truth. 



lago. And this may help to thicken other proofs, 
That do demonstrate thinly. 

Oth. I '11 tear her all to pieces. 

lago. Nay, but be wise; .vet we see nothing done; 
She may be honest yet. 'Tell me but this,— 
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief. 
Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand? 

Oth. I gave her such a one; 't was my first gift. 

lago. 1 know not that: but such a handkerchief, 
(I am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day 
See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

Oth. If it be that,— 

lago. If it be that or any, if 't was hers. 
It speaks against lier. with the other proofs. 

Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives; 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge! 
Now do I see 't is true.— Look here, lago; 
All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven: 
'T is gone.— 

Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell! 
Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throne. 
To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught. 
For 't is of aspick's tongues! 

lago. Yet, be content. 

Otli. O, blood, blood, blood! 

lago. Patience, I say: your mind may change. 

Oth. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea. 
Whose icy currer.t and compulsive course 
Ne'er keeps retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
To the Propontick and the Hellespont; 
Even so my blood.v thoughts, with violent pace, 
.Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love. 
Till that a capable and wide revenge 
Swallow them up.— Now, by yond' marble heaven. 
In the due reverence of a sacred vow {Kneels. 

I here engage my words. 

Jago. Do not rise yet.— [Kneels. 



Des. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant Cassio 
lies? 

Clo. I dare not say he lies anywhere. 

Des. Wh.y, man? 

Clo. He is a soldier; and for me to say a soldier 
lies, 't Is stabbing. 

Des. Go to 't. Where lodges he? 

Clo. To tell you where he lodges is to tell you 
where I lie. 

Des. Can any thing be made of this? 

Clo. I know not where he lodges; and for me to 
devise a lodging, and say he lies here, or he lies 
there, were to lie in mine own throat. 

Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified byre- 
port? 

Clo. I will catechize the world for him; that Is, 
make questions, and b.y them answer. 

Des. Seek him, bid him come hither; tell him, I 
have moved my lord on his behalf, and hope all will 
be well. 

Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's wit; 
and therefore I will attempt the doing it. [E.vit. 

Des. Where should I lose the handkerciiief, Emilia? 

Emit. I know not, madam. 

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
Full of cruzadoes. And, but my noble Moor 
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
To put him to ill thinking. 

Emil. Is he not jealous? 

Des. Who, he? I think the sun , where he was born 
Drew all such humours from him. 

Emit. Look where he comes. 

Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio 
Be call'd to him.— How is 't with you, my lord? 

[part 28.] 



OTHELLO. 



Enter Othello. 
Otk. Well, my (tood laily;— [Aside.] O, hardness, to 
dlssemblel— 
How do you, Desdemona? 

Des. Well, my cood lord. 

Oth. Give nie your hand: This hand is moist, my 
lady. 

Des. It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow. 
Oth. This argue.s fruitfulness, and liberal heart. 
Hot, hot, and moist: This hand of yours requires 
A sequester from liberty, tasting and prayer, 
JIuch castlgation, exercise devout; 
For here 's a young and sweating devil here. 
That commonly rebels. 'T is a good hand, 
A frank one. 

Des. You may, indeed, say so; 

For 't was that hand tliat gave away my heart. 

Oth. A liberal hand: The hearts of old gave hands' 
But our new heraldry is— hands, not hearts. 

Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your 
promise. 

Oth. What promise, chuck? 

Des. 1 have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. 

Oth. 1 have a salt and sorry rheum offends me; 
Lend me thy liandkerchief. 

Des. Here, my lord. 

Oth. That which I gave you. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

Oth. Not? 

Des. No, indeed, ray lord. 

Oth. That is a fault: 

That handkerchief 
Did an Egyptian to my mother give; 
She was a ch:irmer, and could almost read 
The thoughts of people: she told her, while she kept 

it, 
'T would make her amiable, and subdue my father 
Entirely to her love; but if she lost it. 
Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
Should hold her loathly, and his spirit should hunt 
After new fancies: She, dying, gave it me; 
And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, 
To give it her. I did so: and take heed on 't, 
Make it a darling like your precious eye; 
To lose 't or give 't away, were such perdition 
As nothing else could match. 

Des. Is 't possible? 

Oth. 'T is true: There 's magic in the web of it: 
A sibyl, that had number'd in the world 
The sun to course two hundred compasses. 
In her prophetic fury sew'dthe work: 
The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk; 
And it was dy'd in mummy, which the skilful 
Conserv'd of maidens' hearts. 

Des. Indeed! is 't true? 

Oth. Most veritable; therefore look to 't well. 

Des. Then 'would to heaven that I had never seen 
it. 

Oth. Ha! whei-efore? 

Dee. Why do you speak so startingly and rash? 

Oth. Is 't lost? is 't gone? speak, is 't out of the way ? 

Des. Bless us! 

Oth. Say you? 

Des. It is not lost: But what and if it were? 

Oth. How? 

Des. I say, it is not lost. 

Oth. Fetch 't, let me see it. 

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now; 
This is a trick, to put me from my suit; 
Pray you, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 

Oth. Fetch me the handkerchief: my mind misgives. 

Des. Come, come; 
You '11 never meet a more sufficient man. 

Oth. The handkerchief,— 

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 

Oth. The handkerchief,— 

Des. A man that, all his time, 

Hath founded his good fortunes on your love, 
Shar'd dangers with you;— 

Oth. The handkerchief,— 

Des. In sooth, you are to blame. 

Oth. Away! [Exit Otheilo. 

Emil. Is not this man jealous? 

Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
Sure, there 's some wonder in this handkerchief; 
I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 

Emil. 'T is not a year or two shows us a man: 
They are all but stomachs, and we all but food; 
They eat us hungerly, and when they are full 
They belch us. Look you! Cassio, and my husband. 

Enter lago and Cassio. 

lago. There Is no other way; 't Is she must do 't; 
And, lo, the happiness! go, and importune her. 

Des. How now, good Cassio? what 's the news 
with you? 

Cos. Madam, my former suit: I do beseech you, 
That, by your virtuous means, I may again 
Exist, and be a member of his love. 
Whom I, with ail the oflBce of my heart. 
Entirely honour; I would not be delay'd: 
If my offence be of such mortal kind. 
That nor my service past, nor present sorrows, 
Nor purpos'd merit in futurity 
Can ransom me into his love again. 
But to know so must be my beneflt; 
So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content. 
And shut myself up in some other course, 
To fortune's alms. 

Oes. Alas! thrice gentle Cassio, 

My advocation is not now in tune; 
My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him. 
Were he in favour, as in humour, alter'd. 
So help me every spirit sanctified. 
As I have spoken for you all mv best. 
And stood within the blank of his displeasure. 
For my free speech! You must a while be patient: 
What I can dc I will; and more I will. 
Than for myself I dare: let that suffice you. 

lago. Is my lord angry? 

Emit. He went hence but now. 

And, certainly, in strange unquietness. 

logo. Can he be angry? I have seen the cannon, 
When it hath blown his ranks into the air; 
And, like the devil, from his very arm 
Puff'd his own brother;— And can he be angry? 
Something of moment, then: I will go meet him; 
There 's matter in 't indeed, if he be angry. 

Dea. I prithee, do so.— Something, sure, of state, 

[Ji'a^it lago. 
Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice 
Made driiiiinslrabie here in Cyprus to him. 
Hath pmMlrd his clearspirit: and, in such eases, 
ilen's natures wrangle with inferior things. 



I Though great ones are their oliject. 'T is even so; 
! For let our finger oclie, and it indues 
Our otlirr liealiliful iiiciiihcrs c'v'n to a sense 
Of pain: Nay, we iniisr tliiiik mm :u'e not gods; 
Nor of them look Uiv such oljsurvancy 
As fits the bridal.— Beshrew me much, Emilia, 
I was (unhandsome warrior as I am) 
Arraigning his nnkindness with my soul; 
But now I find I had siiljorn'd the witness. 
And he 's inilii-Uil falsely. 

Emil. Pray hcavcii it be state matters, as you thlnkj 
And no conception, uor no jealous toy. 
Concerning you. 

Des. Alas the day! I never gave him cause. 

Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so: 
They are not ever jealous for the cause. 
But jealous for they 're jealous: It is a monster. 
Begot upon itself, born on itself. 

Des. Heaven keep the monster from Othello's 
mind! 

Emil. Lady, amen. 

Des. I will go seek him.— Cassio, walk hereabout: 
It I do find him fit, I '11 move your suit. 
And seek to effect it to my uttermost. 

Cos. I humbly thank your ladyship. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 
Enter Bianca. 

Bian. Save you, friend Cassio! 

Cos. Wliat make you from home? 

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? 
Indeed, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 

Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
What! keep a week away? seven days and nights? 
Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours, 
More tedious than the dial eight seoie times? 

weary reckoning! 

Cas. Pardon me, Bianca; 

1 have this while witli leaden thoughts been press'd; 
But I shall, in a more continuate time. 

Strike off this score of absence. .Sweet Bianca, 

[Giving her Desdemona's handkerchief. 
Take me this work out. 

Bian. O, Cassio, whence came this? 

This is some token from a newer friend. 
To the felt absence now I feel a cause. 
Is 't come to tliis? well, well. 

Cas. Go to, woman! 

Thi-ow your vile guesses in the devil's teeth, 
Fronr whence you have them. You are jealous now 
That this isfrom some mistress, some remembrance; 
No, in good troth, Bianca. ^ 

Bian. Why, whose is it? 

Cas. I know not, neither: I found it in my cham- 
ber. 
I like the work well: ere it be demanded, 
(As like enough it will,) I 'd have it copied: 
Take it, and dfo 't; and leave me for this time. 

Bian. Leave you! wherefore? 

Cas. I do attend here on the general; 
And think it no addition, nor my wish. 
To have him see me woman'd. 

Bian. Why, I pray you? 

Cas. Not that I love you not. 

Bian. But that you do not love me. 

I pray you, bring me on the way a little; 
And say, if I shall see you soon at night. 

Cos. 'T is but a little way that I can bring you. 
For I attend here: but I '11 see you soon. 

Bian. 'T is very good; 1 must be circumstanc'd. 

[Exeunt. 
ACT IV. 
Scene I.— Before tTie Castle. 
Enter Othello and lago. 

lago. Will you think so? 

Oth. Think so, lago? 

lago. WTiat, 

To kiss in private? 

Oth. An unauthoriz'd kiss? 

lago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed. 
An hour, or more, not meaning any harm: 

Oth. Naked in bed, lago, and not mean harm? 
It is hypocrisy against the devil: 
They that mean virtuously, and j'et do.so. 
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heav- 
en. 

lago. If they do nothing, 't is a venial slip: 
But it I give my wife a handkerchief,— 

Oth. What then? 

lago. Why then 't Is her's, my lord; and, being 
her's. 
She may, I think, bestow 't on any man. 

Oth. She is protectress of her honor, too; 
May she give that? 

lago. Her honor is an essence that's not seen; 
They have it very oft that have it not; 
But, for the handkercliiet,— 

Oth. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot 
it:— 
Thou saidst,— O, it comes o'er my memory. 
As doth the raven o'er the infectious house, 
Boding to all,— he had my handkerchief. 

lago. Ay, what of that-' 

Oth. That 's not so good, now. 

lago. What, if I had said I had seen hiin do you 
wrong? 
Or heard him say. (as knaves be such abroad, 
Who, having by their own importunate suit. 
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, 
j Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose 
I But they must blab,)— 

Oth. Hath he said anything? 

lago. He hath, my lord; but be you well assur'd, 
No more than he '11 unswear. 

Oth. What hath he said? 

Ingo. Why, that he did,— I know not what he did. 

Oth. What? what? 

lago. Lie— 

Oth. With her? 

Ingo. With her;— on her;— what you will. 

Oth. Lie with her! lie on her!— We sav, lie on her, 
when they belie her: Lie with her! that's fulsome.- 
Handkerchief, — confessions, — handkerchief. — To 
confess, and be hanged for his labour.— First, to be 
hanged, and then to confess:— I tremble at it. Nat- 
ure would not invest herself in such shadowing 
passion, without some instruction. It is not words 
that shake me thus:— Pish!— Noses, ears, and lips:— 
Is 't possible?— Confess!— Handkei-chief!—0 devil! 

[Falls in a trance. 

lago. Work on. 
My medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are i 
caught; I 



And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus. 
All guiltless meet reproach.— Whai, ho! my lord! 

Enter Cassio. 
My lord, I say! Othello!— How now, Cassio? 

Cas. What is the matter? 

lago. Jly lord is falleii into an epilepsy; 
This is his second fit; he had one yesterday. 

Cas. Rub him about the temples. 

lago. No, forbear: 

Tne lethargy muse have his quiet course: 
If not, he foams at mouth; and, by and by. 
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs: 
Do you withdraw yourself a little while. 
He Avill recover straight; when he is gone, 
I would on great occasion speak with you.— 

[E.vit Cassio. 
How is it, general? have you not hurt your head? 

Oth, Dost thou mock me? 

lago. I mock you? no, by heaven: 

'Would you would bear your fortune like a man. 

Oth. A horned man 'sa monster, and a beast. 

lago. There 's many a beast then in a populous 
city, 
And many a civil monster. 

Oth. Did he confess it? 

lago. Good sir, be a man; 

Think, every bearded fellow that 's butyok'd 
May draw with you: there 's millions now alive 
That nightly lie in those unproper beds. 
Which they dare swear peculiar; your case is better. 
O, 't is the spite of hell, the fiend's arch mock. 
To lip a wanton in a secure couch. 
And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know; 
And, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. 

Oth. O, thou art wise; 't is certain. 

lago. Stand you awhile apart; 

Confine yourself btit in a patient list. 
Whilst you were here, o'erwhelmed with your grief, 
(A passion most unsuiting such a man,) 
Cassio came hither: I shifted him away. 
And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy; 
Bade him anon return, and here speak with me; 
The which he promis'd. Do but encave yourself. 
And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns. 
That dwell in every region of his face; 
For I will make him tell the tale anew,— 
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
He hath, and is again to cope your wife; 
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience: 
Or I shall say, you are all in all in spleen. 
And nothing of a man. 

Oth. Dcst thou hear, lago? 

X will be found most cunning in my patience; 
But (dost thou hear?) most bloody. 

lago. That 's not amiss; 

But yet keep time in all. WIU you withdraw? 

Othello ivithdraws. 
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 
A housewife, that by selling her desires 
Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature 
That dotes on Cassio,— as 't is the strumpet's plague. 
To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one:— 
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 
From the excess of laughter:— Here he comes:— 

Re-enter Cassio. 
As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad; 
And his unbookish jealousy must construe 
Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour. 
Quite in the wrong.— How do you now, lieutenant? 

Cos. The worser, that you give me the addition. 
Whose want even kills me. 

lago. Ply Desdemona well, and you are sure on 't. 
Now, if thls-suit lay in Bianca's powei', 

[Speaking lower. 
How quickly should you speed? 

Cas. Alas, poor caitiff! 

Och. Look, how he laughs already! [Aside. 

lago. L never knew woman love man so. 

Cas. Alas, poor rogue! I think indeed she loves 
me. 

Oth. Now he denies it faintly, and.laughs it out. 

[Aside. 

lago. Do you hear, Cassio? 

Oth. Now he importunes him 

To tell it o'er: Go to; well said, well said. [Aside. 

lago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her: 
Do you intend it? 

Cas. Ha, ha, ha! 

Oth. Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph? 

[Aside. 

Cas. I marry!— what? a customer' Prithee, bear 
some charity to my wit; do not think it so unwhole- 
some. Ha, ha, ha! 

Oth So, so, so, so: They laugh that win. [Aside. 

lago. Why, the cry goes, that you marry her. 

Cos Pritliee, say true. 

lago. I am a very villain else. 

Oth. Have you scored me? Well. [Aside. 

Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out: she is 
persuaded I will many her, out of her own love and 
flattery, not out of my promise. 

Oth. lago beckons me; now he begins the story. 

[Aside. 

Cas. She was here even now; she haunts me in 
every place. I was, the other day, talking on the 
sea-bank with certain Venetians; and thither comes 
the bauble, and falls me thus about my neck;— 

Oth. Crying, O dear Cassio! as it were: his gesture 
imports it. [Aside. 

Ca.<'. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; so 
shakes and pulls me: ha, ha, ha!— 

Oth. New he tells how she plucked him to my 
chamber: O, I see that no.se of yours, but not that 
dog I shall throw it to. [Aside. 

Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 

lago. Before me! look, where she comes. 

Enter Bianca. 

Cas. 'T is such another fitchew! marrj', a perfumed 
one,- What do you mean by this haunting of me? 

Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you! What 
did you mean by that same handkerchief you gave 
me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must 
take out the work!— .\ likely piece of work that 
you should find it in your chamber, and know not 
who left it there! This is some minx's token, and 
I must take out the work! There, -give it your 
hobby horse: wheresoever you had it I '11 take out no 
work on 't. 

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca? how now, how 
now? 

Oth. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief! 

[Aside. 



Scene i.] 



OTHELLO. 



827 



Bian. If you '11 conio to supper to-night you may; 
If vou will not, come when you are next prepared 
for. {Exit. 

lago. After her, after her. 

Cas. I must; she 'II rail in the streets else. 

layo. Will you sup there? 

Cas. Yes, I intend so. 

lago. Well, I may eliance to see you; for I would 
very fain speak with .\ ou. 

Cas. Prithee, come: Will you? 

lago. Go to: say no more. [Exit Cassio. 

Oth. How shall I niurther him, lago? 

lai/o. Did vou perceive how he laughed at his vice? 

Oth. O, lago! 

lago. And did vou .lee the handkerchief? 

Oth. Was tliat mine? 

lago. Yours, liv tliis hand; and to see how he prizes 
the foolisli wi.m'an, your wife! she gave it him, and 
he hath given it liis whore. 

Oth. I would have him nine years a killing:— 
A tine woman! a fair woman! a sweet woman! 

lago. Nav, you must forget that. 

Oth. Ay, let her lot, and perish, arid be damned to 
night; for she shall not live: No, my heart is turned 
to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the 
world hath not a sweeter ereature: she might lie by 
an emperor's side, and command him tasks. 

lago. Nay, that's not your way. 

Oth. Hang her! I do but say what she isr— So deli- 
cate with her needle!— An admirable musician! O, 
she will sing the savageness out of a bear!— Of so 
high and plenteous wit and invention! 

lago. She '.s the worse for all this. 

Oth. 0,|a thousand, a thousand times;— And then, so 
gentle a condition! 

Jago. A)', too gentle. 

Oth. Nay, that 's certain: But yet the pity of it, 
lago!— O, 'lago, the pity of it, lago! 

Jago. If you are so fond over her Iniquity, give her 
patent to ottend; for, if It touch not you it comes 
near nobody. 

Oth. I will chop her into messes:— Cuckold me! 

lago. O, t is foul in her. 

Oth. Witli mine officer! 

lago. That 's fouler. 

Oth. Get me some poison, lago; this night:— I 'U 
not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty 
unprovide my mind again:— this night, lago. 

lago. Do it not with poison; strangle her in her 
bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 

Oth. Good, good: the Justice of It pleases; very 
good. 

lago. And, for Cassio,— let me be his undertaker: 
You shall hear more by midnight. 

{A trumpet within. 

Oth. Excellent good.— What trumpet is that same? 

lago. I warrant something from Venice. 
'T is Lodovico. This comes from the duke; 
See, your wife's with him. 

Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. 

Loci. 'Save you, worthy general! 

Oth. With all my heart, sir. 

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. 

{Gives him a packet. 

Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 

[Opens the packet and reads. 

Des. And what 's the news, good cousin Lodovico? 

Jago. 1 am very glad to see you, signior; 
Welcome to Cyprus. 

Lod. I thank you: how does lieutenant Cassio? 

lago. Lives, sh\ 

iJes. Cousin, there 's fallen between him and my 
lord 
An unkind breech: but you shall make all well. 

Oth. Are you sure of that? 

Dcs. My lord? 

Oth. This fail you not to do, as you will— IRead.t. 

Lod. He did not call: he 's busy in the paper. 
Is there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio? 

Des. A most unhappy one; I would do much 
To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. 

Oth. Fire and brimstone! 

Des. My lord? 

Oth. Ai-e you wise? 

Des. What, is he angry? 

Lod. May be, the letter mov'd him; 

For, as I think, they do command him home, 
Deputing Cassio in his government. 

Des. Trust me, I am glad on 't. 

Oth. Indeed. 

Des. My lord? 

Oth. I am glad to see you mad. 

Des. Why, sweet Othello? 

Oth. Devil! [Striking her. 

Des. I have not deserv'd this. 

IrOd. My lord, this would not be believ'd in Venice, 
Though I should swear I saw 't: 'T is very much; 
Make her amends, she weeps. 

Oth. O devil, devil! 

If that the earth coxild teem with woman's tears, 
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile: 
Out of my sight: 

Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Going. 

Lod. Truly, an obedient lady: — 
X do beseech your lordship, call her back. 

Oth. Mistress— 

Des. My lord? 

Oth. What would you with her, sir? 

Lod. Who, I, my lord? 

Oth. Ay; you did wish that I would make her 
turn; 
Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on. 
And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep; 
And she 's obedient, as you say,— obedient, — 
Very obedient;— Proceed you in your tears.— 
Concerning this, sir, -O well-painted passion! 
I am commanded home: — Get you away; 
I 'II send for you anon.— Sir, I obey the mandate, 
And will return to Venice;— Hence, avaunt! 

[Exit Desdemona. 
Cassio shall have my place. And,— sir, to-night, 
I do entreat that we may sup together. 
You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus.— Goats and mon- 
keys! [Exit. 

lA}d. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate 
Call all-in-all sufficient?- Is this the nature 
Whom passion could not shake? whose solid virtue 
The shot of ajcident, nor dart of chance. 
Could neither graze, nor pierce? 

lago. He is much chang'd. 

iod. Are his wits safe? Is he not light of brain? 

logo. He is that he is; I may not breathe my cen- 
sure. 



What he might be,— if, what he might, he is not,— 
I would to heaven, he were. 

Lod, What, strike his wife! 

Icigo. 'Faith, that was not so well; Yet 'would I 
knew 
That stroke would prove the worst. 

Lod, Is It his use? 

Or did the letters work upon his blood. 
And new-create his fault? 

lago. Alas, alas! 

Is not honesty in me, to speak 
What I have seen and known. You shall observe 

him; 
And his own courses will denote him so. 
That I may save my speech: Do but go after. 
And mark how he continues. 

Lod. I am sorry that I am decelv'd In him. [Exe. 

Scene 11.— A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Othello and Emilia. 

Oth. You have seen nothing then? 

Emil. Nor ever heard; nor ever did suspect. 

Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. 

Emit. But then I saw no harm: and then I heard 
Each syllable that breath made up between them. 

Oth. What, did they never whisper? 

Emil. Never, my lord. 

Oth. Nor send you out o' the way? 

Emil. Never. 

Oth. To fetch her tan, her gloves, her mask, nor 
nothing? 

Emil. Never, my lord. 

Oth. That 's strange. 

Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
Lay down my soul at stake: if you think other. 
Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom. 
If any n-retch have put this in your head. 
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse! 
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true. 
There 's no man happy; the purest of their wives 
Is foul as slander. 

Oth. , Bid her come hither:- go.— 

[Exit Emilia. 
She says enough;— yet she 's a simple bawd 
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, 
A closet-lock and-key of villainous secrets: 
And yet she '11 kneel, and pray; I have seen her 
do't. 
Re-enter Emilia, tvith Desdemona. 

Des. My lord, what is your will? 

Oth. Pray you, chuck, come hither. 

Des. What is your pleasure? 

Oth. Let me see your eyes; 

Look in my face. 

Des. What horrible fancy 's this? 

Oth. Some of your function, mistress; [To Emilia. 
Leave procreauts alone, and shut the door; 
Cough, or cry hem, if any body comet 
Yoiu' mystery, your mystery;— nay, despatch. 

[JSxit Emilia. 

Des. Upon my knee what doth your speech im- 
port? 
I understand a fury in your words. 
But not the words. 

Oth. W'hy, what art thou? 

Des. Your wife, my lord; your true and loyal wife. 

Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 
Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves 
Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double- 

danin'd, 
Swear — thou art honest. 

Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 

Oih. Heaven truly knows that thou art false as 
hell. 

Des. To whom, my lord? with whom? How am I 
false? 

Oth. Ah Desdemon!— away! away! away! 

Des. Alas, the heavy day!— Why do you weep? 
Am I the motive of these tears, m.y lord? 
If, haply, you my father do suspect 
An instrument of this your calling back. 
Lay not your blame on me; if you have lost him, 
I have lost him too. 

Oth. Had it pleas'd heaven 

To tr.v me with affliction; had he rain'd 
All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head; 
Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips; 
Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes; 
I should have found in some place of my soul 
A drop of patience: but, alas: to make me 
The fixed figure for the time of scorn 
To point his slow and moving finger at,— 
Yet could I bear that too; well, very well: 
But there, where I have garner'd up my heart; 
Where either I must live, or bear no life; 
The fountain from the which my current runs, 
Or else dries up; to be discarded thence! 
Or keep it as a cistern, tor foul toads 
To knot and gender in! turn thy complexion there, 
Patience, thou young and roselipp'd cherubin! 
Ay, there, look grim as hell! 

Des. I hope my noble lord esteems me honest. 

Oth. O, ay; as summer flies are in the shambles, 
That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, 
Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet. 
That the sense aches at thee,— 'would thou hadst 
ne'er been born! 

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? 

Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, 
Made to write whore upon? What committed? 
Committed?— O thou public commoner! 
I should make ver.v forges of my cheeks, 
That would to cinders burn up modesty. 
Did I but speak thy deeds.— What committed? 
Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks; 
The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets. 
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth. 
And will not hear it: What committed? 

Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 

Oth. Are not you a strumpet? 

Des. No, as I am a Christian; 
If to preserve this vessel for my lord. 
From any other foul unlawful touch. 
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none. 

Oth. What, not a whore? 

}Jes. No, as I shall be sa'-ed. 

Oth. Is "t possible? 

Des. O, heaven forgive us! 

Oth. I cry you mercy, then; 
I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, 
That married with Othello.— You, mistress. 
That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, 
And keep the gate of hell; You! you! ay, youl 



Reenter Emilia. 

We have done our course; there 's money for your 

pains; 
I pray you turn the key, and keep our counsel. [Ex. 

Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive? — 
How do you, madam? how do you, my good lady? 

Jjes. 'Faith, half asleep. 

Emil. Good madam, what 's the matter with my 
lord? 

Des. With who? 

Emil. Why, with my lord, madam? 

Des. Who is thy lord? 

Emil, He tliat Is yours, sweet lady. 

Des. I have none: Do not talk to me, Emilia; 
I cannot weep; nor answer have I none. 
But wiiat sh(nild go by water. Prithee, to-night 
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets,— remember;— 
And call thy husband hither. 

Emil. Here 's a change, indeed! [Ex, 

Des. 'T is meet I should be us'd so, very meet. 
How have I been behav'd, that he might stick 
The small'st opinion on my least misuse? 

Re-enter Emilia, ivith lago. 

lago. What is your pleasure, madam? How is 't 
with you? 

Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach young 
babes. 
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks: 
He might have chid me so; for, in good faith, 
I am a child to chiding. 

Jago. W'hat is the matter, lady? 

Emil. Alas, lago, m.v lord hath so bewhor'd her, 
Thrown such despite and lieavy terms upon her, 
That true hearts cannot bear it. 

Des. Am I that name, lago? 

lago. W^hat name, fair lady? 

Des. Such as she said my lord did say I was. 

Emil. He call'd her whore; a beggar, in his drink. 
Could not have laid such terms upon his callet. 

lago. Why did he so? 

Des. I do not know; I am sure I am none such. 

lago Do not weep, do not weep; Alas the day! 

Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches. 
Her father, and her country, and her friends. 
To be call'd whore? would it noc make one weep? 

Des. It is my wretched fortune. 

lago. Beshrew him for 't! 

How comes this trick upon him? 

Dcs. Nay, heaven doth know 

Emil. I will be hang'd, it some eternal villain. 
Some busy and insinuating rogue. 
Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office. 
Have not devis'd this slander; I will be hang'd else. 

Jago. Fie, there is no such man; it is impossible. 

Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him! 

Emil, A halter pardon him! and hell gnaw his 
bones! 
Why should he call her whore; who keeps her com 

pany? 
What place? what time? what form? what likell 

hood? 
The Moor's abus'd by some most villainous knave, 
Some base notorious knave, some scurv.v fellow:— 
O, heaven, that such companions thou 'dst unfold; 
And put in every honest hand a whip, 
To lash the rascals naked througli the world. 
Even from the east to the west! 

lago. Speak within door. 

Emil. O, fle upon them! some such squire he was 
That turn'd your wit the seamy side without. 
And made you tosuspect nie with the Moor. 

lago. Yon are a fool; goto. 

Des. Alas, lago. 

What shall I do to win my lord again? 
Good friend, go to him; for, by this light of heaven, 
I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel; 
If ere my will did trespass 'gainst his love. 
Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed; 
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense. 
Delighted them in any other form; 
Or that I do not yet, and ever did. 
And ever will,— thougii he do shake me off 
To beggarly divorcement,— love him dearly, 
Comfort forswear me! Unkiudness may do much; 
And his unkiudness may defeat my life. 
But never taint my love. I cannot say, whore; 
It does abhor me, now I speak the word; 
To do the act that might the addition earn. 
Not tlie world's mass of vanity could make me. 

Jago. I pray you, be content; 't is but his humour, 
The business of the state does him offence. 
And he does chide with you. 

Des. If 't were no other! 

lago. It is but so, I warrant. 

[Trumpets. 
Hark, how these instruments summon to supper! 
The messengers of Venice stay the meat. 
Go in, and weep not: all things shall be well. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Enter Roderigo. 

How now, Roderigo? 
Rod. I do not find that thou deal'st justly with me. 
lago. What in the contrary? 

Rod. Every day thou dafts me with some device, 
lago; and rather, as it seems to me now, keep'st 
from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with 
the least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, no long- 
erendurelt: Nor am I yet persuaded to put up in 
peace what already J have foolishly suffered. 
lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? 
Rod. I have heard too much; and your Avoids and 
performances are no kin together. 
lago. You charge me most unjustly. 
Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted myself 
: out of my means. The jewels you have had from 
I me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have cor- 
i rupted a votarist: You have told me she hath re- 
' celved them, and returned me expectations and 
I comforts of sudden respect and acquaintance : but I 
find none. 
I lago. Well; go to; very well. 

I Rod. Very well! go to! I cannot go to, man; nor 't 
I is not ver.v well. Nay, I think, it is scurvy; and be- 
gin to find myself fobbed in it. 
Jago. Very well. 
t Rod. I tell you, 't is not very well. I will make my- 
self known to Desdemona: If she will return me m.v 
I jewels I will give over my suit, and repent my uii- 
j lawful solicitation; if not, assure yourself I will seek 

satisfaction of you. 
I logo. You have said now. 



238 



OTHELLC 



LACT V. 



Rod. Ay, and said nothing but what I protest in- 
tentlmcnt of doing. 

lago. Why, now I see there 's mettle In thee; and 
even, from this instiint, do build on thee a better 
opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Rod- 
erlKo: Thou hast taken against me a most just ex- 
ception; but yet, I protest, I have dealt most direct- 
ly in thy affair. 

Rod. It hath not appeared. 

lago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared; and 
your suspicion is not without wit ;ind judsment. 
But, Roderigo, it thou hast that in thee indeed, 
which I have greater leason to believe now than 
ever, -I mean, purpose, courage, and valour,— this 
night show it: if thou the next night following en- 
Joy not De.sdemona, take me from this world with 
treachery, and devise engines for my lite. 

Rod. Well, what is it? is it within reason and com- 
pass? 

7tt30. Sir, there is especial commission come from 
Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's'place. 

Rod. Is that true? why then Othello and Desderao- 
na return again to Venice. 

lago. O. no; he goes into Mauritania, and taketh 
away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode 
be lingered here b.v some accident; wherein none 
can be so determinate as tlie removing of Cassio. 

Rod. How do you mean removing him? 

lago. Why, by making him nncapable of Othello's 
place; knocking out his brains. 

Rod. And that you would have me to do? 

lago. Ay; it you dare do yourself a profit, and a 
right. He sups to-night with a harlotry, and thither 
will I go to him;— he knows not yet of his honoura- 
ble fortune: if you will watch his going thence, 
(which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and 
one,) you may take him at your pleasure; I will be 
near to second your attempt, and he shall fall be- 
tween us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go 
along with me; I will show you such a necessity in 
his death, that you shall think yourself bound to put 
it on him. It is now high supper-time, and the night 
grows to waste: about it. 

Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 

lago. And you shall be satisfied. f Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Anof/ier loom in the Castle. 

Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, and 
Attendants. 

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no fur 
ther. 

Otii. O, pardon me; 't will do me good to walk. 

Lod. Madam, good night; I humbly thank your 
ladysliip. 

Des. Your honour is most welcome. 

Otfi. Will you walk, sir? 

O, Desdemona, — 

lies. My lord? 

Oth. Get you to bed on the instant; I will be re- 
turned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there; look 
It be done. 

Des. 1 will, my lord. 

[Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants. 

Emit. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he 
did. 

Des. He says he will return incontinent; 
And hath commanded me to go to bed, 
And bade me to dismiss you. 

Emil. Dismiss me! 

Des. It was his bidding; therefore. Good Emilia, 
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu; 
We must not now displease him. 

Emil. Ay, would you had never see himl 

Des. So would not I; my love doth so approve him, 
That even his stubbornness, his checks, his 

frowns,— 
Prithee, unpin me,— have grace and favour in them. 

Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the 
bed. 

Des. All 's one; — Good father! how foolish are our 
minds!— 
It I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me 
In one of those same sheets. 

Emit. Come, come, you talk. 

Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara; 
She was in love; and he she lov'd pi'ov'd mad. 
And did forsake her: she had a song of ' willow,' 
An old thing 't was, but it express'd her fortune. 
And she died singing it: That song, to night, 
Will not go from ray mind; Ihave much to do, 
But to go hang my head all at one side. 
And sing it, like poor Barbara. Prithee, despatch. 

Emil. Shall I go fetch your night-gown? 

Des. No, unpin me here.— 

This Lodovico is a proper man. 

Emil. A very handsome man. 

Des. He speaks well. 

Emil. I know a lady in Venice would have walked 
barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his nether lip. 



Des. The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree. 
Sing all a green willow; 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee. 

Sing, willow, willow, iviilow: 
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her 
moans; 
Sing willow, &c. 
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the 
stones. 
I.ay by these: 

Sing willow, willow, willow; 
Prithee, hie tliee: he '11 come anon.— 

Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 
II. 
Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,^ 
Nay, that 's not next —Hark! who is 't that knocks? 
Emil. It 's the wind. 

Des. I call'd my love, false love; but what said he 
then? 
Sing willow, &c. 
If I court mo women you 'II couch with mo men. 
So, get thee gone; good night. Mine eyes do itch; 
Doth that bode weeping? 
Emil. 'T is neither here nor there. 

Des. I have heard it said so.— O, these men, these 
men!— 
Do.st thou in conscience think,— tell me, Emilia,— 
That there be women do abuse their husbands 
In such gross kln<i? 



Emil. There be some such, no question. 

Des. Would'st thou do sucli a deed for all tlie 
world? 

Emil. Why, v\ould not you? 

Des. No, by this heavenly light! 

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light; 
I might do 't PS well i' the dark. 

Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the 
world? 

Emil. The world 's a huge thing: 'T is a great price 
for a small vice. 

Des. In troth, I think thou w'ould'st not. 

Emil. In troth, I think I should; and undo 't, 
when I had done. Marr.v. I would not do such a 
thing for a joint-ring; nor for measures of lawn; nor 
for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any petty exhi- 
bition: but, for all the whole world, — Why, who 
would not make her husband a cuckold, to make 
him a monarch? I should venture purgatory for 't. 

Des. Beshrew me, it I would do such a wrong for 
the whole world. 

Emil. Why , the wrong Is but a wrong i' the world ; 
and, having the world for your labour, 't is a wrong 
in your own world, and you might quickly make it 
right. 

Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 

Emil. Yes, a dozen; and as many to the vantage, 
as would store the world they play'd for. 
But, I do think it is their hustiands' faults 
If wives do fall: Say, that they slack their duties, 
And pour our treasures into foreign laps; 
Or else break out in peevish jealousies. 
Throwing restraint upon us; or, say, they strike us, 
Or scant our former having in despite; 
Why, we have galls; and, though we have some 

grace. 
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know 
Their wives have sense like them: tliey see, and 

smell. 
And have their palates both for sweet and sour, 
As husbands have. What is it that they do. 
When the.y change us for others? Is it sport? 
I thmk it is: And doth affection bi-eed it? 
I think it doth: Is 't frailty that thus errs? 
It is so too: And have not we affections? 
Desires for sport? and f railt.v, as men have? 
Then, let them use us well: else, let them know 
The ills we do their ills instruct us so. 

Des. Good night, good night: Heaven me such 
uses send. 
Not to p'ck bad from bad; but, by bad, mend! 

{Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— .4 Street. 

Enter lago and Roderigo. 

Jago. Here, stand behind this bulk; straight will 
he come: 
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put It home; 
Quick, quick; fear nothing; I '11 be at thy elbow; 
It makes us, or it mars us; think on that. 
And fix most firm thy resolutions. 
Rod. Be near at hand; I may miscarry in it. 
lago. Here, at thy hand: be bold, and take thy 
stand. [Retires to a little distance. 

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed; 
And .yet he hath given me satisfying reasons:— 
'T is but a man gone:— forth, my sword; he dies. 

[Goes to his stand, 
lago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to the 
sense. 
And he grows angry. Now whether he kill Cassio, 
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other, 
Evej'y way makes my gain: Live Roderigo, 
He calls me to a restitution ia;-ge 
Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd from him. 
As gifts to Desdemona; 
It must not be: if Cassio do remain. 
He hath a daily beauty in his life 
That makes me ugly; and, besides, the Moor 
May unfold me to him; there stand I in much peril: 
No, he must die:— But so, I hear him coming. 
Enter Cassio. 
Rod. I know his gait, 't is lie: Villain, thoudiest. 

[Bushes from his post, and makes a pass 
at Cassio. 
Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, 
But that my coat is better than thou know'st; 
I will make proof of thine. 

[Draws and wounds Roderigo. 
Rod. O, I am slain! 

flago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio 
behind in the leg, and exit. 
Cas. I am maim'd for ever:— Help, hoa! murther! 
raurtherl [Falls. 

Enter Othello, at a distance. 
Oth. The voice of Cassio:— lago keeps his word. 
Rod. O, villain that I am! 
Oth. 'T is even so. 

Cas. O, help, hoa! light! a surgeon! 
Oth. 'T is he;— O brave lago, honest, and just. 
That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong! 
Thou teachest me:— Minion, your dear lies dead. 
And your unblest fate hies:— Strumpet, I come: 
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are 

blotted; 
Thy bed, lusi: stain'd, shall with lust's blood be spot- 
ted. [Exit. 
Enter Lodovico and Gratiano, at a distance. 
Cas. What, hoa! no watch? no passage? murther! 

murtlier! 
Gra. 'T is some mischance; the voice is very dire- 
ful. 
Cas. O, help! 
Lod. Hark! 

Rnd. O wretched villain! 

Lod. Two or three groan;— 't is heavy night: 
These may be counterfeits; let 's think 't unsafe 
To come into the cry without more help. 
Rod. No body come? then shall I bleed to death. 

Enter lago. 
Lod. Hark! 
Gra. Here 's one comes in his shirt, with light and 

weapons. 
lago. Who 's there? whose noise is this that cries 

on murther? 
Lod. We do not know. 

lago. Do you not hear a cry? 

Cas. Here, here; for heaven's sake, help me. 
Jago, What 's the matter? 

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 



Lod. The same, indeed; a very valiant fellow. 

logo. What are you here that cry so grievously? 

Cas. lago? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains! 
Give me some help. 

lago. O me, lieutenant! what villains have done 
this? 

Cas. I think that one-of them is hereabout. 
And cannot make away. 

lago. o treacherous villains!— 

What are you there? come in, and give some help. 

I To Lodovico and Gratiano. 

Rod. O, help me here! 

Cas. That's one of them. 

lago. O murderous slave! O villain! 

[lago stabs Roderigo. 

Rod. Odamn'dlago! O inhuman dog!— [Dies. 

Jago. Kill men i' the dark!— Where be these bloody 
thieves? — 
How silent is this town! Hoa! murther! murtlier! 
What may you be? are you of good or evil? 

iod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 

Jago. Signlor Lodovico? 

Z/od. He, sir. 

Jago. I cry you mercy; Here 's Cassio hurt by vil- 
lains. 

Gra. Cassio? 

Jago. How is 't, brother? 

Cas. My leg is cut in two. 

Jago. Marry, heaven forbid I— 

Light, gentlemen; I '11 bind it with my shirt. 
Enter Bianca. 

Bian, What is the matter, ho? who is 't that cry'd? 

Jago. Who is 't that cry'd? 

Bian. O my dear Cassio! my sweet Cassio! O 
Cassio! Cassio! Cassio! 

Jago. O notable strumpet!— Cassio, may you sus- 
pect 
Who they should be that have thus mangled you? ' 

Cas. No. 

Gra. I am sorry to And you thus: I have been to 
seek you. 

Jago. Lend me a garter: So.— O, for a chair. 
To bear him easily hence! 

Bian. Alas, he faints:— O Cassio! Cassio! Cassio! 

Jago. Gentlemen, all, I do suspect this trash 
To be a part.y in this injury.— 
Patience awhile, good Cassio.— Come, come; 
Lend me a light.— Know we this face, or no? 
Alas! my friend, and my dear countryman, 
Roderigo? no:— Yes, sure; yes, 't is Roderigo. 

Gra. What, of Venice? 

Jago. Even he, sir; did you know him? 

Gra. Know him? ay. 

Jago. Siguier Gratiano? I cry your gentle pardon; 
These bloody accidents must excuse my manners, 
That so neglected you. 

Gra. I am glad to see you. 

Jago. How do you, Cassio?— O, a chair, a chair! 

Gra. Roderigo! 

Jago. He, he, 't is he:— O, that 's well said;— the 
chair; — [A chair brought in. 

Some good man bear him carefull.v from hence; 
I '11 fetch the general's surgeon.— For you, mistress, 

[To Bianca. 
Save you your labour.— He that lies slain here, Cas- 
sio, 
Was my dear friend: What malice was between 
you? 

Cas. None in the world; nor do I know tlie man. 

Jago. [To Bian.J What, look you pale?— O bear him 
o' the air. 

[Cassio and Roderigo are borne off. 
Stay you, good gentlemen.— Look you pale, mis- 
tress? 
Do you perceive the ghastness of.her eye?— 
Nay, if you stare we shall hear more anon:— 
Behold her well: I pray you look upon her; 
Do you see, gentlemen? nay, guiltiness will speak, 
Though tongues were out of use. 
Enter Emilia. 

Emil. Alas, what is the matter? what is the mat- 
ter, husband? 

Jago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark, 
By Roderigo, and fellows that are scap'd; 
He 's almost slain, and Roderigo quite dead. 

Emil. Alas, good gentleman! alas, good Cassio! 

Jago. This is the fruits of whoring.-Prithee, Emilia, 
Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night:— 
What, do you shake at that? 

Bian. He supp'd at my house; but I therefore 
shake not. 

Jago. O, did he so? I charge you, go with me. 

Emil. O, fie upon thee, strumpet! 

Bian. I am no strumpet; but of life as honest 
As you that thus abuse me. 

Emil. As I? fie upon thee! 

Jago. Kind gentlemen, let 's go see poor Cassio 
dress'd: — 
Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale.— 
Emilia, run you to the citadel. 

And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd.— ' 
WilTyou go on afore? Tliis is the night, [Aside. 

That either makes me or fordoes me quite. [Exe. 

Scene II. — A Bedchamber: Desdemona in bed asleep. 
A light burning. 

Enter Othello. 
Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,— 
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!— 
It is the cause.— Yet I 'II not shed her blood; 
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow. 
And smooth as nionumental alabaster. 

[ Takes off his sword. 
Yet she must die, else she 'II betray more men. 

Put out the light, and then Put out the light? 

If I quench thee, thou flaming minister! 

I can again thy former light restore. 

Should I repent me:— but once put out thy light, 

Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, 

I know not where is that Prometliean heat 

That can thy liglit relume. Wlien I have pluck'd 

thy rose, 
I cannot give it vital growth again. 
It needs must wither:— I '11 smell thee on the tree. — 

[Kissing her, 
O balmy breath, that dotli almost persuade 
Justice to break her sword!— One more, one more. — 
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee. 
And love thee after:— One more, and that 's the 

last: 
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep. 
But they are cruel tears: This sorrow 's heavenly; 
It strikes where it doth love.— She wakes— 



Scene ii.] 



OTHELLO. 



339 



Des. Who 's there? Othello? 

Oth. Ay. Desdemon. 

Des. Will you come to bed, my lord? 

Oth. Have you pray'd tonight, Desdemona? 

Des. Ay, my lord. 

Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime 
UnreconciI'd as yet to heaven and grace, 
Solicit for it straight. 

Dts. Alack, my lord, what may you mean by that? 

Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by: 
I would not kill thy unprepared spirit; 
No,— heavens forfend.— I would not kill thy soul. 

Des. Talk you of killlug? 

eth. Ay, I do. 

Des. Then heaven 

Have mercy on me! 

Oth. Amen, with all my heart! 

Des. If vou say so, I hope you will not kill me. 

Oth. Humph! 

Des. And yet I fear you; for you are fatal then, 
When your eyes roll so: Why I should fear I know 

not. 
Since guiltiness I know not; but yet; I feel, I fear. 

Oth. Think on thy sins. 

Des. They are loves I bear to you. 

Oth. Ay, and for that thou diest. 

Des. That death 's unnatural ttiat kills for loving.— 
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip? 
Some bloody passion sliakes .your very frame: 
These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope, 
They do not point on me. 

Oth. Peace, and be still! 

Des. I will so: What 's the matter? 

Oth. That handkerchief, which I so lov'd and gave 
thee. 
Thou gav'st to Cassio. 

Des. No, by my life and soul; 

Send for the man and ask him. 

Oth. Sweet soul, take heed. 

Take heed of perjury; thou 'rt on thy death-bed. 

Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 

Oth. Yes, presently; 

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin; 
For to deny each article with oath 
Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception, 
That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 

Des. O, heaven have mercy on me! 

Oth. I say, amen. 

Des. And have you mercy too!— I never did 
Offend you in my life; never lov'd Cassio, 
But with such general warranty of heaven 
As I might love: I never gave him token. 

Oth. B.V heaven, I saw my handkerchief in 's hand. 
Operjur'd woman! thou dost stone my heart, 
And mak'st me call what I intend to do, 
A murther, which I thought a sacrifice: 
I saw the handkerchief. 

Des. He found it then; 

I never gave it him:— Send for him hither; 
Let him confess a truth. 

Oth. He hath confess'd. 

Des. What, my lord? 

Oth. That he hath us'd thee. 

Des. How? unlawfully? 

Oth. Ay. 

Des. He will not say so. 

Oth. No, iiis mouth is stopp'd; 
Honest lago hath ta'en order for 't. 

Des. O, my fear interprets,— What, is he dead? 

Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
Had stomach for them all. 

Des. Alas! he is betray'd, and I undone. 

Oth. Out, strumpet! Weep'st thou for him to my 
face? 

Des. O banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 

Oth. Down, strumpet! 

Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. 

Oth. Nay, if you strive,— 

Des. But half an hour. 

OWi. Being done. 
There is no pause. 

Des. But while I say one prayer. 

Oth. It is too late. [JJe smothers her. 

Emil. [Within.] My lord! my lord! what hoa! my 
lord! my lord! 

Oth. What noise is this?— Not dead! not yet quite 
dead'-" 
I, that am cruel, am yet merciful; 
I would not have thee linger in thy pain.— 
So, so. 

Eniil. \Within.\ What hoa, my lord! my lord! 

Oth. Who's there? 

Emil. [Within.\ O, good my lord, I would speak a 
word witli j^ou. 

Oth. Yes:— 't is Emilia;— by and by: — She 's dead. 
'T is like she comes to speak of Cassio's death; 
The noise was liigh. — Ha! no more moving? 
Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were 't good? 
I think she stirs again;— No.— What 's best to do 
If she come in she '11 sure speak to my wife: 
My wife! my wife! what wife?— I have no wife: 
O, insupportable! O heavy hour! 
Metliinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe 
Did yawn at alteration. 

Emil. [Within.\ I do beseech you that I may speak 
with you, 
O, good my lord! 

Oth. I had forgot thee: O, come In, Emilia: — 
Soft,— by and by:— Let me tlie curtains draw. — 
Where art thou? What 's the matter with thee now? 
[Vnlocles the door. 
Enter Emilia. 
' Emil. O, my good lord, yonder 's foul murthers 
done. 

Oth. What? now? 

Emil. But now, my lord! 

Oth. It is the very error of the moon; 
She comes more nearer earth than she was wont. 
And makes men mad. 

Emil. Cassio, my lord, hath killed a young Vene- 
tian, 
Call'd Boderigo. 

Oth. Roderigo klU'd! 

And Cassio kill'd! 

Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 

Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? Then raurther's out of 
tune. 
And sweet revenge grows harsh. 

Des. O falsely, falsely murther'd! 

Emil. Alas! what cry is that? 

Oth. That! what? 

Emil. Out, and aiasi that was my lady's voice: — 
Help! help, hoal help!— O lady, speak ajjain! 



Sweet Desdemona! O, sweet mistress, speak! 

Des. A guiltless death 1 die. 

Emit. O, who hath done 

This deed? 

Des. Nobody; I myself; farewell: 
Commend me to my kind lord. O, farewell. [Dies. 

Oth. Why, how should she be murther'd? 

Emil. Alas! who knows? 

Oth. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 

Emit. She said so: I must needs report the truth. 

Oth. She 's, like a liar, gone to burning hell; 
'T was I that kill'd her. 

Emil. O, the more angel she, 

And you the blacker devil! 

Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 

Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devlL 

Oth. She was false as water. 

Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 

That she was false; O, .she was heavenly true! 

Oth. Cassio did top her: ask thy husband else. 
O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, 
But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
To this extremity: Thy husband knew it all. 

Emil. My husband? 

Oth. Thy husband. 

Emil. That she was false to wedlock? 

Oth. Ay, with Cassio. 

Had she been true. 

If heaven would make me such another world 
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 
I 'd not have sold her for it. 

Emil. My husband? 

Oth. Ay, 't was he that told me on her first; 
An honest man he Is, and hates the slime 
That sticks on filthy deeds. 

Emil. My husband? 

Oth. What needs this Iterance, woman? I say thy 
husband. 

Emil. O mistress, villainy hath made mocks with 
love!- 
My husband say that she was false? 

Oth. He, woman; 

I say, thy hhsband: Dost understand the word? 
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 

Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart; 
She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 

Oth. Ha! 

Emil. Do thy worst: 
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven. 
Than thou wast worthy her. 

Oth. Peace, you were best. 

Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do me 
harm. 
As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt! 
As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed,— 
I care not for thy sword; I '11 make thee known, 
Thou I lost twenty lives:— Help! help! hoa! help! 
The Moor hath kill'd my mistress. Murther! mur- 
ther! 

Enter Montano, Gratiano, and lago. 

Mon. What is the matter?— How now, general? 

Emil. O, are you come, lago? you have done well. 
That men must lay their murthers on your neck. 

Gra. What is the matter? 

Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man: 
He says, thou told'st him that his wife was false: 
I know thou didst not, thou 'rt not such a villain; 
Speak, for my heart is full. 

lago. I told him what I thought; and told no more 
Than what he found himself was apt and true. 

Emil. But did you ever tell him she was false? 

lago. I did. 

Emil. You told a lie; an odious, damned He; 
Upon my soul, a lie; a wicked lie: 
She false with Cassio!— Did you say with Cassio? 

lago. With Cassio, mistress: Go to, charm your 
tongue. 

Emil. I will not charm my tongue, I am bound to 
speak; 
My mistress here lies murther'd In her bed. 

All. O heavens forfend! 

Emil. And your reports have set the murther on. 

Oth. Nay, stare not, masters; it is true, indeed. 

Gra. 'T is a strange truth. 

Mon. O monstrous act! 

Emil. Villainy, villainy, villainy! — 

I think upon 't,— I think,— I smell 't;— O villainy!— 
I thought so then:— I '11 kill myself for grief.- 

villainy, villainy! 

lago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you 
home. 

Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to 
speak; 
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now: 
Perchance, lago, I will ne'er go home. 

Oth. Oh! Oh! Oh! [Falling on the bed. 

Emil. Nay, lay thee down, and roar: 

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent, 
That ere did lift up eye. 

Oth. O, she was foul!— 

1 scarce did know you, uncle: There lies your 

niece. 
Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly 

stopp'd: 
I know this act shows horrible and grim. 

Gra. Poor Desdemon! I am glad thy father's dead; 
Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now. 
This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
Yea, curse his better angel from his side. 
And fall to reprobance. 

Oth. 'T is pitiful; but yet lago knows. 
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
A thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd It: 
And she did gratify his amorous works 
With that recognizance and pledge of love 
Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand; 
It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
My father gave my mother. 

Emil. O heaven! O heavenly powers! 

lago. Come, hold your peace. 

Emil. "T will out, 't will out!— I hold my peace, 
sir? no; 
No, I will speak as liberal as the north; 
Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all. 
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I '11 speals. 

lago. Be wise, and get you home. 

Emil. I will not. 

flago offers to stab his wife. 

Gra. Fie! 

Your sword upon a woman? 



Emil. O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou 
speak'st of 
I found by fortune, and did give my husband, 
For often with a .solemn earnestness, 
(More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,) 
He begg'd of me to steal it. 

lago. Villainous whore! 

Emil. She give It Cassio! no, alas, I found it. 
And I did give 't my husband. 

lago. Filth, thou llest. 

Emil. By heaven, I do not; I do not, gentlemen: 

murtherous coxcomb! what should such a fool 
Do with so good a wife? 

[lago stabs Emilia, then runs out. 

Oth. Are there no stones in heaven. 

But what serve for the thunder?— Precious villain! 

Gra. The woman falls; sure he has kill'd his wife. 

Emil. Ay, ay: O, lay me by my mistress' side! 

Gra. He 's gone, but his wife 's kill'd. 

Mon. 'T is a notorious villain. Take you this 
weapon. 
Which I have here recover'd from the Moor: 
Come, guard the door without; let him not pass. 
But kill him rather; I '11 after that same villain. 
For 't is a damned slave. [Exit Montano 

Oth. lam not valiant neither. 

But every puny whipster gets my sword — 
But why sliould honour outlive honesty? 
Let it go all. 

Emit. What did thy song bode, lady? 

Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan. 
And die In music;— ' Willow, willow, willow.' — 
Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thse, cruel Moor; 
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; 
So speaking as I think, alas, I die. [Dies. 

Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber. 
It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper;— 
O, here it is:— Uncle, I must come forth. 

Gra. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear; 
Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 

Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me. 
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 

Gra. What is the matter? 

Oth. Behold! I have a weapon; 

A better never did itself sustain 
Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day. 
That with this little arm, and this good sword, 

1 have made my way through more impediments 
Than twenty times your stop:— But, O vain boast! 
Who can control his fate? 't is not so now.— 

Be not afraid though you do see me weapon d; 
Here is my journey's end, here is my butt. 
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
Do you go back dismay'd? 't is a lost fear; 
Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 
And he retires;— W here should Othello go?— 
Now, how dost thou look now? O ill starr'd wench! 
Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt, 
This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, 
And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl? 
Even like thy chastity.— 
O cursed, cursed slave!— Whip me, ye devils. 
From the possession of this heavenly sight! 
Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur! 
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!- 
O Desdemon! dead Desdemon! dead. Oh, oh. 
Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio, carried in a 
chair, and Officers, with lago, prisoner. 

Lod. Where Is this rash and most unfortunate man? 

Oth. That 'she that was Othello; here I am. 

Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain forth. 

Oth. I look down towards his feet;— but that 's a 
fable: 
If that thou be'st a devil I cannot kill thee. 

[Othello wounds lago. 

Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 

lago. I bleed, sir; but not kill'd, 

Oth. I am not sorry neither; I'd have thee live; 
For, in my sense, 't is happiness to die. 

Lod. O thou Othello, that was once so good, 
Fall'n In the practice of a cursed slave, 
What shall be said to thee? 

Oth. Why, any thing: 

An honourable murtherer, if you will; 
For nought I did in hate, but all in honour. 

Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his villainy: 
Did you and he consent in Cassio's death? 

Oth. Ay. 

Cas. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 

Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 
Will you, I pray, demand that demidevil, 
Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body? 

lago. Demand me nothing: What you know, you 
know: 
From this time forth I never will speak word. 

Lod. What? not to pray? 

Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 

Oth. Well, thou dost best. 

Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n. 
Which, as I think, you know not: Here is a letter. 
Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo; 
And here, another: the one of them imports 
The death of Cassio to be undertook 
By Roderigo. 

Oth. O villain! 

Cas. Most heathenish and most gross! 

Lod. Now here 's another discontented paper. 
Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems, 
Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain; 
But that, belike, lago In the interim 
Came in and satisfied him. 

Oth. O thou pernicious catift'!— 

How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
That was my wife's? 

Cos. I found it in my chamber; 

And he himself confess'd, but even now. 
That there he dropp'd it, for a special purpose, 
Which wrought to his desire. 

Oth. O fool! fool! fool! 

Cas. There is, besides, in Eoderigo's letter,— 
How he upbraids lago, that he made him 
Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came 
That I was cast: And even but now he spake. 
After long-seeming dead,— lago hurt him, 
lago set him on. 

Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with us; 
Your power and your command is taken off. 
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, — 
It there be any cunning cruelty, 
That can torment him much, and hold him long. 
It shall be his: you shall close prisoner rest, 
Till that the nature of your fault be known 
To the Venetian state: Come, bring away. 

Oth. Soft you; a word or two, before you go* 



KiNO IE An. 



[Act I. 



I have done the state some service, ami they know't; 

No more of that:— 1 pray you, in your letters, 

■\Vhenyou shall these unlucky deeds relate, 

Speak of me as 1 am; nothingr extenu.Tte, 

]N(>r set down au,u:ht in maliee. then must you speak 

Of one that lov'd not wisely, b\U loo well; 

Of one, not <'asily jealous, hut, iiolni; wrought, 

PerplexM in tlie extreme; t>f one, whose liand, 

Like the l)asi' Indian, threw a pearl away, 

Richerthan all his trilje; of one, whose subdu'd eyes, 

Albeit unused to the melting mood. 

Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 

Their niedlcinable gum: Set you down this: 



And say, besides,— that in Aleppo once. 

Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 

Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state, 

I took by the throat the circumcised dog. 

Aiul smote him— tlius. \ Stabs himself . 

Lod. O bloody period! 

Gra. AH that Is spoke Is marr'd. 

Oth. I klss'd thee ere I kiU'd thee;— No way but 
[his, 
KlUingmyself to die upon a kiss. Wies. 

Cos. This did I fear, but thought he had no wea- 
pon; 



For he was great of heart. 

Lod. O Spartan dog! 

More fell than anguish, huncer, or the .sea! 
Look on the tragic loading of this bed; {To lago. 

This is thy work: the object poisons sight;— 
Let it be hid.— Gratiano, keep the house. 
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
For they succeed on you.— To you, lord governor, 
Remains the censure of this hellish villain; 
The time, the place, the torture.— O enforce it! 
Myself will straight aboard; and, to the state, 
This heavy act with heavy heart relate. {Exeunt. 



KING LEAR. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Leah, King of Britain. 
Kino of France. 
Duke of Bi'Rgundy. 
Duke of Cornwaix. 
Duke of Albany. 
Earl of Kent. 
Earl of Glosteb. 



Edgar, son to Gloster. 

Edmund, bastard son to Gloster. 

CuRAN, a courtier. 

Old Man, tenant to Gloster. 

Physician. 

Fool. 

Oswald, steward to Goneril. 



An Officer, employed by Edmund. 
Gentleman. Attendant on Cordelia. 

A Herald. 

Servants to Cornwall. 

Goneril, daughter to Lear. 



CordeLia, I ^a^ohters to Lear. 

Knights attending on the King, Of- 
ficers, Messengers, Soldiers and At- 
tendants. 

SCENE.— Britain. 



ACT 1. 

Scene I.— King Lear's Palace. 

Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund. 

Kent. I thought the king had more affected the 
duke of Albany than Cornwall. 

Glo. It did always seem so to us: but now, in the 
division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the 
dukes he values most; for qualities are so weigh'd, 
that curiosity in neither can make choice of eitlier's 
moiety. 

Kent. Is not this your son, my lord? 

Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: X 
have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now 
I am braz'd to 't. 

Kent. I cannot conceive .voii. 

Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could- where- 
upon she grew roundwombed; and had indeed, sir, 
a son for her cradle, ere she had a husband for her 
bed. Do you smell a fault? 

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of 
it being so proper. 

Glo. But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some 
year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my ac- 
count: though this knave came somewhat saucily to 
the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother 
fair; there was good sport at his making, and the 
whoreson must be acknowledged.— Do you know 
this noble gentleman, Edmund? 

hdm. No, my lord. 

Glu. My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as 
my honourable friend. 

Edm. My services to your lordship. 

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better. 

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 

Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away be 
shall again;— The king is coming. 

{Tru-mpets sound within. 
Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Kegan, Cor- 
delia, and Attendants. 

Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 
Gloster. 

Glo. I shall, my liege. . {Exeunt Glo. and Edm. 

Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker pur- 
pose. 
Give me the map there.— Know, that we have di- 
vided. 
In three, our kingdom: and 't is our fast intent 
To shake all cares and business from our age; 
Conferrmg them on younger strengths, while we 
XJnburthen'd crawl toward death.— Our .son of Corn- 
wall, 
And you, our no less loving son of Albany, 
We have this hour a constant will to publish 
Our daughter's several dowers, that future strife 
May be prevented now. The princes, France and 

Burgundy, 
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love. 
Long in om- court have made their amorous sojourn. 
And here are to be answered.— Tell me, my daugh 

ters, 
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule, 
Interest of territory, cares of state,) 
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most? 
That we our largest bounty may extend 
Where nature doth with merit challenge.— Goneril, 
Our eldest born, speak first. 

Gon. Sir, I love you more than word can wield the 
matter. 
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; 
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; 
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour: 
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found. 
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; 
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 

Cor. What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be si- 
lent. {Aside. 

Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to 
this. 
With shadowy forests and with Cham pains rich'd. 
With plenteous rivers and wide skirted meads. 
We make thee lady: To thine and Albany's issues 
Be this perpetual.— What says our second daughter, 
Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? 

Reg. 1 am made of that self metal as my sister, 
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
I tlnu she names my very deed of love; 
Only she comes too short,— that 1 profess 
Myself an enemy to all other joys. 
Which the most precious square of sense possesses; 
And find, I am alone felicitate 
In your dear highness' love. 

Cor. Then poor Cordelia! [Aside. 

And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love 's 
More ponderous than my tongue. 

Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever. 



Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; 
No less in space, validity, and pleasure. 
Than that conferr'd on Goneril.— Now. our joy. 
Although our last and least; to whose young love 
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy 
Strived to be interess'd; what can you say, to draw 
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. 

Cor. Nothing, my lord. 

I.ear. Nothing? 

Cor. Nothing. 

Lear. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. 

Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
My heart into my mouth; I love your majesty 
According to my bond; no more, nor less. 

Lear. How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a 
little. 
Lest you may mar your fortunes. 

Cor. Good my lord. 

You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I 
Return those duties back as are right fit, 
Obey you, love .vou, and most honour you. 
Why have m.y sister's husbands, if they say 
They love you, all? Haply, when I shall wed. 
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall 

carry 
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty: 
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
To love m.v father all. 

Lear. But goes thy heart with this? 

Cor. Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. So young, and so untender? 

Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 

Lear. Let it be so.— Thy trutli then be thy dower: 
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, 
The mysteries of Hecate and the night; 
By all the operation of the orbs. 
From whom we do exist, and cease to be; 
Here I disclaim all m.v paternal care. 
Propinquity and property of blood. 
And as a stranger to my heart and me 
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scy- 
thian, 
Or he that makes his generation messes 
To gorge his appetite, shall to m.y bosom 
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd. 
As thou, my sometime daughter. 

Kent. Good my liege,— 

Lear. Peace, Kent! 
Come not between the dragon and his wrath; 
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest 
On her kind nursery.- Hence, and avoid my sight!— 

{To Cordelia. 
So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
Her father's heart from her!— Call France;— Who 

stirs? 
Call Burgund.y.— Cornwall and Albany, 
With my two daughters' dowers digest the third: 
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 
I do invest you jointly with my power. 
Pre-eminence, and ail the large effects 
That troop with majesty.— Ourself, by monthly 

course, 
Witli reservation of an hundred knights. 
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain 
The name, and all the additions to a king; 
The sway, 

Revenue, execution of the rest. 
Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm. 
This coronet part between you. {Giving the crown. 

Kent. Royal Lear, 

Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 
Lov'd as my father, as my master followed. 
As my great patron thought on in my prayers,— 

Lear. Tlie bow is bent and drawn, make from tlie 
.shaft. 

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
The region of my heart, be Kent unmannerly. 
When Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old 

man? 
Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak. 
When power to flattery bows? To plainness hon- 
our's bound. 
When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state; 
And, in thy best consideration, check 
This hideousIrashness:|answermy life, my judgment, 
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; 
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sounds 
Reverb no hollowness. 

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 
To wage against thine enemies; ne'er fear to lose it, 
Thv safety being motive. 

Lear. Out of m.v sight! 

Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain 
The true blank of thine eye. 



Lear. Now, by Apollo,— 

Kent. Now, by Apollo, king. 

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 

Lear. O, vassal! miscreant! 

[Laying his/iand on his sword. 

Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 

Kent. Kill tjiy physician, and thy fee bestow 
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift; 
Or, whilst I can vent clamour fron; my throat, 
I '11 tell thee, thou dost evil. 

Ixar. Hear me, recreant! 

On thine allegiance, hear me!— 
That thou hast sought to make us break our vows, 
(Which we durst never yet.) and, with strain'd pride. 
To come betwixt our sentence and our power, ■ 
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,; 
Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
Five days we do allot thee for provision 
To shield thee from disasters of the world; 
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back 
Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following. 
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions. 
The moment is thy death: Away! by Jupiter, 
This shall not be revok'd. 

Kent. Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt ap- 
pear. 
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.— 
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, 

( To Cordelia. 
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said!— 
And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 

{To Regan and Goneril. 
That good effects may spring from words of love.— 
Thus Kent, O princes, bids ,you all adieu: 
He '11 shape his old course in a country new. | Exit. 
Re-enter Gloster; tvith France, Burgundy, and 
Attendants. 

Glo. Here 's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 

Lear. M.v lord of Burgundy, 
We first address toward you, who with this king 
Hath rivall'd for our daughter: What, in the least. 
Will you require in present dower with her, 
Or cease your quest of love? 

Bur. Most royal majesty, 

I crave no more than hath your highness ott'er'd. 
Nor will you tender less. 

Lear. Right noble Bungurdy, 

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; 
But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands; 
If aught within that little seeming substance, 
Or all of it, with our displeasure pierc'd, 
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace. 
She "s there, and she is yours. 

Bur. I know no answer. 

Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, 
Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, 
Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our 

oath. 
Take her, or leave her? 

Bur. Pardon me, royal sir. 

Election makes not tip in such conditions 

Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that 
made me, 
I tell you all her wealth.— For you, great king. ' 

{To France. 
I would not from your love make such a stray. 
To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you 
To avert your liking a more worthier way, 
Than on a wretch whom nature isasham'd 
Almost to acknowledge hers. 

Fi-ance. This is most strange! 

That she, who even but now was your best object. 
The argument of your praise, balm of your age. 
The best, the dearest, sliould in this trice of time 
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
So many folds of favour! Sure, her offence 
Must be of such unnatural degree. 
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
Fall into taint: which to believe of her. 
Must be a faith that reason without miracle 
Sliould never plant in me. 

Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, 

(If for I want that glib and oily art. 
To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, 
I 'II do 't before I speak,) that you make known 
It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulness, 
No unchaste action or dishonour'd step. 
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour: 
But even for want of that for which I am richer, 
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
That I am glad I have not, though not to have it 
Hath lost me in your liking. 

Lear. Better thou 

Hadst not been born than not t' have pleas'd me 
better. 

France. Is it but this? a tardiness in nature. 



Scene i.] 



KJXa LEA II. 



S»\ 



Which often leaves the history unspoke 
That It Intends to do?— My lord of Biugundy, 
What say you to the larty? T.ove 's not love, 
When it Is mingled with regards that stand 
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? 
She is herself a dowry. 

Bur. Royal king. 

Give but that poition which yourself propos'd. 
And here I take Cordelia by the hand, 
Duchess of Burgundy. 
Lear Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. 
Bnr. I am sorr.v, then, you have so lost a father 
That you must lose a husband. 

Cor. Peace be with Burgundy! 

Since that respects of fortune are his love, . 
I shall not be his wife. 
France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being 
poor; 
Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd! 
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: 
Be it lawful, I take up what 's cast away. 
Gods, gods! 't is strange, that troin their cold'st 

neglect 
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.— 
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance. 
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: 
Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy 
Can buy this unpriz'd pi-ecious maid of me.— 
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: 
Thou losest here, a better where to And. 
Lear. Thou hast her, France: let her be thine, for 
we 
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
That face of hers again:— Therefore be gone, 
■ Without our grace, our love, our benlzon. 
Come, noble Burgundy. 

lFloi/.ri?h. JT-ceiinf Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, 
A;banv. Gloster, and .-ittendants. 
France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 
Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are; 
And, like a sister, am most loth to call 
Your faults as they are uam'd. Love well our 

father: 
To your professed bosoms I commit him; 
But yet, alas! stood I within his grace, 
I would prefer him to a better place. 
So farewell to you both. 
Reg. Prescribe not us our duties. 
Gon. Let your study 

Be, to content your lord; who hath recelv'd you 
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted. 
And well are worth the want that you have wanted. 
Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning 
hides; 
Who covers faults at last with shame derides. 
Well may you prosper! 
France. Come, my fair Cordelia. 

\Ex-eu.nt France and Cordelia. 
Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say, of what 
most nearly appertains to us both. I think our fath- 
er will hence to night. 

Reg. That 's most certain, and with you; next 
month xvith us. 

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is; the 
observation we have made of it hath not been little: 
he always loved our sister most; and with what 
poor judgment he hath now cast her oft appears too 
grossly. 

Reg. 'T is the infirmity of his age: yet; he hath ever 
but slenderly known himself. 

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been 
but rash: then must we look from his age to receive 
not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condi- 
tior, but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness 
that infirm and choleric years bring with them. 

Reg. Such uneonstant starts are we like to have 
from him, as this of Kent's banishment. 

Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking 
between France and hitii. Pray you, let us sit to- 
gether: it our father carry authority with such dis- 
positions as he bears, this last surrender of his will 
but offends us. 
Reg. We shall further think of it. 
Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat. [Ere. 

Scene II.— A Hall in the Earl of Gloster's Castle. 

Enter Edmund, wUh a letter. 

Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law 
My services are bound: Wherefore should I 
Stand in the plague of custom; and permit 
The curiosity of nations to deprive me. 
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines 
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wlieretore base? 
When my dimensions are as well compact. 
My mind as generous, and my- shape as true, 
As honest madam's issue? Why brand the.v us 
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? 
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 
More composition and fierce quality. 
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, 
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops. 
Got 'tween asleep and wake?— Well, then. 
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: 
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund, 
As to the legitimate: Fine word,— legitimate! 
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed. 
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 
Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: — 
Now, gods, stand up for bastards! 

Enter Gloster. 

Glo. Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler 
parted! 
And the king gone tonight! prescrib'd his power! 
Confln'd to exhibition! All this done 
Upon the gad! Edmund! How now; what news? 

Edm. So please your lordship, none. 

\Putting xp the letter. 

Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that let- 
ter? 

Edm. I know no news, my lord. 

Glo. What paper were you reading? 

Edm. Nothing, my lord. 

Glo. No? what needed then that terrible despatch 
of It into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath 
not such need to hide itself. Let 's see: Come, if it 
be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. 

Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter 
from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read: and 
for so much as I have perused, I find It not fit for 
your o'er-looking. 

Glo. Give me tne letter, sir. 



Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The 
contents, as in part i imderstand them, are to blame. 
Glo. Let 's see, let 's see. 

Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he 
wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. 

Glo. [Reads.] "This policy, and revei-i nee of age, 
makes the world bitter to the best of our times; 
keeps our fortunes from us, till our oldness cannot 
relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bond- 
age in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, 
not as it hath power, but as it is sultered. Come to 
me, that of this I may speak more, if our father 
would sleep till I waked him. you should enjoy half 
his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your 
brother, Edgar.' 
Humph -Conspiracy.' 

' Sleep till 1 waked him,— you should enjoy half his 
revenue,'— 

My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart 
and brain to breed It in? When came you to this? 
Who brought it? 

Edm. It was not brought me, my lord; there *s the 
cunning of it: 1 found it thrown In at the casement 
of my closet. 
Glo You know the character to be your brother's? 
Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would 
fain think it were not. 
Glo. It is his. 

Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart 
is not in the contents. 

Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this 
business''' 

Edm. Never, my lord: But I have heard hlra oft 
maintain it to be lit, that, sons at perfect age, and 
fathers declined, the father should be as ward to the 
son, and the son manage his revenue. 

Glo. O villain, villain.'— His vei'y opinion in the let- 
ter!— Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish 
villain! worse than brutish!— Go, sirrah, seek him; 
I '11 apprehend him:— Abominable villain:— Where is 
he? 

Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please 
you to suspend your indignation against my brother 
till you can derive fi'om him better testimony of his 
intent, you should run a certain course; where, if 
you violently proceed against him, mistaking his 
purpose, it would make a gi-eat gap in your own 
honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedi- 
ence I dare pawn down my life for him, that he 
hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour, 
and to no other pretence of danger. 
Glo. Think you so? 

Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place 
you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by 
an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and 
that without any further delay than this very even- 
ing. 
Glo He cannot be such a monster. 
Edm. Nor is not, sure. 

Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely 
loves him.— Heaven and earth!— Edmund, seek him 
out; wind me into him, I pray you; frame the busi- 
ness after your own wisdom: I would unstate my- 
self, to be in a due resolution. 

Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the 
business as I shall find means, and acquaint you 
withal. 

Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon por- 
tend no good to us: Though the wisdom of nature 
can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself 
scourged by the sequent effects: love cools, friend 
ship falls off, brothers divide; in cities, mutinies; in 
counlrie.s, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond 
cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain of mine 
comes under tlie prediction, there 's son against 
father: the king falls from bias of nature; there 's 
father against child. We have seen the best of our 
time: Machinations, hoUowness, treachery, and all 
ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves! 
Find out this villain, Edmund, it shall lose thee 
nothing; do it carefully;— And the noble and true- 
hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty!— 'T is 
strange! [Exit. 

Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world! 
that, when we are sick in fortune, (often the .surfeit 
of our own behaviour,) we make guilty of our disas- 
ters the sun, the moon, and stars; as if we were vil- 
lains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; 
knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical pre- 
dominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an 
enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all 
that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on An ad- 
mirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his 
goatish disposition on the charge of a star! My father 
compounded with my mother under the dragon's 
tail; and my nativity was under iirsa major: .so that 
it follows, I am rough and lecherous.— I should have 
been that I am, had the maidenliest star in tlie 
firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. 

Enter Edgar. 

Pat: he comes like the catastrophe of the old 
comedy: My cue is villainous melancholy, with a 
sigh like Tom o' Bedlam.— O, these eclipses do por 
tend the.se divisions! fa, sol, la, mi. 

Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious 
contemplation are you in? 

Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I 
read this other day, what should follow these 
eclipses. 

Edg. Do you busy yourself with that? 

Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of suc- 
ceed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the 
child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of 
ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and male- 
dictions against king and nobles; needless diffi- 
dences, banishment of friends, dissipation of co- ! 
horts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. 

Edg. How long have you been a sectary astro- 
nomical? 

Edm. Come, come; when saw you my father last? 

Edg. The night gone by. 

Edm. Spake you with liim? 

Edg. Ay, two hours together. 

Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found you no 
displeasure in him, by word, or countenance? 

Edg. None at all. 

Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have 
ofiended him: and at my entreaty forbear his 
presence, till some little time hath qualified the 
heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so 
rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person j 
it would scarcely allaj'. 



Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. 

Edm. That 's m.v fear. I pray you have a con- 
tinent forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes 
slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, 
from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord 
speak: Pray you, go; there 's my key;— If you do stir 
abroad go armed. 

Edg. Armed, brother? 

Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best. I am no 
honest man If there be any good meaning toward 
you: 1 have told you what I have seen and heard, 
but faintly; nothing like the Image and horror of it: 
Pray you, away. 

Edg. Shall I hear from you anon? 

Edm. I do serve you in this business.— lEx. Edg. 
A credulous father, and a brother noble, 
Whose nature is so far from doing harms 
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty 
My practices ride easy!— I see the business.— 
Let me, if not by birth, have lands bv wit: 
All with me 's meet that I can fashion fit. lExit. 

Scene 111.— a Room in the Duke of Albany's 
Palace. 

Enter Goneril and Steward. 

Gon. Did my rather strike my gentleman for chid- 
ing of his fool? 

Steiv. Ay, madam. 

Gon. By da.v and night he wrongs me; every hour 
He flashes into one gross crime or other. 
That sets us all at odds: I '11 not endure it: 
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
On every trifle:— When he returns from hunting 
I will not speak with him; say, I am sick:— 
If you come slack of former services 
You shall do well; the fault of it I '11 answer. 

Stew. He 's coming, madam; I hear him. 

{Horns within. 

Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please. 
You and your fellows; I 'd have^t come to question; 
If he distaste it, let him to my sister. 
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, 
Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man. 
That still would manage those authorities 
That he hath given away !— Now, by my life. 
Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd 
With .checks, as flatteries,— when they are seen 

abus'd. 
Remember what I have said. 

Stew. Well, madam. 

Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among 
you; what grows of it no matter; advise your fel- 
lows so: I would breed from hence occasions, and 
I shall, that I may speak:— I write straight to my 
sister, to hold my course:— Prepare for dinner. 

[Exeunt, 
Scene IV.— ^ Hall in the same. 
Enter Kent, disguised. 

Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow. 
That can my speech diffuse, my good intent 
May carry through itself to that full issue 
For which I raz'd my likeness.— Now, banish'd Kent, 
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand con- 

demn'd. 
So may it come thy master, whom thou lov'st. 
Shall And thee full of labours. 

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and 
Attendants. 

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get it 
ready. [E.vit an Attendant.] How now, what art 
thou? 

Kent. A man, sir. 

Lear. What dost thou profess? What would'st 
thou with us? 

Kent I do profess to be no less than I seem; to 
serve him truly that will put me in trust; to love him 
that is honest, to converse with him that is wise 
and says little; to fear judgment; to flght when I 
cannot choose; and to eat no flsh. 

Lear. What art thou? 

Kent. A very honest hearted fellow, and as pooras 
the king. 

Lear. If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he 's 
for a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st 
thou? 

Kent. Service. 

Lear. Who would'st thou serve? 

Kent. You. 

Lear Dost thou know me, fellow? 

Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your counte- 
nance which I would fain call master. 

Lear. What 's that? 

Kent. Authority. 

Lear. What services canst thou do? 

Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a 
curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message 
bluntly; that which ordinary men are flt for I am 
qualified in and the best of me is diligence. 

Lear. How old art thou? 

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for sing- 
ing, nor so old to dote on her for anything; I have 
years on my back forty eight. 

Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me; if I like 
thee no worse after dinner. I will not part from thee 
yet.— Dinner, hoa, dinner.— Where 's my knave? my 
fool? Go you, and call my fool hither. 

Enter Steward. 
Y'ou, you, sirrah, where 's my daughter? 

Stew. So please you.— [Eccit. 

Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clot- 
poll back. Where 's my fool, hoa?— I think the 
world 's asleep.— How now? where 's that mongrel? 

Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not 
well. 

Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I 
called him? 

Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest man- 
ner, he would not. 

Lear. He vvould not! 

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter Is; 
but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertain- 
ed with that ceremonious aft'ection as you were 
wont; there 's a great abatement of kindness ap- 
pears, as well in the general dependants, as in the 
duke himself also, and your daughter. 

Lear. Ha! sa.v'st thou so? 

Knight. I beseech you. pardon me, my lord, if I be 
mistaken: for my duty cannot be silent when I think 
your highness wronged. 

Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own con- 
ception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of 



KING LEAR. 



[Act II. 



late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jeal- 
ous curiosity, than as a very pretence and pHrpose 
of unklndness: I will look further into 't.— But where 
my fool? I have not seen him this two days. 

Knight. Since my young lady's Roing into France, 
sir, the fool hath much pined away. 

Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well.— Go 
you, and tell my daughter I \vould speak with her. 
— Gro you, call hither my tool.— 

lie-enter Steward. 
O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: Who am I, 
sir? 

Steiv. My lady's father. 

Lear. My lady's father! my lord's knave; you 
■whoreson dog! you slave! you cur! 

Stew. I am none of these, roy lord: I beseech your 
pardon. 

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? 

[Striking him. 

Stew. I '11 not be strucken, my lord. 

Kent. Nor tripped neither; you base foot-ball play- 
er. ITripping up his heels. 

Lear. I thank thee, fellow; thou serv'st me, and 
I '11 love thee. 

Kent. Come, sir, .'irlse, away; I 'U teach you differ- 
ences; away, away: If you will measure your lub- 
ber's length again, tarry: but away: go to; Have you 
wisdom? so. [Pushes the Steward out. 

Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: 

there 'a earnest of thy service. [Giving Kent money. 

Enter Fool. 

Fool. Let me hire him, too;— Here 's my coxcomb. 
[Giving Kent his cap. 

Lear. How now, my pretty knave? How dost thou? 

Fool. Sirrah, vou were best take my coxcomb. 

Kent. Why, fool? 

Fool. Why? For taking one's part that 's out of fa- 
vour: Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, 
thou 'It catch cold shortly: There, take my co.xcomb: 
Why, this fellow has banish'd two of his daughters, 
and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou 
follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.— 
How now, nuncle? 'Would I had two coxcombs, 
and two daughters! 

Lear. Why, my boy? 

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I 'd keep my 
coxcombs myself. There 's mine; beg another of thy 
daughters. 

Lear. Take heed, sirrah; the whip. 

Fool. Truth 's a dog must to kennel; he must be 
whipp'd out, when the lady brach may stand by the 
Are and stink. 

Lear. A pestilent gall to me! 

Fool. Sirrah, I '11 teach thee a speech. 

Lear. Do. 

Fool. Mark it, nuncle:— 

Have more than thou showest. 
Speak less than thou knowest. 
Lend less than thou ovvest, 
Elde more than thou goest. 
Learn more than thou trowest, 
Sit less than thou threwest; 
Leave thy drink and thy whore, 
And keep in a-door, 
And thou Shalt have more 
Than two tens to a score. 

Kent. This is nothing, fool. 

Fool. Then 't is like the breath of an unfee'd law- 
yer; you gave me nothing for 't: Can you make no 
use of nothing, nuncle? 

Lear. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of 
nothing. 

Fool. Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his land 
comes to; he will not believe a fool. [To Kent. 

Lear. A bitter fool! 

Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, be- 
tween a bitter fool, and a sweet one? 

Lear. No, lad; teach me. 

Fool. That lord that counsell'd thee to give away 
thy land. 
Come place him here by me, do thou for him stand: 
The sweet and bitter fool will presently appear; 
The one in motley here— the other found out there. 

Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy? 

Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that 
thou wast born with. 

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 

Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let 
me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part 
on 't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all 
fool to myself; they "11 be snatching.— Nuncle, give 
nie an egg, and I '11 give thee two crowns. 

Lear, what two crowns shall they be? 

Foo'.. Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, 
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. 
When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and 
gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy 
back o'er the dirt: Thou hadst little wit in thy bald 
crown, when thou gav'st thy golden one away. If I 
speak like myself in this, let him be whipp'd that 
first llnds it so. [Singing. 

' Fools had ne'er less grace in a year; 

For wise men are grown foppish; 
And know not how tiieir wits to wear. 
Their manners are so apish.' 

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, 
sirrah? 

Fool. I have used it, nuncle, e'er since thou madest 
thy daughters thy mothers; for when thou gav'st 
them the rod, and putt'st down thine own breeches, 

' Then they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing. 

And I for sorrow sung, 
That such a king should play bo-peep. 
And go the fool among.' 
Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach 
thy fool to lie; I would fain learn to lie. 
Lear. An you He, sirrah, we '11 have you whipp'd. 
Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters 
are: they '11 have me whipp'd for speaking true, 
thou 'It have me whipp'd for lying; and sometimes 
I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be 
any kind of thing than a fool: and yet I would not 
be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both 
sides, and left nothing in the middle: Here comes 
one o' the parings. 

Enter Goneril. 
Lear. How now, daughter? what makes that front- 
let on? Methlnks, you are too much of late i' the 
frown. 

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst 
no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an 



without a figure: I am better than thou art now: 

1 am a fool, thou art nothing.— Yes, forsooth, I will 
hold my tonguer so your face [to Gon.J bids me, 
though you say nothing. Mum, mum. 

He that keeps nor crust nor crum. 
Weary of all, shall want some.— 

That 's a sheal'd peascod. [Pointing to Lear. 

Gon. Not only, sir, this .your all-licens'd fool. 
But other of your insolent retinue 
Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth 
In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
I had thought, by making this well known unto you. 
To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful. 
By what yourself too late have spoke and done. 
That you protect this course, and put It on 
By your allowance; which, if you should, the fault 
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep; 
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal. 
Might in their working do you that offence. 
Which else were shame, that then necessity 
Will call discreet proceeding. 

Fool. For you know, nuncle, 

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, 
That it had its head bit off by its young. 

So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 

Lear. Are you our daughter? 

Gon. I would you would make use of your good 
wLsdom 
Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away 
These dispositions, which of late transport you 
From what you rightly are. 

Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws 
the horse?— Whoop, Jug! I love thee. 

Lear. Does any here know me? this is not Lear: 
Does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his 

eyes? 
Either his notion weakens, his discernings 
Are lethargied. Ha! waking? 't is not so. 
Who is it that can tell me who I am?— 

Fool. Lear's .shadow.— 

Lear. I would learn that; for by the marks of 
sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be 
false persuaded I had daughters— 

Fool. Which they will make an obedient father. 

Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman? 

Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour 
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
To understand my purposes aright: 
As you are old and reverend, should be wise: 
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires; 
Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold,- 
That this our court, infected with their manners, 
Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust 
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel. 
Than a grac'd paVace. The shame itself doth speak 
For Instant remedy: Be then desir'd 
By her that else will take the thing she begs, 
A little to disquantity your train: 
And the remander, that shall still depend, 
To be such men as may besort your age. 
Which know themselves and you. 

Lear. Darkness and devils!— 

Saddle my horses; call my train together.— 
Degenerate bastard! I 'II not trouble thee; 
Yet have I left a daughter. 

Gon. You strike my people; and your disorder'd 
rabble 
Make servants of their betters. 

Enter Albany. 

Lear. Woe, that too late repents,— O, sir, are you 
come? 
Is it your will? [To Alb.] Speak, sir.— Prepare my 

horses. 
Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend. 
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child, 
Than the sea-monster! 

Alb. Pray, sir, be patient. 

Lear. Detested kite! thou liest: [To Gon. 

My train are men of choice and rarest parts. 
That all particulars of duty know 
And in tlie most exact regard support 
The worships of their name.— O most small fault. 
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show! 
Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature 
From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love. 
And added to the uall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! 
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, 

[Striking his head. 
And th.v dear .judgment out!— Go, go my people. 

Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
Of what hath mov'd you. 

Lear. It may be so, my lord.— 
Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear! 
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend 
To make this creature fruitful! 
Into her womb convey sterility! 
Dry up in her the organs of increase; 
And from her derogate body never spring 
A babe to honour her! If she must teem, 
Create her child of spleen; that it may live. 
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her! 
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; 
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; 
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits. 
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel 
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
To have a thankless child.— Awa,v, away! [Exit. 

Alb. Now. gods, that we adore, whereof comes this? 

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know more of it; 
But let his disposition have that scope 
As dotage gives it. 

Reenter Lear. 

Lear. What, flft.y of my followers at a clap! 
Within a fortnight? 

Alb. What 's the matter, sir? 

Lear. I '11 tell thee;— Life and death! I am asham'd 
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus: 

[To Goneril. 
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce. 
Should make thee worth them.— Blasts and fogs upon 

thee! 
The untented woundings of a father's curse 
Pierce every sense about thee!— Old fond eyes, 
Beweep this cause again I 'II pluck ye out; 
And cast you, with the waters that you lose. 
To temper clay.— Ha! Let it be so:— 
I have another daughter. 
Who, lam sure, is kind and comfortable; 
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
She '11 flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find. 
That I '11 resume the shape which thou dost think 



I have cast off for ever. 

[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants. 
Gon. Do you mark that? 
Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 
To the great love I bear you.— 

Gon. Pray you content.— What, Oswald, ho' 
You, sir, more knav£ than fool, after your master. 
„ , „ [To the Fool. 

Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarrv; take the fool 
with thee. 

A fox when one has caught her, 
And such a daughter. 
Should sure to the slaughter. 
If my cap would buy a nalter; 
So the fool follows after. [Exit. 

Gon. This man hath had good counsel;— A hundred 
knights! 
'T is politic, and safe, to let him keep 
At point a hundred knights! Yes, that on e' iry 

dream. 
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike. 
He may enguard his dotage with their powers, 
And hold our lives In merc.v.— Oswald, I say!— 
Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 
Gon. Safer than trust too far. 
Let me still take away the harms I fear. 
Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart: 
What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister; 
If she sustain him and his hundred knights. 

When I have show'd the unfitness How now, 

Oswald? 

Enter Steward. 
What, have you writ that letter to my sister? 
Stew. Ay, madam. 

Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse: 
Inform her full of m.v particular fear; 
And thereto add such reasos.s of your own. 
As may compact it more. Get you gone; 
And hasten your return. [Exit Stew.] No, no, my 

lord. 
This milky gentleness, and course of yours, 
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon. 
You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom. 
Than prais'd for harmful mildness. 

Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell; 
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. 
Gon. Nay, then, — 
Alb. Well, well; the event. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. — Court before the same. 
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 

Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters: 
acquaint my daughter no further with anything you 
know, than comes from her demand out of the let- 
ter: If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there 
afore you. 

Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered 
your letter. [Exit. 

Fool. It a man's brains were in his heels, were 't 
not in danger of kibes? 

Lear. Ay, boy. 

Fool. Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall not 
go slip-shod. 

Lear. Ha, ha, ha! 

Fool. Shalt see tT^y other daughter will use thee 
kindly; for though she 's as like this as a crab 's like 
an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 

Lear. What canst tell, boy? 

Fool. She will taste as like this as a crab does to a 
crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the 
middle of one's face? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side one's 
nose; that what a man cannot smell out he may spy 
into. 

Lear. I did her wrong:— 

Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? 

Lear. No. 

Fool. Norl neither; but I can tell why a snail hasa 
house. 

Lear. Why? 

Fool. Why, to put his head in; not to give it away 
to his daughters, and leave his horns withotit a case. 

Lear. I will forget my nature.— So kind a father!— 
Be my horses ready? 

Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason 
why the seven stars are no more than seven is a 
pretty reason. 

Lear. Because they are not eight? 

Fool. Yes, indeed: Thou would'st make a good 
fool. 

Lear. To take it again perforce!— Monster ingrat- 
itude! 

Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I 'd have thee 
beaten for being old before thy time. 

Lear. How 's that? 

Fool. Thou should'st not have been old till thou 
hadst been wise. 

Lear. O let me not bemad, not mad, sweet heaven! 
Keep me iu temper; I would not be mad! ' 

Enter Gentleman. 
How now! are the horses ready? 

Gent. Ready, my lord. 

Lear. Come, boy. 

Foul. She that 's a maid now, and laughs at my de- 
parture. 
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut short- 
er. [Exeunt. 
ACT IL 

Scene \.—A Court within the Castle of the Earl of 

Gloster. 

Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting. 

Edm. Save thee. Curan. 

Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your father; 
and given him notice that the duke of Cornwall, and 
Regan, his duchess, will be here with him this night. 

Edm. How comes that? 

Cur. Nay, I know not: You have heard of the news 
abroad; 1 mean, the whispered ones, for they areyet 
but ear-kissing arguments? 

Edm. Not 1. 'Pray you, what are they? 

Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 
'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany? 

Edm. Not a word. 

Cur. You may do, then. In time. Fare you well, 
sir. [Exit. 

Edm. The duke be here to-night! The better, best! 
This weaves Itself perforce into my business! 
My father hath set guard to take my brother; 
And I have one thing, of a queazy question. 
Which I must act:— Briefness, and fortune, work!— 



Scene i.] 



KING LEAH. 



233 



Brother, a word;— descend:— brother, I say; 

Enter Edgar. 
My father watches:— O sir, fly this place. 
Intelligence Is given where you are hid; 
You have now the good advantage of the night:— 
Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall? 
He 's coming hither; now, 1' the night, 1' the haste. 
And Regan with him: Have you nothing said 
Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany? 
Advise yourself. 

Edg. I am sure on 't, not a word. 

Kdm. I hear my father coming,— Pardon me:— 
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you:— 
Draw; Seem to defend yourself: Now quit you well. 
Yield; come before my father;— Light, hoa, here!— 
Fly, brother;- Torches! torches!— So, farewell.— 

[E3-it Edgar. 
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 

\Wotinds his ami. 
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards 
Do more than this In sport.— Father! father! 
Stop, stop! No help? 

Enter Gloster and Servants with' torches. 

Olo. Now, Edmund, where's the villain? 

Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword 
out. 
Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon 
To stand auspicious mistress:— 

Gto. But where is he? 

Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 

Gto. Where is the villain, Edmund? 

Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he 
could — 

Glo. Pursue him, hoa!— Go after.— [Exit Serv.J— 
By no means,— what? 

Edm. Persuade me to the murther of your lord- 
ship; 
But that I told him, the revenging gods 
'Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend; 
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
"The child was bound to the father:— Sir, in fine. 
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 
■To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion. 
With his prepared sword, he charges home 
My unprovided body, launch'd mine arm: 
And when lie saw my best alarum'd spirits. 
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter. 
Or whether ghasted by the noise I made, 
Full suddenly he fled. 

Gto. Let him fly far; 

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught: 
And found— Despatch.— The noble duke my master. 
My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight: 
By his authority I will proclaim it. 
That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks. 
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; 
He that conceals him. death. 

Edm. When I dissuaded him from his Intent, 
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech 
I threaten'd to discover him: He replied, 
•Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think. 
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal 
Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee 
Make thy words faith'd? No; what I should deny, 
(As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce 
My very character,) I 'd turn it all 
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: 
And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
If they not thought the profits of my death 
Were very pregnant and potential spurs 
To make thee seek it.' 

Glo. O strange and fasten'd villain! 

Would he deny his letter, said heV— I never got him. 

[Trtcmi^ets within. 

Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not wher' he 

comes: 
All ports 1 '11 bar: the villain shall not 'scape; 
The dulce must grant me that: besides, his picture 
I win send far and near, that all the kingdom 
May have due note of him; and of my land. 
Loyal and natural boy, I '11 work the means 
To make thee capable. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. 

Com. How now, my noble friend? since I came 
hitner, 
(Which I can call but now,) I have heard strange 
news. 

Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short 
Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord ? 

Olo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd; It 's 
crack'd! 

Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your life! 
He whom my father nani'd' your Edgar? 

Glo. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid! 

Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous 
knights 
That tended upon my father? 

Glo. I know not, madam: 't is too bad, too bad.— 

Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. 

Reg. No marvel then though he were ill affected; 
'T is they have put him on the old man's death, 
To have th' expense and waste of his revenues. 
I have this present evening from my sister 
Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions, 
That if they come to sojourn at my house 
I 'U not be there. 

Com. Nor I, assure thee, Regan.— 

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father 
A child-like office. 

Edm. It was my duty, sir. 

Glo. He did bewray his practice; and receiv'd 
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 

Com. Is he pursued? 

Glo. Ay, my good lord. 

Com. If he be taken, he shall never more 
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose. 
How In my strength you please.— For you, Edmund, 
Whose virtue and obedience doth this Instant 
So much commend itself, you shall be ours; 
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; 
You we first seize on. 

Edm. I shall serve you, sir. 

Truly, however else. 

Glo. For him I thank your grace. 

Com. You know not why we came to visit you, — 

Reg. Thus out of season; threading dark-ey'd 
night. 
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize, 
Wherein we must have use of your advice: — 
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, 
Of differences, which I best thought it fit 
To answer from our home; the several messengers 
From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend, 



Lay comforts to your bo.som; and bestow 
Your needful counsel to our businesses. 
Which craves the instant use. 

Glo. I serve you, madam: 

Your graces are right welcome. f Exeunt. 

Scene II.— B^ore Gloster's Castle. 

Enter Kent and Steward, severally- 

Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend: Art of this 
house? 

Kent. Ay. 

Stew. Where may we set our horses? 

Kent. V the mire. 

Stew. Prithee, if thou lov'st me, tell me. 

Kent. I love thee not. 

Stew. Whv, then I care not for thee. 

Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would 
make thee care for me. 

Stew. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee 
not. 

Kent. Fellow, I know thee. 

Stew. What dost thou know me for? 

Kent. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; 
a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hun 
dredpound, filthy worsted stocking knave; a lii.v- 
liver'd, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, super- 
serviceable, finical rogue; one trunk-inheriting 
slave; one that would'st be a bawd, in way of good 
service, and art nothing but the composition of a 
knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir 
of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clam- 
orous whining, if thou deuy'st the least syllable of 
thy addition. 

Stew. Why, what a monstrous fellow art tho\i, thus 
to rail on one that is neither known of thee, nor 
knows thee. 

Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny 
thou know'st me? Is it two days since I tripp'd up 
thy heels, and beat thee, before the king? Draw, 
you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon 
shines; 1 '11 make a sop o'the moonshine of you, you 
whoreson cullionly barber-monger. Draw. 

[Draiving his sword. 

Stew. Away; I have nothing to do with thee. 

Kent. Draw, you nascal: you come with letters 
against the king, and take vanity the puppet's part, 
against the royalty of her father: Draw, you rogue, 
or I '11 so carbonado your shanks:— draw, you rascal: 
come your ways. 

Steiv. Help, hoa! murther! help! 

Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue; stand, you 
neat slave; strike. [Beating him. 

Steio. Help, hoa! murther! murther! 
Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and 
Servants. 

Edm. How now? what 's the matter? Part. 

Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please; 
come, I 'II flesh you; come on, young master. 

Glo. Weapons! arms! what 's the matter here? 

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; 
He dies that strikes again: What is the matter? 

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. 

Corn. What is your difference? speak. 

Stew. 1 am scarce in breath, my lord. 

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour. 
You cowardl.v rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a 
tailor made thee. 

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a 
man? 

Kent. A tailor, sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter, 
could not have made him so ill, though they had been 
but two iiours at the trade. 

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? 

Stew. This ancient ruffian, sir, wnose life I have 
spar'd. 
At suit of his grey beard,— 

Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary let- 
ter!— My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread 
this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall 
of Jakes with him.— Spare my grey beard, you wag- 
tail! 

Co)~n. Peace, sirrah! 
You beastly knave, know you no reverence? 

Kent. Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. | 

Com. Why art thou angry? | 

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a i 
sword, I 

Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as 

these. 
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain 
Which are too intrinse t' unloose: smooth every pas- 
sion 
That in the natures of their lords rebel; 
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; 
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
With every gale and vary of their masters. 
Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.- 
A plague upon your epileptic visage! 
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? 
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 
I 'd drive you cackling home to Camelot. 

Com. What, art thou mad, old fellow? 

Glo. How fell you out? 

Say that. 

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy. 
Than I and such a knave. 

Com. Why dost thou call him knave? What is his 
fault? 

Kent. His countenance likes me not. 

Com. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or 
hers. 

Kent. Sir, 't is my occupation to be plain; 
I have seen better faces in my time. 
Than stands on any shoulder that I see 
Before me at this instant. 

Com. This is some fellow. 

Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect 
A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb 
Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he.'— 
An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth: 
An they will take it, so; if not, he 's plain. 
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness 
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends. 
Than twenty silly ducking observants. 
That stretch their duties nicely. 

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity. 
Under the allowance of your great aspect. 
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire 
On flickering Phoebus' front,— 

Com. What mean'st by this? 

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discom- 
mend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: he 
that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain 



knave: which, for my part, I will not be, though I 
should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. 

Corn. What was the offence you gave him? 
, Stew. I never gave him any. 
It pleas'd the king his master, very late. 
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; 
When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure, 
Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd, 
And put upon him such a deal of man. 
That worthy'd him, got praises of the king 
For him attempting who was self subdued; 
And. in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 
Drew on me here again. 

Kent. None of these rogues and cowards. 

But Ajax is their fool. 

Com. Fetch forth the stocks! 

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart. 
We '11 teach you— 

Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn: 

Call not your stocks for me: I .serve the king; 
On whose employment I was sent to you: 
You shall do small respects, show too bold malice 
Against the grace and person of my master. 
Stocking his messenger. 

Com. Fetch forth the stocks: 

As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. 

Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night, 
too. 

Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, 
You should not use me so. 

Reg. Sir, being his knave, I win. 

[Stocks brought out. 

Com. This Is a fellow of the self-same colour 
Our sister speaks of:— Come, bring away the stocks. 

Gto. Let me beseech your grace not to do so: 
His fault is much, and the good king his master 
Will check him for 't: your purpos'd low correction 
Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches. 
For pilferings and most common trespasses. 
Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill. 
That he, so slightly valued in his messenger. 
Should have him thus restrain'd. 

Com. I 'II answer that. 

Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse. 
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted. 
For following her affairs.— Put in his legs. — 

[Kent is put in the stocJcs. 
Come, my lord; away. 

{E.Teunt all except Glos-ter and Kent. 

Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend; 't is the duke's 
pleasure. 
Whose disposition, all the world well knows. 
Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd: I '11 entreat for thee. 

Kent. Pray, do not, sir: I have watch'd, and tra- 
vell'd hard; 
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I '11 whistle. 
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels: 
Give you good morrow! 

Glo. The duke 's to blame in this; 't will be ill 
taken. {Exit. 

Kent. Good king, that must approve the common 
saw; 
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st 
To the warm sun! 

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 
That by Ihy comfortable beams I may 
Peruse this letter!— Nothing almost sees miracles, 
But misery:— I know 't is from Cordelia; 
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd 
Of my obscured course; and shall find time 
From this enormous state,— .seeking to give 
Losses their remedies:— All weary and o'er-watch'd, 
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
This shameful lodging. 

Fortune, good night; smile once more; turn thy 
wheel! [He sleeps. 

Scene III.— A Part of the Heath. 
Enter Edgar. 
IMg. I heard myself proclaim'd; 
And, by the happy hollow of a tree, 
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place. 
That guard, and most unusual vigilance, 
Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape, 
I will preserve myself: and am bethought 
To take the basest and most peorest shape. 
That ever penury, in contempt of man. 
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth; 
Blanket my loins; elf all my hair In knots; 
And with presented nakedness out-face 
The winds and persecutions of the sky. 
•The countr.v gives me proof and precedent 
Of bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, 
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms 
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; 
And with this horrible object, from low farms. 
Poor pelting villages, sheep cotes and mills, 
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers. 
Enforce their charity.— Poor Turlygod! poor Tom! 
That 's something yet;— Edgar I nothing am. [Ex. 

Scene TV.— Before Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman. 

Lear. 'T Is strange, that they should so depart 
from home. 
And not send back my messenger. 

Gent. As I learn'd. 

The night before there was no purpose in them 
Of this remove. 

Kent. Hail to thee, noble master! 

Lear. Ha! 
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? 

Kent. No, my lord. 

Fool. Ha, ha; he wears cruel garters! Horses are 
tied by the heads; dogs and bears by the neck; 
monkeys by the loins; and men by the legs: when 
a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden 
ript her -Stocks 

T^ar. What 's he that hath so much thy place mis- 
took 
To set thee here? 

Kent. It is both he and she. 

Your son and daughter. 

Lear. No. 

Kent. Yes. 

Lear. No, I say. 

Kent. I say, yea. 

Lear. No, no; they would not. 

Kent. Yes, they have. 

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 

Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 

Lear. They durst not do 't 

[PART 29.] 



S34 



KING LEAR. 



[Act iir. 



They could not, would not do 't; 't Is worse than 

murther, 
To do upon respect such violent outraue: 
Kesolve mc, with all modest haste, which way 
Thou niiRht'st deserve, or they impose, this usage. 
Com ins from us. 

Kent. My lord, when at their home 

I did commend your hlghiu^ss' letters to them. 
Ere I was risen from tlie place tliat show'd 
My duty kneeling, came tliiii' a reeking post, 
Stew'd in his haste, lialf lireatlilcss, pantmg forth 
From Goneril his mistress, sahitations; 
Deliver'd letters, spite of interriiission. 
Which presently they read: on those contents 
They summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse; 
Commanded me to follow, and attend 
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks: 
And meeting here the other messenger. 
Whose welcome, I perceivd, had poison'd mine, 
(Being the very fellow which of late 
Display'd so saucily against your highness,) 
Having more man than wit about me, drew; 
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries: 
Your son and dauehter found this trespass worth 
The shame which liere it suffers. 

Fool. Winter 's not gone yet. If the wild geese fly 
that way. 
Fathers that wear rags do make their children 

blind; 
But fathers that bear bags shall see their children 

kind. 
Fortune, that arrant whore, ne'er turns the key to 

the poor.— 
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many »lolours for 
thy daughters, as thou canst tell In a year. 

Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my 
heart! 
Hysterica passio!— down, thou climbing sorrow. 
Thy element 's below!— Where is this daughter? 

Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 

Lear. Follow me not; 

St.ay here. \Exit. 

Gent. Made you no more offence but what you 
speak oi? 

Kent. None. 

How chance the king comes with so small a number? 

Fool. An thou hadst been set 1' the stocks for that 
question, thou hadst well deserved it. 

Kent. Why, fool? 

Fool. We '11 set thee to school to an ant, to teach 
thee there 's no labouring in the winter. All that 
follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind 
men; and there 's tict a nose among twenty but can 
smell him that 's stinking. Let go thy hold, when a 
great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck 
with following; but the great one that goes upward, 
let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives 
thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would 
have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. 

That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain. 

And follows but for form. 
Will pack, when it begins to rain, 

And leave thee in the storm. 

But I will tarry; the fool will stay. 

And let the wise man fly: 
The knave turns fool that runs away; 

The fool no knave, perdy. 

Kent. Where learn 'd you this, fool? 
Fool. Not i' ihe stocks, fool. 

Reenter Lear, with Gloster. 

Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they 
are weary? 
They have travell'd all the night? Mere fetches; 
The images of revolt and flying off! 
Fetch me a better answer. 

Glo. My dear lord, 

You know the flery quality of the duke; 
How unremovable and flx'd he is 
In his own course. 

Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!— 
Fiery? what quality? why, Gloster, Gloster, 
I 'd speak with the duke of Cornwall and his wife. 

Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so. 

Lear. Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, 
man? 

Glo. Ay, my good lord. 

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall; the 
dear father 
Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends. 

Are they inform'd of this? My breath and 

blood!— 
Fiery! the fiery duke!— Tell the hot duke, that— 
No, but not yet:— may be, he is not well: 
Infirmity doth still neglect all office. 
Whereto our health is oound; we are not ourselves. 
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 
To suffer with the body: I 'U forbear; 
And am fallen out with my more headier ^vill, 
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
For the sound man.— Deatli on my state! where- 
fore [Looking on Kent. 
Should he sit here? This act persuades me, 
"That this remotion of the duke and her 
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth: 
Go, tell the duke and his wife, I 'd speak with them, 
Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me. 
Or at their chamber door I '11 beat the drum, 
Till it cry sleep to death. 

Glo. I 'd have all well betwixt you. [Exit. 

Lear. O me, my heart, my rlsingheai't!- but, down. 

Foot Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the 
eels, when she put them i' the paste alive; she 
knapp'd 'emo' the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, 
' Down, wantons, down:' 'T was her brother that, in 
pure kindness to his horse, butter'd his hay. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster and Servants. 

Lear. Good morrow to you both. 

Corn. Hall to your grace! 

fKent is set at liberty. 

Jteg. I am glad to see your highness. 

Lear. Began, I think you are; I know what rea- 
son 
I have to think so; if thou should'st not be glad, 
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, 
Sepulch'ring an adultress.— O, are you free? 

[To Kent. 
Some other time for that.— Beloved Regan, 
•Thy sister 's naught: O Regan, she hath tied 
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here,— 

[Points to his heart. 



I can scarce speak to thee; thou 'It not believe. 
With liow deprav'd a quality— O Regan! 

Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hope 
You less know how to value her desert. 
Than she to scant her duty. 

Lear. Say, how is that? 

Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least 
Would fall her obligation: If, sir, perchance. 
She have rcstrain'd the riots of your followers, 
'T is on such ground, and to such wholesome end. 
As clears her from all blame. 

Lear. My cuises on her! 

Reg. O, sir, you are old; 

Nature in you stands on the very verge 
Of her confine: you should be rul'd, and led 
By some discretion, that discerns your state 
Better than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you, 
That to our sister you do make return: 
Say, you have wrong'd her. 

Lear. Ask her forgiveness? 

Do you but mark how this becomes the house? 
' Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; 
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg, [Kneeling. 
That you '11 vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 

Reg. Good sir, no more; these ai'e unsightly tricks: 
Return you to my sister. 

Lear. Never, Regan: 

She hath abated me of half my train; 
Look'd black upon me; strook me with her tongue. 
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:— 
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones. 
You taking airs, with lameness! 

Coj-n. Fye, sir, fye! 

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dan your blinding 
* flames 
Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty. 
You fensuck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun. 
To fall and blister. 

Reg. O the blest gods! 

So will you wish on me, when the rash mood 's on. 

Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse; 
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
Thee o'er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but thine 
Do comfort, and not burn: 'T is not in thee 
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train. 
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes. 
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
Against my coming in: thou better know'st 
The offices of nature, bond of childhood. 
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; 
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
Wherein I thee endow'd. 

Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 

[ Trntnpets within. 

Lear. Who put my man 1' the stocks? 

Com. What trumpet 's that? 

Enter Steward. 

Reg. I know 't, my sister's: this appi-oves her 
letter. 
That she would soon be here.— Is your lady come? 
Lear. This Is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride 
Dwells in the fickle grace other he follows:— 
Out, varlet, from my sight! 
Corn. What means your grace? 

Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have 
good hope 
Thou didst not know on 't.— Who comes here? O 
heavens. 

Enter Goneril. 

If you do love old men. If your sweet sway 
Allow obedieno'e, if you yourselves are old. 
Make it your cause; send down, and take my parti- 
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?— [2o Gon. 

0, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand? 

Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I of- 
fended? 
All 's not offence that indiscretion finds. 
And dotage terms so. 

Lear. O, sides, you are too tough! 

Will you yet hold?— How came my man i' the 
stocks? 

Com. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders 
Deserv'd much less advancement. 

Lear. You! did you? 

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
If, till the expiration of your m»nth. 
You will return and sojourn with my sister. 
Dismissing half your train, come then to me; 
I am now from home, and out of that provision 
Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 

Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? 
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 
To wage against the enmity o' the air. 
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,— 
Necessity's sharp pinch!— ReHirn with her? 
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 
Our youngest horn, I could as well be brought 
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
To keep base life afoot:— Return with her? 
Persuaded me rather to be slave and sumpter 
To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward. 

Gon. At your choice, sir. 

Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad; 
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell: 
We 'II no moi-e meet, no more see one another:— 
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; 
Or, rather, a disease that 's in my flesh. 
Which I must needs call mine; thou art a boil, 
A plague-sore, or embossed carbuncle. 
In my corrupted blood. But I '11 not chide thee; 
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it: 
I do not bid the thunder bearer shoot. 
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove: 
Mend, when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure: 
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan, 

1, and my huudred knights. 

Reg. Not altogether so; 

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
For your fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister 
For those that mingle reason with your passion. 
Must be content to think you old, and so— 
But she knows what she does. 

Le%t. Is this well spoken? 

Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers? 
Is it not well? What should you need of more ? 
Yea, or so many? sith that both charge and danger 
Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house. 
Should many people, under two commands. 
Hold amity? 'T is hard; almost impossible. 

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attend- 
ance 
From those that she calls servants, or from mine? 



Reg. WHiy not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to 
slack you. 
We could control them: If you will come to me, 
(For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you 
To bring but fiveand-twenty; to no more 
Will I give place, or notice. 

L£ar. I gave you all— 

Reg. And in good time you gave It. 

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries; 
But kept a reservation to be foUow'd 
With such a number: What, must I come to you 
With flveand-twenty, Regan? said vou so? 

Reg. And speak 't again, my lorcl; no more with 
me. 

iear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- 
favour'd! 
When others are more wicked, not being the worst 
Stands in some rank of praise:— I '11 go with thee; 

[To Goneril. 
Thy fifty yet doth double flveand-twenty. 
And thou art twice her love. 

Gon. Hear me, my lord; 

What need you fiveand-twenty, ten, or five. 
To follow in a house, where twice so many 
Have a command to tend you? 

Reg. What need one? 

Lear. O, reason not the need: our basest beggars 
Are in the poorest thing supei-fluous: 
Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
Man's life is cheap as beast's: thou art a lady; 
If only to go warm were gorgeous. 
Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st. 
Which scarcely keeps thee warm.— But, for true 

need,— 
You heavens, give me that patience, patience 1 

need! 
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man. 
As full of grief as age: wretched in both! 
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
Against their father, fool me not so much 
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger! 
And let not women's weapons, water-drops. 
Stain my man's cheeks!— No, you unnatural hags, 
I will have such revenges on you both. 
That all the world shall— I will do such things— 
What they are yet I know not; but they shall be 
The terrors of the earth. You think I 'II weep; 
No, I 'll not weep:— 

I have full cause of weeping; but this heart 
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 
Or ere 1 '11 weep:— O, fool, I shall go mad! 

[Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool. 

Com. Let us withdraw, 't will be a storm. 

[Stoi'Tn heard at a distance. 

Reg. This house is little; the old man and his peo- 
ple 
Cannot be well bestow'd. 

Gon. 'T is his own blame; hath put himself from 
rest. 
And must needs taste his folly. 

Reg. For his particular, I '11 receive him gladly. 
But not one follower. 

Gon. So am I purpos'd. 

Where is my lord of. Gloster? 

Re-enter Gloster. 

Com. FoUow'd the old man forth:— he Is return'd. 

Glo. The king is in high rage. 

Coj-n. Whither is he going? 

Glo. He calls to horse; but will I know not whith- 
er. 

Cor»i. 'T is best to give him way; he leads him- 
self. 

Gon. My lord, entreat him 'oy.no means to stay. 

Glo. Alaclc, the night comes on, and the high 
winds 
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about 
There 's scarce a bush. 

Reg. O, sir, to wilful men. 

The injuries that they themselves procure 
Must be their schoolmasters: Shut up your doors; 
He is attended with a desperate train; 
And what they may incense him to, being apt 
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. 

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 't is a wild 
night: 
My Regan counsels well: come out o' the storm. 

[Exeunt, 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— A Heath. 

ja otorm is heard, with thunder and lightning. 

Enter Kent and a Gentleman, meeting. 

Kent. Who 's there, besides foul weather? 

Gent. One minded like the weather, mest unqulet- 
ly. 

Kent. I know you. Where 's the kmg? 

Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; 
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea. 
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main. 
That things might change, or cease: tears his white 
hair; ' 

Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage. 
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of: 
Strives in his little world of man to out scorn 
The to-and-fro-confllcting wind and rain. 
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would 

couch. 
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs. 
And bids what will take all. 

Kent. But who is with him? 

Gent. None but the fool; who labours to outjest 
His heart-strook injuries. 

Kent. Sir, I do know you; 

And dare, upon the warrant of my note. 
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, 
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; 
Who have (as who have not, that their great stars 
Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less; 
Which are to France tlie spies and speculations 
Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen. 
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes; 
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne 
Against the old kind king; or .something deeper, 
Wheieof, perchance, these are but furnishings; 
But, true it is, from France there comes a power 
Into this scattered kingdom; who already. 
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 
In some of our best ports, and are at point 
To show their open banner.— Now to you: 
If on my credit you dare build so far 



Scene i.] 



KIN9 LEAR. 



235 



To make your speed to Dover, you shall And 

Some that will thank you, making just report 

Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 

The king hath cause to plain. 

I am a gentleman of blood and breeding; 

And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer 

This office to you. 

Otnt. I will talk further with you. 

Kent. No, do not. 

For confirmation that I am much more 
Than my out wall, open this purse and take 
What it contains: If you shall see Cordelia, 
(As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring; 
And she will tell you who that fellow is 
That yet you do not know. Fye on this storm! 
I will go seek the king. 

Gent. Give me your hand: Have you no more to 
say? 

Kent. Few words; but to effect more than all yet; 
That, when we have found the king, (In which your 

pain 
That way; I '11 this:) he that first lights on him. 
Holla the other. [ITxeunt severally. 

Scene 11,—Anotlier part of the Heath. 

Storm continues. 

Enter Lear and Fool. 

Lear. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! 

blow! 

You cataracts and hurrlcanoes, spout 

Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the 

cocks! 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires. 
Vaunt couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, 
Singe m.y ' white head! And thou, all shaking 

thunder. 
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! 
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once. 
That make ingrateful man! 

i^oo(. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is 
better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, 
in; ask thy daughters' blessing; here 's a night pities 
neither wise men nor fools. 

Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! ! Spit, fire! spout, rain! 
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: 
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, 
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, 
You owe me no subscription; then let fall 
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave, 
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man: — 
But yet I call you servile ministers. 
That will with two pernicious daughters Join 
Your high engender'd battles, 'gainst a head 
So old and white as this. O! O: 't is foul! 

Fool. He that hath a house to put his head in, has 
a good head-piece. 

The cod-piece that will house. 

Before the head has any. 
The head and he shall louse; — 

60 beggars marry many. 
The man that makes his toe 

What he his heart should make, 
Shall of a corn cry woe. 
And turn his sleep to wake 
—for there was never yet fair woman but she made 
mouths in a glass. 

Enter Kent. 
Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, 
I will say nothing. 
Kent. Who 's there? 

Fool. Marry, here 's grace and a cod-piece: that 's a 
wise man and a fool. 
Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that love 
night 
Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies 
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, 
And make them keep their caves: since I was man. 
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder. 
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot 

carry 
The affliction, nor the fear. 

Lear. Let the great gods. 

That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, 
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch. 
That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
TJnwhipp'd of justice: Hide thee, thou bloody hand; 
Thou perjur'd, and thou simularof virtue 
That art incestuous: Caititf , to pieces shake. 
That under covert and convenient seeming 
Hast practis'd on man's life!— Close pent-up guilts. 
Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
These dreadful svimmoners grace. — I am a man 
More sinn'd against than sinning. 

Kent. Alack, bare-headed! 

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; 
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest; 
Repose you there: while I to this hard house, 
(More harder than the stones whereof 't is rals'd: 
Which even but now, demanding after you, 
Denied me to come in,) return and force 
Their scanted courtesy. 

Lear. My wits begin to turn.— 

Come on, ray bo,y: How dost, my boy? Art cold? 
I am cold myself.— Where Is this straw, my fellow? 
The art of our necessities is strange. 
And can make vile things precious. Come, your 

hovel; 
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
That 's sorry yet for thee. 
Fool. \Singing.\ 

He that has and a little tiny wit, — 

With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain,— 
Must make content with his fortune fit. 
Though the rain it raineth every day. 
Lear. True, boy.— Come, bring us to this hovel. 

{ExeuntLear and Kent. 
Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.— 
I '11 speak a prophecy ere I go. 

When priests are more in word than matter; 
\Vhen brewers mar their malt with water; 
When nobles are their tailors' tutors; 
No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors; 
When every case in law Is right; 
No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; 
When slanders do not live in tongues; 
Nor cutpurses come not to throngs; 
When usurers tell their gold i' the field; 
And bawds and whores do churches build;— 
Then shall the realm of Albion 
Come to great confusion. 



Then comes the time, who lives to see 't. 

That going shall be us'd with feet. 

This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before 

his time. [Exit. 

Scene III.— 4 jRoom in Gloster's Castle. 

Enter Gloster and Edmund. 

Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unna- 
tural dealing: When I desired their leave that I 
might pity him, they took from me the use of mine 
own house; charged me, on pain of perpetual dis- 
pleasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, 
or in any way sustain liini. 

Edm. Most savage and unnatural! 

Glo. Go to; say you nothing: There is divisom be- 
tweeen the dukes; and a worse matter than that: I 
have received a letter this night;— 't is dangerous to 
be spoken;— I have locked tlie letter in my closet: 
these injuries the king now bears will be revenged 
home; there is part ot a power already footed: we 
must incline to the king. I will look him, and privi- 
ly relieve him: go you, and maintain talk with the 
duke, that my charity be not of him perceived: If he 
ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for it, 
as no less is threatened me, the king my old master 
must be relieved. There is strange things toward, 
Edmund; pray you, be careful. [Exit. 

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke 
Instantly know; and of that letter too:— 
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
That which my father loses; no less than all: 
The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit. 

Scene IV.— ^ Part of the Heath, ivith a Hovel. 
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 
Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, en- 
ter: 
The tyranny of the open night 's too rough 
For nature to endure. [Storm still. 

Lear. ' Let me alone. 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
Lear. Wilt break my heart? 

Kent. I 'd rather break mine own: Good my lord, 

Lear. Thou think'st 't Is much, that this conten- 
tious storm 
Invades us to the skin: so 't is to thee; 
But where the greater malady is flx'd. 
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou 'dst shun a bear: 
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea. 
Thou 'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the 

mind 's free 
The body 's delicate: the tempest in my mind 
Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
Save what beats there.- Filial ingratitude! 
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand. 
For lifting food to 't?— But I will punish home:— 
No, I will weep no more.— In such a night 
To shut me out!— Pour on; I will endure: — 
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! — 
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; 
No more of that,— 

Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 

Lear. Prithee, go In thyself; seek thine own ease; 
This tempest will not give nie leave to ponder 
On things would hurt me more. — But I '11 go in: 
In, boy; gofirst.— [To fteFool.] You houseless pover- 

Nay, get thee In. I '11 pray, and then I '11 sleep.— 

[Fool goes in. 
Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are. 
That bide the pelting ot this pitiless storm. 
How shall our houseless heads, and unfed sides. 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en 
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp; 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel; 
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them. 
And show the heavens more Just. 

Edg. [Within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half! 
Poor Tom! 

[The Fool runs out from the hovel. 

Fool. Come not In here, nuncle, here 's a spirit. 
Help me, help me! 

Kent. Give me thy hand.— Who 's there? 

Fool. A spirit, a spirit; he says his name 's poor 
Tom. 

Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'the 
straw? 
Come forth. 

Enter Edgar, disgvised as a madman. 

Edg. Away! the foul fiend follows me!— 
Through the sharp hawthorn blow the winds. — 
Humpli! go to thy bed and warm thee. 

Lear. Didst thou give all to thy daughters? 
And art thou come to this? 

Edg. Who gives anything to poor Tom? whom the 
foul fiend hath led through fire and through ttame, 
through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; 
that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters 
in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made him 
proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over 
four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a 
traitor: — Bless thy five wits! Tom 's a-cold.— O, do 
de, do de, do de. — Bless thee from whirlwinds, star- 
blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, 
whom the foul fiend vexes: There could I have him 
no w,— and there,— and there again, and there. 

[Stonn continues. 

Lear. Have his daughters brought him to this 
pass? — 
Could'st thou save nothing? Would'st thou give 
them all? 

Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been 
all shamed. 

Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous 
air 
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters! 

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 

Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued 
nature 
To such a lowness, but his unkind daugiiters. — 
Is it the fashion that discarded fathers 
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? 
Judicious punishment! 't was this flesh begot 
Those pelican daughters. 

Edg. Pilliiock sat on pillicock-hill;— 
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo: 

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and 
madmen. 

Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend: Obey thy par- 



ents; keep thy word's justice; swear not; commit 
not with mail's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet 
heart on proud array: Tom 's a-cold. 

Lear. What hast thou been? 

Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that 
curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, served the lust 
of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness 
with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and 
broke them in the sweet face ot heaven: one, that 
slept in the contriving of lust, and ivaked to do it: 
Wine loved I dearly; dice dearly; and in woman out- 
paramoured the Turk: False of heart, light of ear, 
bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in 
greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not 
the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, be- 
tray thy poor heart to woman: Keep thy foot out of 
brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from 
lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.— Still through 
the hawthorn blows the cold wind: Says suum, mun, 
nonny, dolphin my boy, boy, Sesey; let him trot by. 
[Storm still continues. 

Lear. Thou wert better in a grave, than to answer 
with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. 
—Is man no more than this? Consider him well: 
Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the 
sheep no wool, the cat no perfume:— Ha! here 's 
three of us are sophisticated! Thou art the thing It- 
self: unaccommodated man is no more but such a 
poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.— Off, off, you 
lendings:— Come; unbutton here.— 

[Tearing off his clothes. 

Fool. Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty 
night to swim in.— Now a little fire in a wild ileld 
were like an old lecher's heart,— a small spark, all 
the rest of Iiis body cold.— Look, here comes a walk- 
ing fire. 

Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he be- 
gins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives 
the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the 
hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the 
poor creature of earth. 

Swlthold footed thrice the old; 
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold; 
Bid her alight. 
And her troth plight. 
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee! 

Kent. How fares your grace? 

Enter Gloster, with a torch. 

Lear. What 's he? 

Kent. Who 's there? What is 't you seek? 

Glo. What are you there? Your names? 

Edg. Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the 
toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in 
the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats 
cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat, and the 
ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing- 
pool; who is whipped from tything to tything, and 
stocked, punished, and imprisoned; who hath had. 
three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse 
to ride, and weapon to wear: 

But mice, and rats, and such small deer, 
Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
Beware my follower:— Peace, Smolkin; peace, thou 
fiend! 

Glo. What, hath your grace no better company? 

Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman; 
Modo he 's call'd, and Mahu. 

Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile. 
That it doth hate what gets it. 

Edg. Poor Tom 's a-cold. 

Glo. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer 
To obey in all your daughter's hard commands; 
Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you; 
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out. 
And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 

Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher:- 
What is the cause of thunder? 

Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; 
Go into the house. 

Lear. I '11 talk a word W'th this same learned The- 
ban: — 
What is your study? 

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 

Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 

Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord; 
His wits begin to unsettle. 

Glo. Canst thou blame him? 

His daughters seek his death:— Ah! that good 

Kent! 
He said it would be thus:— Poor banisli'd man!— 
Thou say'st the king grows mad; I '11 tell thee, 

friend, 
I am almost mad myself: I had a son. 
Now outlaw'd from my blood: he sought my life. 
But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend, — 
No father his son dearer: true to tell thee, 

[Storm continues. 
The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night 's this! 
I do beseech your grace, — 

Lear. O, cry you mercy, si r. 

Noble philosopher, your company. 

Edg. Tom 's a-cold. 

Glo. In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee 
warm. 

Lear. Come, let 's in all. 

Kent. This way, my lord. 

Lear. With him; 

I will keep still with my philosopher. 

Kent. Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the 
fellow. 

Glo. Take him you on. 

Kent. Sirrah, come on; go along with us. 

Lear. Come, good Athenian. 

Glo. No words, no words: 

Hush. 

Edg. Childe Rowland to the dark tower came; 
His word was still,— Fie, foh, and fum, 
I smell the blood of a British man. [Exevnt. 

Scene Y.—A Boom in Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Cornwall and Edmund. 

Com. I will have my revenge ere I depart his 
house. 

Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured that nature 
thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to 
think of. 

Corn. I now perceive it was not altogether your 
brotlier's evil disposition made him seek his death; 
but a provoking merit, set a-\vork by a reproveahle 
badness in himself. 

Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must 



S36 



KING LEAR. 



[Act it. 



repent to be just! This Is the letter which he spoke 
of, which approves him an intelligent party to the 
advantages of France. O heavens! that this treason 
were not, or not I the detector! 

Colli. Go with me to the duchess. 

Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you 
have mighty business In hand. 

Corn. True or false, it hath made thee earl of Glos- 
ter. Seek out where thy father Is, that he may be 
ready for our apprehension. 

F.dm. [Aside.] If I find him comforting the king, 
it will stuff his suspicion more fully.— I will perse- 
vere In my course of loyalty, though the conflict be 
sore between that and my blood. 

Com. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt 
And a dearer father in my love. [E.vcunt. 

Scene VI.— yl Chamber in Out-bniMing 
adjoining the Castle. 

Enter Gloster and Kent. 
GIo. Here is better than tive open alrj take it 
thankfully: I will piece oat the comfort with what 
addition I can: I will not be long from you. 

Ketit. All the power of his wits has given way to 
his impatience:— The gods reward your kindness.' 

I Exit Gloster. 
Enter Lear, Edgar, and Fool. 
Edg. Frateretto calls me; and tells me, Nero Is an 
angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and 
beware the foul fiend. 

Fool. Prithee, nuncle, tell me, whether a madman 
be a gentleman or a yeoman? 
Lear. A king, a king! 

Fool. No; he 's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to 
his son; for he 's mad yeoman that sees his son a 
gentleman before him. 

Lear. To have a thousand witli red burning spits 
Come hissing in upon them: — 
Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 
Fool. He 's mad that trusts in the tameness of a 
wolf , a hor.se's healtn, a boy's love, or a whore's oath. 
I^ar. It shall be done, X will arraign them 
straight:— 

Come, sit thou here, most learned justlcer: 

rro Edgar. 
Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [Tothe Fool.]— Now, ye 
she foxes!— 
Edg. Look where she stands and glares!— 
Wantonest thou eyes at trial, madam? 

Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me:— 
Fool. Her boat hath a leak. 
And she must not speak 
Why she dares not come over to thee. 
Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in tne voice 
of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for 
two white herrings. Croak not, black angel; I have 
no food for thee. 

Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd: 
Will you He down and rest upon the cushions? 
Lear. I '11 see their trial first:- Bring in the evi- 
dence.— 
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;— 

[To Edgar. 
And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, ITo the Fool. 
Bench bv his side:— You are of the commission, 
Sit you too. ITo Kent. 

Edg. Let us deal justly. 

Sleepest or wakest thou jolly shepherd? 

Thy sheep be in the corn; 
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
Thy sheep shall take no harm. 
Pur! the cat is grey. 

Lear. Arraign her first; 't is Goneril. I here take 
my oath before this honourable assembly, she kick- 
ed the poor king her father. 
Fool. Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril? 
Lear. She cannot deny it. 

Fool. Cry you mercj', I took you for a jointstool. 
Lear. And here 's another, whose warp'd looks 
proclaim 
What store her heart is made of.— Stop her there! 
Arms, arms, sword, fire!— Corruption in the place! 
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
Edg. Bless thy five wits! 
Kent. O pity!— Sir, where is the patience now 
That you so oft have boasted to retain? 

Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much. 
They mar my counterfeiting. [Aside. 

Lear. The little dogs and all. 
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 
Edg. Tom will throw his head at them: — 
Avaunt, you curs! 
Be thy mouth or black or white. 
Tooth that poisons if it bite; 
Mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim. 
Hound or spaniel, brach or lym; 
Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail; 
■Tom will make him weep and wail: 
For, with throwing thus my head. 
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 

Do de, de de. Sesey. Come, march to wakes and 
fairs, and market-towns:- Poor Tom, thy horn is 
dry. 

Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan; see what 
breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in nature 
that makes these hard hearts?— You, sir, I entertain 
for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion 
of your garments: you will say they are Persian: but 
let them be changed. [To Edgar. 

Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 

Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the cur- 
tains: So, so: We '11 go to supper i' the morning. 

Fool. And I '11 go to bed at noon. 
Re-enter Gloster. 

Olo. Come hither, friend; Where is the king my 
master? 

Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are 
gone. 

Olo. Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms; 
I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him: 
There is a litter ready; lay him in 't. 
And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou shalt 

meet 
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master; 
If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life, 
With thine, and all that otter to defend him, 
Stand in assured loss: Take up, take up; 
And follow me. that will to some provision 
Give thee quick conduct. 

Kent. Oppressed nature sleeps:— 
This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses. 



Which, If convenience will not allow. 

Stand in hard cure.— Come, help to bear thy master; 

Thou must not stay beliind. fro the Fool. 

GIo. Come, come away. 

[Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool, bearing 
off the King. 

Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, 
We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
Who alone suffers, suffers most in the mind; 
Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind: 
But then the niiiul much sufferance doth o'er-skip, 
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
How light and portable my pain seems now. 
When that, which makes me bend, makes the king 

bow; 
He chllded, as I father'd!— Tom, away: 
Mark the high noises: and thyself bewray, 
When false opinion, whose wrong thoughts defile thee 
In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. 
What will hap more tonight, safe 'scape the king! 
Lurk, lurk. [ixi'f. 

Scene VII.— 4 Room in Gloster's Castle. 

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, and 
Servants. 

Com. Post speedily to my lord your husband; 
show him this letter:— the army of France is landed: 
—Seek out the traitor Gloster. 

[Exeunt some of the Servants. 

Reg. Hang him instantly. 

Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 

Corn. Leave liim to my displeasure.— Edmund, 
keep you our sister company; the revenges we are 
bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit 
for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you 
are going, to a most festinate preparation; we are 
bound tothe like. Our posts shall be swift, and in- 
telligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister;— fare- 
well, my lord of Gloster. 

Enter Steward. 
How now? Where 's the king? 

Steiv. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him hence: 
Some five or six-and-thirty of his knights. 
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate; 
Who, with some others of the lord's dependents. 
Are gone with him toward Dover; where they boast 
To have well-armed friends. 

Co7-n. Get horses for your mistress. 

Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 

[Exeunt Goneril and Edmund. 

Com. Edmund, farewell,— Go, seek the traitor Glos- 
ter, - 
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us: 

[Exeunt other Servants. 
Thoxigh well we may not pass upon his life 
Without the form of justice, yet our power 
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
May blame, but not control. Who 's there? The 
ti'aitor? 
Reenter Servants, with Gloster. 

Reg. Ingrateful fox! 't is he. 

Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. 

GIo. What mean your graces?— Good my friends, 
consider 
You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends. 

Com. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him. 

Reg. Hard, hard: -O filthy traitor! 

Gto. Unmerciful lady as you are, I 'm none. 

Corn. To this chair bind him:— Villain, thou shalt 
find- [Hegan plucks his beard. 

GIo. By the kind gods, 't is most ignobly done 
To pluck me by the beard. 

Reg. So white, and such a traitor! 

GIo. Naughty lady. 

These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin. 
Will auicken, and accuse thee: I am your host; 
With robbers' hands, my hospitable favours 
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? 

Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from 
France? 

Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth. 

Com. And what confederacy have you with the 
traitors 
Late tooted in the kingdom? 

Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic 
king? 
Speak. ' 

GIo. I have a letter guessingly set down, 
AVhich came from one that 's of a neutral heart, 
yi.nd not from one oppos'd. 

Corn. Cunning. 

Reg. And false. 

Com. Where hast thou sent the king? 

GIo. To Dover. 

Reg. AVherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg'd 

at peril- 
Corn. Wherefore to Dover? Let him answer that. 

GIo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the 
course. 

Reg. Wherefore to Dover? 

Olo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister 
In his anointed fiesh stick boarish fangs. 
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 
In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up. 
And quench'd the stelled fires: yet, poor old heart. 
He holp the heavens to rain. 

If wolves had at tliy gate howl'd that stern time. 
Thou should'st have said, 'Good porter, turn the 

key;' 
All cruels else subscrib'd:— But I shall see 
The winged vengeance overtake such children. 

Cor~n. See 't shalt thou never:— Fellows, hold the 
chair:— 
Upon these eyes of thine I '11 set my foot. 

Olo. He that will think to live till he be old 
Give me some help: O cruel! O ye gods! 

Reg. One side will mock anotlier; the other too. 

Co»-?i. If you see vengeance,— 

Serv. Hold your hand, my lord; 

I have serv'd you ever since I was a child; 
But better service have I never done you 
Than now to bid you hold. 

Reg. How now, you dog? 

Seru. If you did wear a beard upon your chin, 
I 'd shake it on this quarrel: What do you mean? 

Corn. My villain! [Draws, and runs at him. 

Sei-v. Nay, then come on, and take the chance of 
anger. 
[Draws. Tliey fight. Cornwall is wounded. 

Reg. Give me thy sword.— [To another Servant. 
A peasant stand up thus! 
[Snatches a sword, conies behind, aiid stabs him. 



Serv. O, I am slain!— My lord, you have one eye 
left 
To see some mischief on him:— O! [Dies. 

Com. Lest it see more, prevent lt:—Out, vile jelly! 
Where is thy lustre now? 

GIo. All dark and comfortless.— Where 's my son 
Edmund? 
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature. 
To quit this horrid act. 

Reg. Out, treacherous villain! 

Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he 
That made the overture of thy treasons to us: 
Who is too good to pity thee. 

Olo. O my follies! 

Then Edgar was abus'd.— 
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him. 

Reg. Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell 
His way to Dover.— How is 't, my lord? How look 
you? 

Com. I have recelv'd a hurt: Bellow me, lady.— 
Turn out that eyeless villain;— throw this slave 
Upon the dunghill.— Regan, 1 bleed apace: 
Untimely comes this hurt: Give me your arm. 

[Exit Cornwall, led by Regan:— Servants 
unbind Gloster, and lead him out. 

1 Serv. I 'II never care what wickedness I do. 
If this man come to good. 

2 Serv. If she live long, 
And, in the end, meet the old course of death. 
Women will all turn monsters. 

1 Serv. Let "s follow the old earl, and get the Bed- 

lam 
To lead him where he would; his roguish madness 
Allows itself to anything. 

2 Serv. Go thou; I '11 fetch some flax and whites of 

eggs. 

To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help 

him! [Exeunt severally. 

ACT IV. 

Scene l.—An open Country. 

Enter Edgar. 

Edg. Yet better thus, and known to becontemn'd. 
Than still contemn 'd and fiatter'd. To be worst. 
The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune. 
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: 
The lamentable change is from the best; 
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then. 
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace! 
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst 
Owes nothing to thy blasts.— But who comes here?— 

Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man. 
My father, poorly led?— World, world, O world! 
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee. 
Life would not yield to age. 

Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your tenant, 
and your father's tenant, these fourscore years. 

GIo. Away, get thee away; good friend, begone: 
Thy comforts can do me no good at all. 
Thee they may hurt. 

Old Man. You cannot see your way. 

GIo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; 
I stumbled when I saw: Full oft 't is seen, 
Our means secure us; and our mere defects 
Prove our commodities.— O, dear son Edgar, 
The food of thy abused father's wrath! 
Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
I 'd say, I had eyes again! 

Old Man. How now? Who 's there? 

Edg. [Aside.'\ O gods! Who is 't can say, ' I am at 
the worst?' 
I am worse than e'er I was. 

Old Man. T Is poor mad Tom. 

Edg. [Aside.] And worse I may be yet: The worst 
is not 
So long as we can say, ' This is the worst.' 

Old Man. Fellow, where goest? 

GIo. Is it a beggar-man? 

Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 

GIo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw. 
Which made me think a man a worm: my son 
Came then into my mind; and yet my mind 
Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard 

more since: 
As flies to wanton boys ai-e we to the gods; 
They kill us for their sport. 

Edg. How should this be? 

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, 
Ang'ring itself and others. [.4side.]— Bless thee, 
master! 

GIo. Is that the naked fellow? 

Old Man. Ay, my lord. 

GIo. Get thee away: If, for my sake, 
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
I' the way towards Dover, do it for ancient love; 
And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
Which I '11 entreat to lead me. 

Old Man. Alack, sir, he 's mad. 

GIo. 'T is the times' plague, when madmen le'ad 
the blind. 
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure; 
Above the rest, be gone. 

Old Man. I '11 bring him the best 'parel thati have. 
Come on 't what will. fExit. 

GIo. Sirrah, naked fellow. 

Edg. Poor Tom 's a cold.— I cannot daub It further. 

[Aside. 

GIo. Come hither, fellow. 

Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must.— Bless thy sweet 
eyes, they bleed. 

GIo. Know'st thou the way to Dover? 

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. 
Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: 
Bless thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend! 
Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once: of lust, 
as Obidiciii; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; 
Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, 
of mopping and mowing: who since possesses 
chamber-maids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, 
master! 

Gto. Here, take this purse, you whom the heavens' 
plagues 
Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched, 
Makes thee the happier:— Heavens, deal so still! 
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man. 
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; 
So distribution should undo excess. 
And each man have enough.— Dost thou know 
Dover? 

Edg. Ay, master. 

Gto. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 



Scene i.] 



KING LEAR. 



237 



II 



Looks fearfully in the confined deep: 

Bring me but to the very brim of it. 

And I '11 repair the misery thou dost bear 

With something rich about me: from that place 

I shall no leading need. 

Edg. Give me thy arm; 

Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Before the Duke of Albany's Palace. 

Enter Gonerll and Edmund; Steward meeting 
them. 

Gon. Welcome, my lord: I marvel, our mild hus- 
band 
Not met us on the way;— Now, where 's your mas- 
ter? 

Stev'. Madam, within; but never man so chang'd: 
I told him of the army that was landed; 
He smil'd at It: I told him, you were coming; 
His answer was, 'The worse:' of Gloster's treach- 
ery. 
And of the loyal service of his son, • 
When I inform'd him. then he call'd me sot; 
And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out:— 
What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him; 
Wliat like, offensive. 

Gon. Then shall you go no further. 

It is the cowish terror of his spirit, [To Edmund. 
That dares not undertake; he '11 not feel wrongs. 
Which tie him to an answer: Our wishes on the way. 
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother; 
Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers: 
I must change names at home, and give the distaff 
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant 
Shall pass between ns: ere long you are like to hear. 
If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech; 

[Girnng a favour. 
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak. 
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air; — 
Conceive, and fare thee well. 

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. 

Gon. My most dear Gloster! [Exit Edmund. 

O, the difference of man and man! 
To thee a woman's services are due; 
My fool usurps my body. 

Stetv. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Albany. 

Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 

Alh. O Gonerll! 

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind 
Blows in your face.— I fear your disposition: 
That nature, which contemns its origin, 
Cannot be border'd certain in Itself; 
She that herself will sliver and disbranch 
From her material sap, perforce must wither. 
And come to deadly use. 

Gon. No more; the text is foolish. 

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile: 
Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? 
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd? 
A father, and a gracious aged man, 
Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear would 

lick. 
Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you mad- 
ded. 
Could my good brother suffer you to do it? 
A man, a prince, by him so benefited? 
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits 
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 
'T will come: 

Humanity must perforce prey on itself. 
Like monsters of the deep. 

Gon. Milk-liver'd man! 

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; 
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'.st 
Fools do those villains pit.v, who are punlsh'd 
Ere they have done their mischief. Where 's thy 

drum? 
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; 
With plunied helm thy slayer begins threats; 
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and cry'st 
' Alaekl why does he so?' 

Alb. See thyself, devil! 

Proper deformity seems not In the fiend 
So horrid as in women. 

Gon. O vain fooll 

Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for 
shame, 
Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness 
To let these hands obey my blood. 
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
Thy flesh and bones:— Howe'er thou art a fiend, 
A woman's shape doth shield thee. 

Gon. Marry, your manhood now! — 
Enter a Messenger. 

Alh. What news? 

3Iess. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall 's 
dead: 
Slain by his servant, going to put out 
The other eye of Gloster. 

Alb. Gloster's eyes! 

Mess. A. servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, 
Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword 
To Jus great master; who, thereat enraged. 
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead: 
But not without that harmful stroke which since 
Hath pluek'd him after. 

Alb. This shows you are above. 

You justicers, that these our nether crimes 
So speedily can venge!— but, O, poor Gloster! 
Lost he his other eye? 

Mess. Both, both, my lord.— 

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; 
'T is from your sister. 

Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well; 
But being widow, and my Gloster with her. 
May all the building in my fancy pluck 
Upon my hateful life; Another way. 
The news is not so tart.— I '11 read, and answer. [Ex. 

Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his 
eyes? 

3Iess. Come with my lady hither. 

Alb. He Is not here. 

Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again. 

Alb. Knows he the wickedness? 

Mess. Ay, my good lord; 't was he inform'd against 
him; 
And quit the house on purpose, that their punish- 
ment 
Might have the freer course. 

Alb. Gloster, I live 



To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king. 
And to revenge thine eyes.— Come hither, friend; 
Tell me what more thou know'st. [Exeunt. 

Scene IH.—Tlie French Camp, near Dover. 
Enter Kent and a Gentleman. 

Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone 
back know you the reason? 

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, 
which since liis coming forth is thought of; which 
imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, 
that his personal return was most required, and 
necessary. 

Kent. Who hatli he left behind him general? 

Gent. Tlie Mareschal of France, Monsieur La Far. 

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any de- 
monstration of grief? 

Getit. Ay, sir, she took them, read them in my pre- 
sence; 
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
Her delicate cheek; it seem'd she was a queen 
Over her passion; who, most rebel-like, 
Sought to be king o'er her. 

Kent. O, then it mov'd her. 

Gent. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove 
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
Sunshine and lain at ouce: her smiles and tears 
Were like abetter day; Those happy smilets. 
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know 
What guests were in her eyes: which parted thence. 
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.— In brief, sorrow 
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all 
Could so become it. 

Kent. Made she no verbal question ? 

Oent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name 
of ' father ' 
Pantingly forth, as If it press'd her heart; 
Cried, ' Sisters; sisters!— shame of ladies! sisters! 
Kent! father! sisters! What? i' the storm? i' the 

night? 
Let pity not be believed!'— There she shook 
The holy Water from her heavenly eyes. 
And clamour moisten'd:— then away she started 
To deal with grief alone. 

Kent. It is the stars. 

The stars above us, govern our conditions; 
Else one's self and mate could not beget 
Such different Issues. You spoke not with her since? 

Gent. No. 

Kent. Was this before the king return'd? 

Gent. No, since. 

Kent. Well, sir: The poor distress'd Lear is i' the 
town : 
Who sometimes, in his better tune, remembers 
What we are come about, and by no means 
Will yield to see his daughter. 

Gent. Why, good sir? 

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own 
unkindness. 
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her 
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
To his dog-hearted daughters,— these things sting 
His mind so venomously, that burning shame 
Detains him from Cordelia. 

Gent. Alack, poor gentlemani 

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers yoti 
heard not? 

Gent. 'T is so; they are afoot. 

Kent. Well, sir, I '11 bring you to our master, Lear, 
And leave you to attend him: some dear cause 
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile; 
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve 
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go 
Along with me. { Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— Tfte same. A Tent. 
Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers. 

Cor. Alack, 'tis he; why, he was met even now 
As mad as the vex'd sea: singing aloud; 
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds. 
With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers. 
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
In our sustaining corn.— A century send forth; 
Search every acre in the high-grown field. 
And bring him to our eye. What can man's wisdom, 
[Exit an Officer. 
In the restoring his bereaved sense? 
He that helps him, take all my outward worth. 

Phys. There is means, madam: 
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose. 
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, 
Are many simples operative, whose power 
Will close the eye of anguish. 

Cor. All bless'd secrets. 

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth. 
Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate, 
In the good man's distress!— Seek, seek for him; 
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
That wants the means to lead it. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. News, madam: 

The British powers are marching hitherward. 

Cor. 'T is known before; our preparation stands 
In expectation of them.— O dear father. 
It is thy business that I go about; 
Therefore great France 

My mourning, and important tears, hath pitied. 
No blown ambition doth our arms incite, 
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right: 
Soon may I hear and see him! [Exeunt. 

Scene v.— ^ Room in Gloster's Castle. 
Enter Regan and Steward. 

Beg. But are my brother's powers set forth? 

Steu). Ay, madam. 

Reg. Himself 

In person there? 

Stew. Madam, with much ado: 

Your sister is the better soldier. 

Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at 
home? 

Stew. No, madam. 

Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him? 

Stew. I know not, lady. 

Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. 
It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out, 
To let him live; where he arrives he moves 
All hearts against us; Edmund, I think, is gone. 
In pity of his misery, to despatch 
His nighted life; moreover, to descry 
The strength o' the enemy. 



Stem. I must needs after him, madam, with my 
letter. 

Reg. Our troops set forth tomorrow; stay with us; 
The ways are dangerous. 

Stew. I may not, madam; 

My ladycharg'd mv duty In this business. 

Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might 
not you 
Transport her purposes by words? Belike, 
Something— 1 know not what:— I '11 love thee much. 
Let me unseal the letter. 

Stem. ; Madam, I had rather— 

Reg, I know your lady does not love her husband; 
I am sure of that: and, at her late being here, 
She gave strange oeiliads, and most speaking looks 
To noble Edmund: I know you are of her bosom. 

Stew. I, madam? 

Reg. I speak in understanding; you are, I know It: 
Therefore, I do advise you, take this note: 
My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd; 
And more convenient is he for my hand 
Than for your lady's:— You may gather more. 
If you do find him, pray you, give him this; 
And when your mistress hears thus much from you, 
, I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. 
So fare you well. 

If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, 
Perferment falls on him that cuts him off. 

Stew. 'Would I could meet him, madam! I would 
show 
What party I do follow. 

Reg, Fare thee well. [Exeunt. 

Scene Yl.—Tlie Country near Dover. 
Enter Gloster, and Edgar drcised like a peasant. 

Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same 
hill? 

Edg. You do climb up it now: look how we labour. 

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. 

Edg. Horrible steep: 

Hark, do you hear the sea? 

Glo. No, truly. 

Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imper- 
fect 
By your eyes' anguish. 

Glo. So may it be, indeed: 

Methinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st 
In better phrase and matter than thou didst. 

Edg. You are much deceiv'd; In nothing am I 
chang'd. 
But in my garments. 

Glo, Methinks, you are better spoken. 

Edg. Come on, sir; here 's the place!— stand stUl. 
—How fearful 
And dizzy 't is, to cast one's eyes so low! 
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air. 
Show scarce so gross as beetles: Half way down 
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! 
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head: 
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark, 
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy 
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge, 
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes. 
Cannot be heard so high:— I '11 look no more; 
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
Topple down headlong. 

Glo, Set me where you stand. 

Edg, Give me your hand: you are now within a 
foot 
Of the extreme verge: for all beneatn the moon 
Would I not leap upright. 

Glo, Let go my hand. 

Here, friend, is another purse; in it, a jewel 
Well worth a poor man's taking: Fairies, and gods. 
Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off; 
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. [Seems to go. 

Glo. With all my heart. 

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair, 
Is done to cure it. 

Glo, O you mighty gods! 

This world I do renounce; and, in your sights. 
Shake patiently my great affliction off: 
If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills. 
My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should 
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!— 
Now, fellow, fare thee well. 

Edg, Gone, sir. Farewell. — 

[Gloster leaps, and falls along. 
And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
The treasury of life, when life itself 
Yields to the theft: Had he been where he thought. 
By this had thought been past.— Alive or dead? 
Ho, you sir! friend!— Hear you, sir?— speak! 
Thus might he pass indeed: — Yet he revives: 
What are you, sir? 

Glo, Away, and let me die. 

Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, fea- 
thers, air. 
So many fathom down precipitating. 
Thou hadst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost 

breathe; 
Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art 

sound. 
Ten masts at each make not the altitude 
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell; 
Thy life 's a miracle: Speak yet again. 

Glo, But have I fallen, or no? 

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn: 
Look up a-height;— the shrill-gorg'd lark so far 
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up. 

Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. — 
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit, 
To end itself by death? 'T was yet some comfort. 
When miser.v could beguile the tyrant's rage. 
And frustrate his proud will. 

Edg. Give me your arm: 

Up:— so;- How is 't? Feel you your legs? You stand. 

Glo. Too well, too well. 

Edg. This is above all strangeness: 

Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
Which parted from you? 

Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. 

Edg. As I stood here below, methought his eyes 
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses. 
Horns whelk'd, and wav'd like the enridged sea; 
It was some fiend: Therefore, thou happy father, 
Think that the clearest gods, who make them hon- 
ours 
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee. 

Glo, I do remember now: henceforth I '11 bear 
Affliction, till it do cry out itself, 



KING LEAR. 



LACT V 



Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of, 
I took it for a man; often 't would say, 
• The flend, the fiend:' lie led me to that place. 
Jidg. Bear free and patient thoughts. — But who 

comes here? 
Enter 'Lear, fantastically dressed np ivithflowers. 
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
His master thus. 

Lear. No, the.v cannot touch me for coining; 
I am the king himself. 
Edg. O thou side piercing sight! 
Lear. Nature's above art in that respect.— There 's 
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like 
a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard.— Look, 
look, a mouse! Peace, peace;— this piece of toasted 
cheese will do 't.— There 's my gauntlet; I'll prove 
It on a giant.- Bring up the brown bills.— O, well 
flown, bird!—!' the clout, 1" the clout: hewgh!— Give 
me the word. 
Edg. Sweet marjoram. 
Lear. Pass. 

Glo. I know that voice. 

Lear. Ha! Goneril!— with a white beard!— The.v flat- 
ter'd me like a dog: and told me I had the white' 
hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. To 
say ay, and no, to everything I said.— Ay and no too 
was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet 
nie once, and the wind to make me chatter; whenlthe 
thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I 
found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, they are 
not men o' their words: the.v told me I was every- 
thing; 't is a lie; I am not ague-proof. 

Glo. The trick of that voice I do well remember; 
Is 't not the king? 

Lear. Ay, every inch a king: 

When I do stare, see, how tne subject quakes. 
I pardon that man's life: What was thy cause?— 
Adultery?— 

Thou Shalt not die: Die for adulter.v! No: 
The wren goes to it, and the small gilded fly 
Does lecher in my sight. 

Let copulation thrive, for Gloster's bastard son 
Was kinder to his father, than my daughters 
Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
To t, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers.— 
Behold yon simpering dame. 
Whose face between her forks presageth snow; 
That minces virtue, and does snake the head 
To hear of pleasure's name: 
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't 
With a more riotous appetite. 

Down from the waist they are centaurs, though 
women all above: but to the girdle do the gods In- 
herit, beneath is ail the fiends' ; there 's hell, there 's 
darkness, there Is the sulphurous pit, burning, 
scalding, stench, consumption;— Fye, fye, fye! pah; 
pah! Give me an ounce of civet; good apothe- 
cary, sweeten my Imagination: there 's money for 
thee. 
Glo. O let me kiss that hand! 

Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. 

Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world 

Shall so wear out to nought.— Dost thou know me? 

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost 
thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; 
I '11 not love. — Read thou this challenge; mark but 
the penning of it. 
Glo. Were all thy letters suns, I could not see. 
Edg. I would not take this from report;— it is, 
And my heart breaks at it. 
Lear. Read. 

Glo. What, with the ease of eyes? 
Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes In 
your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes 
are in a heavy ease, your purse In a light: Yet you 
see how this world goes. 
Glo. I see it feelingly. 

Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this 
world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see 
how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief. Hai-k, 
In thine ear: Change places; and handy-dandy, which 
Is the justice, which Is the thief? Thou hast seen a 
farmer's dog bark at a beggar? 
Glo. Ay, sir. 

Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There 
thoumight'st behold the great image of authority: a 
dog 's obeyed in office. — 
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand: 
Why dost thou lash that whore? strip thine own 

back; 
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind 
For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the 

cozener. 
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear; 
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, 
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; 
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
None does offend, none, I say, none; I '11 able 'em: 
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes; 
And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
To see the things thou dost not.— Now, now, now, 

now: 
Pull off my boots:— harder, harder; so. 

Edg. O, matter and Impertinency mix'd! 
Reason in madness! 

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 
I know thee well enough; tliy name is Gloster; 
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither. 
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air. 
We wawl, and cry:— I will preach to thee; mark. 
Glo. Alack, alack the day! 
Lear. When we are born, we cr.v, that we are come 

To this great stage of fools; This a good block'.— 

It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
A troop of horse with felt: I '11 put it in proof; 
And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, 
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 

Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants. 
Gent. O, here he is; lay hand upon him.— Sir, 
Your most dear daughter — 

Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even 
The natural fool of fortune.— Use me well; 
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons, 
1 am cut to the brains. 
Gent. You shall have anything. 

Lear. No seconds.' all myself? 
Why, this would make a man, a man of salt. 
To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 
Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 
Gent. Good sir,- 

Lear.. I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom; 
What? 



I will be jovial; come, come: I am a king. 
My masters, know you that? 

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obe.v you. 

Lear. 'Then there 's life in 't. Come, an you get it, 
you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 

[Ex.it running; Attendants /oHoM). 

Gent. A sight most pitiful in the mealiest wretch; 
Past speaking of in a King! -Thou hast a daughter. 
Who redeems nature from the general curse 
Which twain have brought her to. 

Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 

Gent. Sir, speed you: What 's your will? 

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward? 

Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that. 
Which can distinguish sound. 

Edg. But, by your favour, 

How near 's the other army? 

Genf. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry 
Stands on the hourly thought. 

Edg. 1 thank you, sir, that *s all. 

Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is 
here. 
Her army Is mov'd on. 

Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. 

Glo. You ever gentle gods, take my breath from 
me; 
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again 
To die before you please! 

Edg. Well pray you, father. 

Glo. Now, good sir, what are you? 

Edg. A most poor man, made tame to fortune's 
blows; 
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
I '11 lead you to some biding. 

Glo. Hearty thanks: 

The bounty and the benlzon of heaven 
To boot, to boot! 

Enter Steward. 

Stew. A proelaim'd prize! Most happy 

That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh 
To raise my fortunes.— Thou old unhappy traitor. 
Briefly thyself remember:— The sword is out 
That must destroy thee. 

Glo. Now let thy friendly hand 

Put strength enough to it. [Edgar opposes. 

Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant, 

Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence; 
Lest that infection of his fortune take 
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 

Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. 

Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest. 

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor 
volk pass. An ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of my 
life, 't would not ha' been zo long as 't is by a vort- 
night. Nay, come not near th' old man; keep out, 
Che vor'ye, or ise try whether your costard or my 
ballow be the harder; Ch 'ill be plain with you. 

Stew. Out, dunghill! 

Edg. Ch 'ill pick your teeth, zlr: Come, no matter 
vor your f olns. 

[They fight; and Edgar knocks him down. 

Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me:— 'VfiUain, take my 
purse; 
If ever tliou wilt thrive, bur.y my body; 
And give the letters, which thou flnd'st about me, 
To Edmund earl of Gloster; seek him out 
Upon the English party:— O, untimely death. 

[Dies. 

Edg. I know thee well: A serviceable villain; 
As d uteous to the vices of thy mistress, 
As badness would desire. 

Glo. What, is he dead? 

Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.— 
Let 's see these pockets: the letters that he speaks 

of. 
May be my friends.— He is dead; I am only sorry 
He had no other death'sman.— Let us see:— 
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not: 
■To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts; 
Their papers, is more lawful. 

[Reads.] ' Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. 
You have many opportunities to cut him off; if your 
will want not, time and place will be fruitfully of- 
fered. There is nothing done, if he return the con- 
queror; then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; 
from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and 
supply the place for your labour. 

'Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, 

' Goneril.' 

undistinguish'd space of woman's will!— 
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life; 

And the exchange, my brother!— Hei-e, in the sands. 

Thee I 'U rake up, the post unsanctified 

Of murtherous lechers; and. in the mature time. 

With this ungracious paper strike the sight 

Of the death-practis'd duke: For him 't is well. 

That of thy death and business I can tell. 

[Exit Edgar, dragging out the body. 

Glo. The king is mad: How stiff is my vile sense. 
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract: 
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs; 
And woes, by wrong imaginations lose 
The knowledge of themselves. 

Re-enter Edgar. 

Edg. Give me your hand: 

Far off, methlnks, I hear the beaten drum. 
Come, father, I '11 bestow you with a friend. [Exe. 

Scene VII.— A Tent in the French Camp. Lear on a 
Bed, asleep; Physician, Gentlemen, and others, at- 
tending. 

Enter Cordelia and Kent. 

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work, 
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short. 
And every measure fail me. 

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er paid. 
All my reports go witli the modest truth; 
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 

Cor. Be better suited: 

These weeds are memories of those worser hours; 

1 prithee put them off. 

Kent. Pardon, dear madam: 

Yet to be known shortens my made intent: 
Jly boon I make it that you know me not. 
Till time and I think meet. 

Cor. Then be it so, my good lord.— How does the 
king? [To the Physician. 

Phys. Madam, sleeps still. 

Cor. O you kind gods. 
Cure this great breach In his abused nature! 



The untun'd o.nd jarring senses, O, wind up. 
Of this child-changed father! 

Phys. So please your majesty. 

That we may wake the king? he hath slept long. 

Cor. Be govern 'd by -your knowledge, and proceed 
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd? 

Gent. Ay, madam; in tlie heaviness of sleep. 
We put fresh garments on him. 
Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake 
him; 
I doubt not of his temperance. 
Cor. Very well. 
Phys. Please you, draw near.— Louder the music 

there. 
Cor. O my dear father! Restoration hang 
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss 
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
Have in thy reverence made! 
Kent. Kind and dear princess! 

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white 
flakes 
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
To be oppos'd against the jarring winds? 
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder; 
In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
Of quick, cross-lightning? to watch (poor perdu!) 
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog. 
Though he had bit me, .should have stood that 

night 
Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father, 
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues rorelorn, 
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack! 
'T is wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
Had not concluded all.— He wakes; speak to him. 
Phys. Madam, do you; 't is fittest. 
Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your 

majesty? 
Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the 
grave:— 
Thou art a soul In bliss; but I am bound 
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
Do scald like molten lead. 
Cor. Sir, do .vou know me? 

Lear. You are a spirit, I know: When did you die? 
Cor. Still, still, far wide! 

Phys. He 's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. 
Lear. Where have I been? Where am I?— Fair day- 
light?— 
I am mightily abus'd,— I should e'en die with pity, 
To see another thus.— I know not what to say.— 
I will not swear these are my hands: — let 's see; 
I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assur'd 
Of my condition. ' 

Cor. O, look upon me, sir. 

And hold your hand in benediction o'er me:— 
No, sir, you must not kneel. 

Lear. Pray, do not mock me: 

lam a very foolish fond old man. 
Fourscore and upward; not an hour more nor less: 
And, to deal plainly, 
I fear I am not in my perfect mind. 
Methinks I should know you, and know this man; 
Yet 1 am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant 
What place this is: and all the skill I have 
Remembers not these garments; nor I know- not 
Where I did lodge last night: Do not laugh at me; 
For, as I am a man. 1 think this lady 
To be my child Cordelia. 
Ccr. And so I am, I am. 

Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray weep 
not: 
If you have poison for me I will drink It. 
I know you do not love me; for your sisters 
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: 
You have some cause, they have not. 
Cor. No cause, no cause. 

Lear. Am I in France? 
Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 
Lear. DO not abuse me. 

Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage. 
You see, is kill'd in him: and yet it is danger 
•To make hint even o'er the time he has lost. 
Desire him to go in; trouble him no more. 
Till further settling. 
Cor. Will 't please your highness walk? 
Lear. You must bear with me: 

Pj'ay you now forget and forgive: I am old and 
foolish. 

[Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician, and 
Attendants. 
Gent. Holds it true, sir. 
That the duke of Cornwall was so slain? 
Kent. Most certain, sir. 

Gent. Who is the conductor of Ms people? 
Kent. As 'tis said, 

The bastard son of Gloster. 

Gent. They say. Edgier, 

His banish'd son, is with the earl of Kent 
In Germany. 

Kent. Report Is changeable. 

'T is time to look about; the powers o' the kingdom 
Approach apace. 

Gent. The arbiti'ement is like to be bloody. 
Fare you well, sir. [Exit. 

Kent. My point and period will be thoroughly 
wrought. 
Or well, or ill, as this day's battle 's fought. l Exit. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— The Camp of the British Forces, near 
Dover. 

Enter, with drvms and colours, Edmund, Regan, Of- 
ficers, Soldiers, and others. 

Edm. Know of the duke if his last purpose hold; 
Or whether, since, he is advis'd by aught 
To change the course: He 's full of alteration. 
And self- reproving:— bring his constant pleasure. 

[To an Officer, wlw goes out.. 

Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 

Edm. "T Is to be doubted, madam. 

Reg. Now, sweet lord. 

You know the goodness I intend upon you: 
Tell me,— but truly,— but then speak the truth. 
Do vou not love my sister? 

Edm. In honour'd love. 

Reg. But have you never found my brother's way 
To the forefended place? 

Edm. That thought abuses you. . 

Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct 
And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 

Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. 

Reg. I never shall endure her: Dear ray lord. 
Be not familiar with her. 



Scene i.] 



Kmo LEAH. 



239 



EAm. Fear me not:— 

She, and the duke her husband, 

Enter Albany, Gonerll, and Soldiers. 

Gon. I had rather lose the battle than that sister 
Should loosen him and me. [Aside. 

Alb. Our very loving sister, well be met.— 
Sir, this I heard,— The kinu is come to his daughter. 
With others, whom the rigour of our state 
Forc'd to cry out. Wliere I could not be honest, 
I never yet was valiant: for this business. 
It toucheth us as France invades our land, 
Not boUls the king; with others, whom, I fear, 
Most just and heavy cases make oppose. 

Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 

Reg. Why is this reason'd? 

Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy: 
lor these domestic, and particular broils 
Are not the question here. 

Alb. Let 's tlien determine with the ancient of war 
On our proceeeding. 

Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. 

Req. Sister, you 'II go with us? 

Gon. No. 

Reg. 'T is most convenient; pray you go with us. 

Gon. O, ho, I know the riddle: \Aside7\ I wiU go. 
As they are going out, enter Edgar, disguised. 

Edg. If e'er your grace -had speech with man so 
poer. 
Hear me one word. 

Alb. I '11 overtake you,— Speak. 

(Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, 
Soldiers, and Attendants. 

Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. 
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
For him that brought it: wretched though I seem, 
I can produce a champion, that will prove 
What is avouched there: if you miscarry. 
Your busjiness of the world hath so an end. 
And machination ceases. Fortune love you! 

Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. 

Edg. I was forbid it. 

When time shall serve, let but the herald cry. 
And I '11 appear again. [Exit. 

Alb. Why, fare thee well; I will o'erlook thy pa- 
per. 

Re-enter Edmund. 

Edm. The enemy 's in view, draw up your powers. 
Here is the guess of their true strength and forces 
By diligent discovery:— but your haste 
Is n»w urg'd on you. 

Alb. We will greet the time. [Exit. 

£din. To both these sisters have I sworn my love; 
Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take? 
Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjdy'd, 
If both remain alive: To take the widow. 
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril; 
And hardly shall I cari'y out my side 
Her husband being alive. Now then, we '11 use 
His countenance for the battle; which being done. 
Let her who would be rid of him devise 
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy 
Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, 
The battle done, and they within our power, 
Shall never see liis pardon: for my state 
Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit. 

Scene II. — A Field between the two Camps. 

Alai'xim within. Enter, with drum and colours, 
Lear, Cordelia, and their Forces; and exeunt. 
Enter Edgar and Gloster. 
Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree 
For your good host; pray that the right may thrive: 
If ever I return to you again, 
I '11 bring you comfort. 
Glo. Grace go with you, sir! 

[Exit Edgar. 
Alarums; afterwards a retreat. Re-enter Edgar. 
Edg. Away, old man, give me thy hand, away: 
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en: 
Give me thy hand, come on. 
Glo. No further, sir; a man may rot even here. 
Edg. What, in 111 thoughts again? Men must 
endure 
Their going hence, even as their coming hither: 
Ripeness is all: Come on. 
Glo. And that "s true too. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene 111.— The British Camp near Dover. 

Enter, in conquest, with di~um and colours, Ed- 
mund; Lear and Cordelia, as prisoners; Officers, 
Soldiers, <fce. 

Edm. Some officers take them away: good guard; 
Until their greater pleasures first be known 
That are to censure them. ~ 

Cor. We are not the first. 

Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst. 
For thee, oppi'essed king. I am cast down; 
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.— 
Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters? 
Lear. No, no, no, no! Come, let 's away to prison; 
We two alone will sing like birds 1' the cage: 
When thou dost ask me blessing, I '11 kneel down. 
And ask of thee forgiveness: So we '11 live. 
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
Talk of court news; and we 'U talk with them too, — 
Who loses and who wins: who 's in, who 's out. 
And take upon us the mystery of things. 
As if we were God's spies: and we '11 wear out. 
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, 
That ebb and flow by the moon. 
Edm. Take them away. 

Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught 

thee? 
He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven 
And fire us hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes; 
The good years shall devour them, flesh and fell. 
Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see them starve 

first. 
Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. 

Edm. Come hither, captain; hark. 
Take thou this note; [giving apaper] go, followthem 

to prison; 
One step I have advanc'd thee: if thou dost 
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
To noble fortunes: Know thou this,— that men 
Are as ilie time is: to be tender-minded 
Does not become a sword:— Thy great employment 



Will not bear question;— either say, thou 'It do 't. 
Or thrive by other means. , , 

Off I '11 do it, my lord. 

Edm. About it; and write happy, when thou hast 
done. 
Mark,— I say, instantly; and carry it so 
As I have set it down. , , . 

Off. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats; 
If it be man's work I will do it. [E.vit Officer. 

Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, Officers, 
and Attendants. 

Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain. 
And fortune led you well: You have the captives 
Who were the opposites of this day's strife: 
I do require them of you, so to use them. 
As we shall find their merits and our safety 
May equally determine. 

Edm. Sir, T thought it fit 

To send the old and miserable king 
To some retention and appointed guard; 
Whose age lias charms in it, whoso title more, 
To pluck the common bosom on his side. 
And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 
Which do command them. With him I sent the 

queen; 
My reason all the same; and they are ready 
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
Where you shall hold your session. At this time 
We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend; 
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd 
By those that feel their sharpness:— 
"The question of Cordelia and her father 
Requires a fitter place. 

Alb. Sir, by your patience, 

I hold you but a subject of this war, 
Not as a brother. 

Reg. That 's as we list to grace him. 

Metbinks our pleasure might have been demanded. 
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers; 
Bore the commission of my place and person; 
The which immediacy may well stand up. 
And call itself your brother. 

Gon. Not so hot: 

In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
More than in your addition. 

Reg. In my rights. 

By me invested, he compeers the best. 

Gon. That were the most if he should husband you. 

Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 

Gon. Holla, holla! 

That eye that told you so look'd but asquint. 

Reg. Lady, I am not well; else I should answer 
From a full-flowing stomacli.— General, 
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony; 
Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine: 
Witness the world, that I create thee here 
My lord and master. 

Gon. Mean you to enjoy him? 

Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good-will. 

Edm. Nor in thine, lord. 

Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 

Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine. 

[To Edmund. 

Alb. Stay yet; hear reason;— Edmund, I arrest thee 
On capital treason; and, in thy arrest. 
This gilded serpent: [pointing to Gon.]— for your 

claim, fair sister, 
I bar It In the interest of my wife; 
'T is she is sub-contracted to this lord. 
And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
If you will marry make your loves to me, 
My lady is bespoke. 

Gon. An interlude! 

Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster:— Let the trumpet 
sound: 
If none appear to prove upon thy person, 
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons. 
There is my pledge; [Throioing down a glove. 

I '11 make it on thy heart, 
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 

Reg. Sick, O, sick! 

Gon. If not, I '11 ne'ertrust medicine. [Aside. 

Edm. There 's my exchange: [Throwing down a 
glove] what in the world he is 
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies: 
Call by the trumpet: he that dares approach, 
On him, on you, (who not?) I will maintain 
My trutli and honour firmly. 

Alb. Aherald, hoa! 

Edm. A herald, hoa, a herald! 

Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers, 
All levied in my name, have in my name 
Took their discharge. 

Reg. My sickness grows upon me. 

Enter a Herald. 

Alb. She is not well; convey her to my tent. 

[E.fit Regan, led. 
Come hither, herald,— Let the trumpet sound,— 
And read out this. 

Off. Sound, trumpet! [A trumpet sounds. 

Herald reads. 

If any man of quality or degree, within the lists of 
tlie army, will maintain upon Edmund, supposed 
earl of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him 
appear by the third sound of the trumpet: He is 
bold in his defence. 

Edm. Sound! [1 Trumpet. 

Her. Again. [2 Trumpet. 

Her. Again. |3 Trumpet. 

[Trumpet answers within. 
Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a trumpet. 

Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
Upon this call o' the trumpet. 

Her. What are you? 

Your name, your quality? and why you answer 
This present summons? 

Edg. Know, my name is lost; 

By treason's tooth bare gnawn, and canker-bit: 
Yet am I noble, as the adversary 
I come to cope withal. 

Alb. Which is tliat adversary? 

Edg. What 's he that speaks for Edmund earl of 
Gloster? 

Edm. Himself;— What say'st thou to him? 

Edg. Draw thy sword; 

That, if my speech offend a noble heart. 
Thy arm may do thee ju.stice: here is mine. 
Behold, it is my privilege. 
The privilege of mine honours, 
M.v oath, and my profession; I protest,— 
Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence. 



Despite thy victor sword .and flre-new fortune. 
Thy valour, and thy heart,— Thou art a traitor: 
False to thy gods, thy lirother, and thy father; 
Conspii-niit 'gainst lliis high illiiRtrious prince; 
And, lioiii till' ixliciiicsr upward of thy head, 
Tb till' iliscciit aiul iliist l)i-low thy feet, 
A most toad spotlcil tinilor. Say thou, 'No.' 
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent 
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak. 
Thou liest. 

Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name; 

But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike. 
And that thy tongue some say of breeding lireathes, 
What safe and nicely I might well delay. 
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn. 
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head; 
With the hell-hated lie o'ervvhelm thy heart; 
Which, (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,) 
This sword of mine shall give them instant way, 
Where they shall rest for ever.— Trumpets, speak. 

[Alarums. They fight. Edmund /aHs. 

Alb. Save him, save him' 

Gon. This is practice, Gloster: 

By the law of war, thou wast not bound to answer 
An unknown opposite; thou are not vanquish'd. 
But cozen'd and beguil'd. 

Alb. Shut your mouth, dame, 

Or with this paper shall I stop it:— Hold, sir:— 
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil: — 
No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it. 



[Giving the letter to Edmund. 
! la ■ " ■ 



Gun. Say, if I do: the laws are mine, not thine: 
Who can arraign me for 't? [Exit Goneril. 

Alb. Most monstrous! 

Know'st thou this paper? 

Edm. Ask me not what I know. 

Alb. Go after her; she 's desperate: govern her. 

[To an Officer, who goes out. 

Edm. What you have charg'd me with, that have I 
done. 
And more, much more: the time will bring it out; 
'T is past, and so am I: But what art thou 
That hast this fortune on me? If thou art noble 
I do forgive thee. 

Edg. Let 's exchange charity. 

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; 
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me. 
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
Tlie gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
Make instruments to plague us: 
The dark and vicious place where thee he got 
Cost him his eyes. 

Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 't is true 

The wheel is come full circle; I am here. 

Alb. Methought thy very gait did prophesy 
A royal nobleness:— I must embrace thee; 
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I 
Did hate thee, or thy father! 

Edg. Worthy prince, I know 't. 

Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 
How have you known the miseries of your father? 

Edg. By nursing them, my lord.— List a brief 
tale;— 
And when 't is told, O, that my heart would burst! — 
The bloody proclamation to escape 
That foUow'd me so near, (O our lives' sweetness! 
That we the pain of death would hourly die. 
Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift 
Into a mad-man's rags; to assume a semblance 
That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit 
Met I my father with his bleeding rings. 
Their precious stones new lost; became his guide. 
Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair; 
Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him. 
Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd; 
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, 
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
Told him our pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart, 
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support!) 
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
Burst.smilingly. 

Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me. 

And shall, perchance, do good: but speak you on; 
You look as you liad something more to say. 

Alb. It there be more, more woeful, hold it in; 
For I am almost ready to dissolve. 
Hearing of this. 

Edg. This would have seem'd a period 

Tojsuch as love not sorrow; but another. 
To amplify too much, would make much more, 
And top extremity. 

Whilst I was big in clamour, came there in a man, 
Who, having seen me in my worse estate, 
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding 
Who 't was that so endur'd, with his strong arms 
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
As he 'd burst heaven; threw him on my father; 
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him. 
That ever ear recelv'd: which in recounting 
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet sounded. 
And there I left him tranc'd. 

Alb. But who was this? 

Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise 
Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service 
Improper for a slave. 

Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife. 

Gent. Help! help! O help! 

Edg. What kind of help? 

Alb. Speak, man. 

Edg. What means this bloody knife? 

Gent. "I is hot, it smokes; 

It came even from the heart of— O she 's dead. 

Alb. Who dead? speak, man. 

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady; and her sister 
By her is poison'd; she confesses it. 

Edm. I was contracted to them both; all three 
Now marry in an instant. 

Edg. Here comes Kent. 

Alb. Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead!— 
This judgment of the heavens that makes us trem- 
ble. 
Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 

Enter Kent. 

O, is this he? 
The time will not allow the compliment. 
Which very manners urges. 

Kent. I am come 

To bid my king and master aye good night; 
Is he not here? 

Alb. Great thing of us forgot!— 

Speak, Edmund, where 's the king; and where 'a 
Cordelia?— 



2i0 



MACBETH. 



[Act I. 



Seest thou this object, Kent? 

\The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in. 

Kent. Alack, why thus? 

Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd: 

The one the other poison'd tor my sake, 
And after slew herself. 

Alb. Even so.— Cover their faces. 

Kdm. I pant for life; Some good I mean to do. 
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,— 
Be brief in it,— to the castle; for my writ 
Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia:— 
Nay, send in time. 

Alb. Run, run, O, run— 

Edg. To who, my lord?— Who has the offlee? send 
Thy token of reprieve. 

Edm. Well thought on; take my sword. 
Give it the captain. 

Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgar. 

Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me 
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
To lav the blame upon her own despair. 
That she fordid herself. 

Alb. The gods defend her! Bear Mm hence awhile. 
[Edmund is borne off. 

Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his amis; 

Edgar, Oftlcer, and others. 

Lear. Howl, howl, howll— O, you are men of 

stones; 

Had I your tongues and eyes I 'd use them so 

That heaven's vault should crack:— She 's gone for 

ever;— 
1 know when one Is dead, and when one lives; 
She 's dead as earth.— Lend me a looking-glass; 
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
Why, then she lives. 
Kent. Is this the promls'd end? 

Edg. Or image of that horror? 
Alb. Fall, and cease! 

J.ear. This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so, 
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows 



That ever 1 have telt. 

Kent. O my good master! [Kneeling. 

Lear. Prithee, away. 

Edg. 'T Is noble Kent, your friend. 

Ltar. A plague upon you, nniriherers, traitors all! 
I might have sav'd her; now she 's gone for ever! 
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha! 
What is 't thou say'st/— Her voice was ever soft, 
Gentle, and low; an excellent thing in woman:— 
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. 

Off. 'T Is true, my lords, he did. 

Lear. Did I not, fellow? 

I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion 
I would have made them skip: I am old now. 
And these same crosses spoil me.— Who are you? 
Mine eyes are not o' the best;— I '11 tell you straight. 

Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, 
One of them we behold. 

Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? 

Kent. The same; 

Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Calus? 

Lear. He 's a good fellow, I can tell you that; 
He '11 strike, and quickly too: He 's dead and rotten. 

Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man;— 

Lear. I '11 see that straight. 

Kent. That, from your first of diffei-ence and de- 
cay. 
Have foUow'd your sad steps. 

Lear. You are welcome hither. 

Kent. Nor no man else; all 's cheerless, dark, and 
deadly.— 
Your eldest daughters have fore-done themselves. 
And desperately are dead. 

Lear. Ay, so I thinic 

Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain it is 
That we present us to him. 

Edg. VeiT bootless. 

Enter an Officer. 

Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. 



Alb. That 's but a trifle here.— 

You lords, and noble friends, know our intent. 
What comfort to this great decay may come 
Shall be applied: For us, we will resign. 
During the life of this old majesty. 
To him our absolute power:— You, to your rights; 
„ [To Edgar and Kent. 

With boot, and such addition as your honours 
Have more than merited.— Ail friends shall taste 
The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
The cup of their deservings.— O, see, see! 

Leur. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no 
life: 
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life. 
And thou no breath at all? Thou 'It come no more, 
Never, never, never, never, never! — 
Pray you undo this button: Thank you, sir.— 
Do you see this? Look on her,— look,— her lips,— 
Look there, look there!— [He dies. 

Edg. He faints!— My lord, my lord,— 

Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break! 

Edg. Look up, my lord. 

Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates 
him 
That would upon the rack of this rough world 
Stretch him out longer. 

Edg. He is gone, indeed. 

Kent. The wonder is, he hatn endur'd so long: 
He but usurp'd his life. 

Alb. Bear them from hence.— Our present business 
Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain, 

[To Kent and Edgar. 
Rule In this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. 

Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; 
My master calls me,— I must not say, no. 

Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey; 
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young 
Shall never see so much, nor live so long. 

[Exeunt, with a dead march. 



MACBETH, 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Duncan, King of Scotland. 

Malcolm, 

donalbain, 



Macbeth, 
Baxquo, 
Macduff, 
Lenox, 

KOSSE 

Menteth, 



> his sons. 

I generals 
'i anny. 



of the King's 



noblemen of Scotland. 



Cathness, \noblemen of Scotland. 

Fleance, son to Banquo. 

Si WARD, £'aW o/ Northumberland, gen- 
eral of the 'English forces. 

Young Siward, his son. 

Seyton, an officer attending on Mac- 
beth. 

Son to Macduff. 



An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. 
A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. 

Lady Macbeth. 
Lady Macduff. 

Gentlewoman attending on Lady Mac- 
beth. 

Hecate, and three Witches. 



Lord-'!, Gentleman, Officers, Soldiers, 
Murderers, Attendants, and Messen- 
gers. 

The Ghost of Banquo, and other Ap- 
paritions. 

SCENE.— /n the end of the Fourth Act, 
lies in England; thiough the rest of 
the Play in Scotland; and chiefly, at 
Macbeth's Castle. 



ACT L 

Scene I.— An open Place. Thunder and 
Lightn ing. 

Enter three Witches. 

1 Witch. When shall we three meet again 
In thunder, lightning, or in rain? 

2 Witch. When the huriyburly 's done. 
When the battle 's lost and won: 

3 Witch. That will be ere the set of sun. 

1 Witch. Where the place? 

2 Witch. Upon the heath: 

3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin! 

All. Paddock calls:— .\non.— 
Fair Is foul, and foul is fair: 
Hover through the fog and filthy air. 

[Witches vanish. 

Scene II.— .4 camp near Forres. Alarum within. 

Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox, 
ivith Attendants, meeting a bleeding Soldier. 

Dun. What bloody man is that? He can report. 
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
The newest state. 

Mai. This is the sergeant, 

Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
'Gainst my captivity:— Hail, brave friend! 
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil. 
As tiiou didst leave it. 

Sold. Doubtful it stood; 

As two spent swimmers, that do cling together. 
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald 
(Worthy to be a rebel; for, to that. 
The multiplying villainies of nature 
Do swarm upon him,) from the western Isles 
Of kernes and gallowglasses is supplied; 
And fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, 
Show'd like a rebel's whore: But all 's too weak; 
For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,) 
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
Which sniok'd with bloody execution. 
Like valour's minion, carved out his passage, 
Till he faced the slave; 

Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him. 
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps. 
And tix'd his head upon our battlements. 

Dun. O, valiant cousin! worthy gentleman! 

Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection 
Shlpwracking storms and direful thunders break; 
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come. 
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: 
No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, 
Compell'd these skipping kernes to trust their heels. 
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage. 
With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men. 
Began a fresh assault. 

Dun. Dismay'd not this our captains, Macbeth and 
Banquo? 

Sold. Yes: As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the 
lion. 
If I say sooth, I must report they were 
As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks; 
So they doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: 
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
Or memorize another Golgotha, 



I cannot tell: 

But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 

Dim. So well thy words become thee as the 
wounds; 
They smack of honour both:— Go, get him surgeons. 
[Exit Soldier, attended. 
Enter Rosse. 
Who comes here? 

Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. 

Len. What a haste looks through his eyes! 
So should he look that seems to speak things strange. 

Rosse. God save the king! 

Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane? 

Rosse. From Fife, great king. 
Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky. 
And fan our people cold. 
Norway himself, with terrible numbers. 
Assisted by that myst disloyal traitor 
The thane of Cawdor, began a dismal conflict: 
Till that Bellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof, 
Confronted him with self-comparisons, 
Point against point, rebellious arm 'gainst arm. 
Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude, 
The victory fell on us;— 

Dun. Great happiness! 

Rosse. That now 
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition; 
Nor would we deign him burial of his men, 
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch. 
Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 

Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
Our bosom interest:— Go, pronounce his present 

death. 
And with his former title greet Macbeth. 

Rosse. I '11 see it done. 

Dun. What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene HI.— ^ Heath. Thunder. 
Enter the three Witches. 

1 Witch. Where hast thou bee!i, sister? 

2 Witch. Killing swine. 

3 Witch. Sister, where thou? 

1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, 
And mounch'd, and mouneh'd, and mounch'd:— 

'Give me,' quoth I: 
' Aroint thee, witch!' the rum.p-fed ronyou cries. 
Her husband 's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger: 
But in a sieve I '11 thither sail. 
And, like a rat without a tail, 
I '11 do, I '11 do, and I '11 do. 

2 Witch. I '11 give theea wiud. 
1 Witch. Th' are kind. 

3 Witch. And I another. 

1 Witch. I myself have all the other; 
And the very ports they blow. 
All the quarters that they know, 
I' the shipman's card. 
I '11 drain him dry as hay: 
Sleep shall neither night no:- day 
Hang upon his pent-house lid; 
He shall live a man forbid: 
Weary sev'n nights, nine tiiuesnine, 
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: 
Though his bark cannot be lost. 
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
Look what I have. 



2 Witch. Show me, show me. 

1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 
Wrack'd, as homeward he did come. 

[Dru.n within. 

3 Witch. A drum, a drum: 
Macbeth doth come. 

All. The weird sisters, hand in hand, 
TPosters of the sea and land. 
Thus do go about, about; 
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine. 
And thrice again, to make up nine: 
Peace!— the charm 's wound up. 

Enter Macbeth and Banquo. 

ilfacb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 

Ban. How far is 't call'd to Forres?--What are 
these. 
So wither'd and so wild in their attire; 
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth. 
And yet are on 't? Live you? or are you aught 
That man may question? You seem to understand 

me. 
By each at once her choppy finger laying 
Upon her skinny lips:— You should be women. 
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
That you are so. 

Macb. Speak, if you can;— What are you? 

1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of 

Glamis! 

2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of 

Cawdor! 

3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! that shalt be king 

hereafter. 
Ban. Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear 
Things that do sound so fair?— I' the name of truth. 
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed 
Whicn outwardly ye show? My noble partner 
Y'ou greet with present grace, and great prediction 
Of noble having, and of royal hope. 
That beseems rapt withal; to me you speak not: 
If you can look into the seeds of time. 
And say, which grain will grow, and which will not, 
Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear. 
Your favours nor your hate. 

1 Witch. Hail! 

2 Witch. Hail! 

3 Witch. Hail! 

1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 

2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 

3 Witch. Thou Shalt get kings, though thou be 

none: 
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! 

1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail! 

Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: 
By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis; 
But how of Cawdor? the thane of Candor lives 
A prosperous gentleman; and, to be king. 
Stands not within the prospect of belief. 
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 
You owe this strange intelligence? or why 
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
With such prophetic greeting?— Speak, I charge you. 
fWitches vanish. 

Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, 
And these are of them: Whither are they vanish'd? 

Macb. Into the air: and what seemed corporal, 
melted 



SCKNE III.] 



MACBETH. 



241 



As breath into the wind.— 'Would tney had staid! 

Ban. Were such things here as we do speak about? 
Or have we eaten oi\ tlie insane root, 
That talves tlie reason prisoner? 

Mcwb. Your children shall be lilngs. 

Itan. You shall be king. 

Macb. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so? 

Ban. To tlie selfsame tune and words. Who 's 
here? 

Enter Rosse and Angus. 

Rosse. The king hath happily receivM, Ulacbeth, 
Tlie news of thy success: and when he reads 
Thy personal venture In the rebels' flsht, 
His wonders and his praises do contend, 
Wliicli should be thine, or his: Silenc'd with that, 
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self -same day,. 
He flnils thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, 
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make, 
Strange images of death. As thick as hail 
Came post with post; and every one did bear 
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 



If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 

Whose horrid inu\ge doth unfix my hair. 

And make m.v seated heart knock at my ribs. 

Against the use of nature? Present fears 

Are less than horrihle ir.iaginings; 

Jly thought, whose nuirther yetis iiut fantastical, 

Shakes si> my single stiite of man, that function 

Is snu>tlu-r'(l in surmise; and nothing is 

But what is not 

Bnn. Look, how our partner's rapt. 

Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance 
nuvy crown me, 
Without my stir. 

Ban. New honours come upon him 

Like our strange garments; cleave not to their 

nuiuld. 
But with the aid of use. 

it/ac6. Come what come may. 

Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 

Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 

Macb. Give me your favour: — 
My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten. 



Which do but what they should, by doing every- 
thing . 
Safe toward your love and honour. 

Dun. Welcome hither; 

I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
To make thee full of growing.— Noble Banquo, 
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known 
No less to have done so, let me enfold thee, 
And hold thee to my heart. 

Ban. There if I grow. 

The harvest is your own. 

Oun. My plenteous .loys. 

Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsnit-n, thanes, 
And you whose places are the nearest, know, 
We w.Ul establish our estate upon 
Our eldest, Malcolm; whom we name hereafter 
The prince of Cumberland: which honour must 
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only. 
But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
On all deservers.— From hence to Inverness, 
And bind us further to you. 




[act 11.— scene ii.l 



Lady M. Why did you bring these daggers from the place? They must lie there. 



And pour'd them down before him. 

Ang. We are sent, 

To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; 
Only to herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. 

Eosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour. 
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor; 
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane! 
For it is thine. 

Ban. "What, can the devil speak true? 

Ma^b. The thane of Cawdor lives; Why do you 
dress me ^ 
In borrow'd robes!-* 

Ang. Who was the thane, lives.yet; 

But under heavy judgment bears that life 
Which he deserves to lose. 

Whether he was combin'd with those of Norway; 
Or did line the rebel with hidden help 
And vantage; or that with both he labour'd 
In his country's wrack, I know not; 
But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, 
Have overthrown him. 

Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor: 

The greatest is behind.— Thanks for your pains.— 
Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, 
Promis'd no less to them? 

Ban. That, trusted home. 

Might yet enkindle you unto the crown. 
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 't is strange: 
And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, 
Tlie instruments of darkness tell us truths; 
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us 
In deepest consequence- 
Cousins, a word, I pray you. 

Much. Two truths are told, 

As happy prologues to the swelling act 
Of the imperial theme.— I thank you, gentlemen.— 
This supernatural soliciting 
Cannot be ill; cannot be good:— If ill. 
Why hath it given me earnest of success. 
Commencing In a truth? I am thane of Cawdor; 



Kind gentlemen, your pains are register'd 

Where every day I turn the leaf to read them.— 

Let us toward the king.— 

Think upon what hath chanc'd; and, at more time. 

The Interim having vveigh'd it, let us speak 

Our free hearts each to other. 

Ban. Very gladly. 

Macb. Till then, enough.— Come, friends. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— Forres. A Room in the Palace. 

Flom-ish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbaln, 
Lenox, and Attendants. 

Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor!'' Are not 
Those In commission yet return'd? 

Mai. My liege. 

They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
With one that saw him die: who did report. 
That very frankl.y he confess'd his treasons; 
Implor'd your highness' pardon; and set forth 
A deep repentance: nothing in his life 
Became him like the leaving it; he died 
As one that had been studied in his death, 
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, 
As 't were a careless trifle. 

Dun. There 's no art 

To find the mind's construction in the face: 
He was a gentleman on whom I built 
An absolute trust.— O worthiest cousin! 

Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. 
The sin of my ingratitude even now 
Was heavy on me: Thou art so far before. 
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd; 
That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
Might have been mine! only I have left to say, 
More is thy due than more than all can pay. 

Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe. 
In doing it, pays it.self. Your highness' part 
Is to receive our duties: and our duties 
Are to your throne and state, children and servants- 



Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you: 
I '11 be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
The hearing of my wife with your approach; 
So humbly take my leave. . 

Dun. My worthy Cawdor! 

Macb. The prince of Cumberland!— That Is a step 
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap, [Aside. 
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires! 
Let not light see my black and deep desires: 
The eye wink at the hand! yet let.that be. 
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [Exit. 

Dun. True, worthy Banquo; he is full so valiant; 
And in his commendations 1 am fed; 
It is a banquet to me. Let 's after him. 
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome; 
It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt, 

Scene V.— Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's Castle. 
Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a tetter. 

Lady M. ' They met me in the day of success; and 
I have learned by the perfectest report, they have 
more in them than mortal knowledge. When I 
burned in desire to question them further, they 
made themselves air, into whicli they vanished. 
Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came mis- 
sives from the king, who all-hailed me, "Thane of 
Cawdor;" by which title, before, these weird sisters 
saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of 
time, with, "Hail, king that shall be!" 'This have 
I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner 
of greatness; that thou mlghtest not lose the dues of 
rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is 
promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell.' 

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shall be 

What thou art promis'd:— Yet do I fear thy nature; 

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness 

To catch the nearest way; Thou would'st be great; 

Art not without ambition; but without 

[PART 30.] 



•as 



MA CBKriI. 



lACT II. 



I 



The Illness should attend It. What thou would'st 

hlKhly, 
That would'st thou hollly; would'st not play false, 
And yet would'st wrongly win; thou'dst have, great 

Glamis, 
That which cries, 'Thus thou must do, if thou have 

It; 
And that which rather thou dost fe.ir to do. 
Than wishest sho\ild be undone.' Hie thee hither, 
That I nuiy pour my spirits in thine ear; 
And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
All that impedes thee from the golden round. 
Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 
To have thee crown'd withal. What is your 

tidings? 

Enter an Attendant. 

Attend. The king comes here tonight. 

Ladu M. Thou 'rt mad to say it: 

Is not thy master with him? who, wer 't so, 
WoHld have inform'd for preparation. 

Attind. So please you, it is true; bur thane is com- 
ing: 
One of my fellows h,ad the speed of him; 
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
Than would make up his message. 

Ladu ^I- G'^e him tending. 

He brings great news. The raven himself is lioarse 
[_E.vit Attendant. 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits 
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here; 
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, topfull 
Of direst crueltyl make thick my blood, 
Stop up the aecess and passage to remorse; 
That no compunctious visitings of nature 
Shake my fell purpose, npr keep peace between 
Tlie effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts. 
And take my milk for gall, you murthering minis- 
ters. 
Wherever in your sightless substances 
You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night. 
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell. 
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes; 
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. 

To cry, 'Hold, hold!' Great Glamis, worthy 

Cawdor! 

Enter Macbeth. 
Greater than both, by the all hall hereafter! 
Thy letters have transported me beyond 
This ignorant present, and I feel now 
The future in the instant. 

Jlfacb. My dearest love, 

Duncan comes here to-night. 

Ladu M. And when goes hence? 

3Iacb. To-morrow,— as he purposes. 

Lady M. O, never 

Shall sun that morrow see! 
Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men 
May read strange matters:— To beguile the time. 
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye. 
Your hand, your tongue: look like the Innocent 

flower, 
But be the serpent under it. He that 's coming 
Must be provided for: and you shall put 
This night's great business into my dispatch; 
Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 

Mad). We will speak further. 

Lady M. Only look up clear; 

To alter favour ever is to fear: 
Leave all the rest to me. {Exeunt. 

Scene YI.—The san^e. Before the Castle. 

Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. 

Enter V>unca.Tt, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lenox, 

Macduff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants. 

Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air 
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
Unto our gentle senses. 

Ban. This guest of summer. 

The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
. By his lov'd manslonry, that the heaven's breath 
Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, 
Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird 
Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: 
Where the.v most breed and haunt, I have observ'd. 
The air is delicate. 

Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Dun. See, see! our honour'd hostess! 

The love that follows us sometime is our trouble. 
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you. 
How you shall bid God-eyld us for your pains. 
And thank us for your trouble. 

Lady M. All our service 

In every point twice done, and then done double. 
Were poor and single business, to contend 
Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith 
Your majesty loads our house: For those of old. 
And the late dignities heap'd up to them, 
We rest your hermits. 

Dun. Where 's the thane of Cawdor? 

We cours'd him at the iieels, and had a purpose 
To be his purveyor: but he rides well; 
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him 
To his home before us: Fair and noble hostess. 
We are your guest to-night. 

Lady M. Your servants ever 

Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, incompt. 
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, 
Still to return your own. 

Dun. Give me your hand: 

Conduct me to mine host; we love him highly. 
And shall continue our graces towards him. 
By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt. 

Scene Vll.— The same. A Room in tlie Castle. 
Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the 

stage, a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes 

and service. Then enter Macbeth. 

Macb. If it were done, when 't is done, then 't were 
well 
It were done quickly: If the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
With his surcease, success; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here. 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
We 'd jump the life to come.— But in these cases, 
We still have.1udgment here; that we but teach 
Bloody instructions, which, being tauglit, return 
To plague the inventor: This even-handed .iustice 
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 



To our own lips. He 's here in double trust: 
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
Strong both against the deed; then, as his host. 
Who should against his murtherer shut the door. 
Not iiear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
So clear In his great office, that his virtues 
Will plead like angils, trunii>et tongued, against 
The deep damnation of his taking-off: 
And pity, like a naked new-born babe. 
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
Upon the sightless couriers of the air. 
Shall V/Iow the horrid deed in every eye. 
That tears shall drown the wind.— I have no spur 
To prick the sides of my Intent, but only 
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself. 
And falls on the other.— How now, what news? 
Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. He has almost supp'd: Why have you left 
the chamber';' 

Macb. Hath he ask'd for me? 

Lady M. Know you not he has? 

Macb. We will proceed no further in this business: 
He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought 
Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
Which would lie worn now in their newest gloss, 
Nor cast aside so soon. 

Lady M. Was the hope drunk. 

Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? 
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
At what it did so freely? From this time. 
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
To be the same in thine own act and valour. 
As thou art in desire.' Would'st thou have that 
Which thou esteem'.st the ornament of lite. 
And live a coward in thine own esleem; 
Letting I dare not wait upon I would. 
Like the poor cat i' the adage? 

Macb. Prithee, peace: 

I dare do all that may become a man; 
Who dares do more, is none. 

Lady 3L What beast was 't then. 

That made you break this enterprise to me? 
^\'hen you durst do it, then you were a man; 
And, to be more than what you were, you would 
Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, 
Did then adhere, and yet you would make both: 
They have made themselves, and that their fitness 

now 
Does unmake you. I have given suck; and know 
How tender 't is to love the babe that milks me: 
I would, while it was smiling in my face,- 
Hive pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, 
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn, 
As you have done to this. 

Macb. If we should fail, 

Lady M. We fail. 

But screw your courage to the sticking place. 
And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains 
Will I with wine and wassel so convince. 
That memory, the warder of the brain. 
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
A limbeck only: When in swinish sleep 
Their drenched natures lie. as in a death, 
What cannot you and I perform upon 
The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon 
His spongy offioers; who shall bear the guilt 
Of our great quell? 

3Iacb. Kring forth men-children only. 

For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
Nothing but males. Will It not be receiv'd. 
When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers, 
That they have done 't? 

Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 

As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar 
Upon his death? 

3Iacb. I am settled, and bend up 

Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
Away, and mock the time with fairest show: 
False face must hide what the false heart doth know. 

[Exeunt. 
ACT IL 
Scene I. — The same. Court within the Castle. 
Enter Banquo and Fleance ivith a torch. 

Ban. How goes the night, boy? 

Fie. The moon is down; I have not heard the clock. 

Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 

Fie. I take, 't is later, sir. 

Ban. Hold, take my sword.— There 's husbandry in 
heaven. 
Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too. 
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me. 
And yet I would not sleep: Merciful powers. 
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts tnat nature 
Gives way to in repose!— Give me n)y sword;— 

Enter Macbeth, and a Servant ivith a torch. 
Who 's there? 

Macb. A friend. 

Ban. What, sir, not yet at rest? The king 's abed: 
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
Sent forth great largess to your offices: 
This diamond he greets your wife withal. 
By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up 
In measureless content. 

Macb. Being unprepar'd, 

Our will became the servant to defect; 
Which else should free have wrought. 

Ban. All 's well. 

I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters; 
■To you they have show'd some truth. 

Macb. I think not of them: 

Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve. 
We would spend it in some words upon that busi- 
ness. 
If you would grant the time. 

Ban. '. At your kind'st leisure. 

Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent,— when 't 
is. 
It shall make honour for you. 

Ban. So I lose none. 

In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
I shall be counsell'd. 

Macb. Good repose, the while! 

Ban. Thanks, sir; the lilie to you! 

[Exit Banquo and Fleance. 

Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, When my drink is 
ready. 



She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. 

[E.rit Servant. 
Is this a dagger which I see before me. 
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch 

thee: 
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but 
A dagger of the mmd, a false creation. 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
As this which now I draw. 
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going. 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses. 
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still; 
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood. 
Which was not so before.— There 's no such thing. 
It is the bloody business which informs 
Thus to mine eyes.— Now o'er the one half world 
Natin-e seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtain'd sleep: witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murther, 
Alarum'd by his sentniel, the wolf. 
Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 

Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, 

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout. 
And take the present horror from the time. 
Which now suits with it.— Whiles I threat he lives: 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 

[.^1 bell rings. 
I go, and it Is done; the bell invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell 
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. 

Scene II.— The same. 
Enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. That which hath made them drunk hath 
made me bold: 
What hath quench'd them hath given me Are:- 
Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd. 
The fatal bellman which gives the stern'so good 

night. 
He is about it: The doors are open; 
And the surfeited grooms do mock their charge with 

snores: 
I have drugg'd their possets. 
That death and nature do contend about them, 
Whether they live, or die. 

Macb. [Within.'] Who 's there?— what, hoa! 

Lady M. Alack! I am afraid they have awak'd. 
And 't is not done:— the attempt, and not the deed. 
Confounds us:— Hark!— I laid their daggers ready, 
He could not miss them.— Had he not resembled 
My father as he slept I had done 't— My husband! 
Enter Macbeth. 

Maeb. I have done the deed:— Didst tliou not hear 
a noise? 

Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets 
cry. 
Did not you speak? 

Macb. When? 

Lady M. Now. 

Macb. As I descended? 

Lady M. Ay. 

Macb. Hark!— 

Who lies i' the second chamber? 

Lady M. Donalbain. 

Macb. This is a sorry sight. [Looking on his hands. 

Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 

Macb. There 's one did laugh in his sleep. 
And one cried, ' murther!' that they did wake each 

other; 
I stood and heard them: but they did say their 

prayers. 
And addiess'd them again to sleep, 

lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 

Maeu. One cried, 'God bless us!' and 'Amen,' the 
other; 
As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands. 
Listening their fear, I could not say, amen. 
When they did say God bless us. 

Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 

Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, amen? 
I had most need of blessing, and amen 
Stuck in my throat. 

Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 

After these ways; so. It will make us mad. 

JIfaeb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no 
more! 
Macbeth does murther sleep,'— the innocent sleep; 
Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care. 
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, 
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
Chief nourisher In lile's feast. 

Lady M. What do you mean? 

Macb. Still it cried, ' Sleep no more!' to all the 
house: 
' Glamis hath murther'd sleep: and therefore Caw- 
dor 
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more!' 

Lady 31. Who was It that thus cried? Why, worthy 
thane, 
You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
So brainsickly of things;— Go, get some water. 
And wash this filthy witness from your hand.— 
Why did you bring these daggers from the place? 
They must lie there: Go, carry them; and smear 
The sleepy grooms with blood. 

3Iacb. I '11 go no more; 

I am afraid to think what I have done; 
Look on 't again I dare not. 

Lady 31. Infirm of purpose! 

Give me the daggers: The sleeping, and the dead, 
Are but as pictures: 't is the eye of childhood 
That fears a painted devil. It he do bleed, 
I '11 gild the faces of the grooms withal. 
For it must seem their guilt. 

[Exit. Knocking ivithin. 

Macb. Whence is that knocking? 

How is 't with me, when every noise appals me? 
What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine 

Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnardine. 
Making the green, one red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 
Lady M. My hands are of your colour; but I 
shame 






Scene ii.] 



JfA CliETH. 



243 



To wear a heart so white. {Knovk.] I he;ir a knock- 
ing 

At the south entry:— retire we to our clmniber: 

A little water clears us of this deeit: 

How easy is it then! Your constancy 

Hath left you unattended. —rXHotA-i«cr.l Hark! more 
knocking: 

Get on vour nislitgown, lest occasion call us, 

And show us to be watchers:— Be not lost 

So poorly in your thoughts. 
Macb. To know my deed, 't were best not know 
myself. [Knock. 

Wake Duncan with thy knocking; I would thou 
could'st! [E.veunt. 

Scene III.— The same. 

Enter a Porter. [Knocking tvithin. 
Porter. Here 's a knocking, indeed! If a man 
were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turnmg 
the key. [Knocking.'\ Knock, knock, knock: 
Who 's (here, i' the name of Belzebub? Here 's a 
farmer, that hanged himself on the .expectation of 
plenty: Come in time; have napkins enough about 
you; here vou '11 sweat tor 't. [Knocking.] Knock, 
knock: Who 's there, i' the other devil's name? 
'Faith, here 's an equlvooaror, that could swear in 
both the scales against either scale; who committed 
treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equi- 
vocate to heaven: O, come in, equivocator. [Knock- 
ing.] Knock, knock, knock: Who 's there? 'Faith, 
here 's an English tailor come hither, for stealing 
out of a French hose: Come in, tailor; here you 
mav roast your goose. [Knocking.] Knock, knock: 
Never at quiet! What are you?— But this place is 
too cold for hell. I '11 devil-porter it no further: I 
had thought to have let in some of all professions, 
that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. 
[Knocking.] Anon, anon; I pray you, remember the 
porter. [Opens the <jate. 

Enter Macduff and Lenox. 
Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
That you do lie so late? 

Poit. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second 
cock: and drink, sir, Is a great provoker of three 
things. 

Macd. What three things does drink especially pro- 
voke? 

Port. Marry, sir, nose-painiing, sleep, and urine. 
Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes: it pro- 
vokes the desire, but it takes away tlie perform- 
ance: Therefore, much drink may be said to be an 
equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it 
mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it 
persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him 
stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivo- 
cates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves 
him. 
Macd. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last night. 
Port. That it did, sir, i' the very throat o' me: 
But I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being 
too strong for him, though he took up my legs some- 
time, yet I made a shift to cast him. 

Mucd. Is thy master stirring?— 
Our knocking has awak'd him; hei-e he comes. 
Enter Macbeth. 
Len. Good-morrow, noble sir! 

Macb. Good morrow, both. 

Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane? 
Mach. Not j;et. 

Macd. He did command me to call timely on him; 
I have almost slipp'd the hour. 
Macb. I '11 bring you to him. 

Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you; 
But yet 't is one. 

Slach. The labour we delight in physics pain. 
This is the door. 

Macd. I '11 make so bold to call. 

For 't is my limited service. [Exit Macduff. 

Len. Goes the king hence to-day? 
Macb. He does:— he did appoint so. 
J.en. The night has been unruly: Where we lay. 
Our chimneys were blown down: and, as they say, 
Lamentings heard 1' the air; strange screams of 

death: 
And, prophesying with accents terrible. 
Of dire combustion and confus'd events. 
New hatch'd to the woeful time. 
The obscure bird clamour'd the live-long night: 
Some say the earth was feverous and did shake. 
Macb. 'T was a rough night. 
Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
A fellow to it. 

Re-enter Macduff. 
Macd. O horror! horror! horror! 
Tongue, nor heart, cannot conceive, nor name thee! 
Macb. Len. What 's the matter? 
Macd. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! 
Most sacrilegious murther hath broke ope 
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
The life o' the building. 
Macb. What is 't you say? the life? 

Len. Mean you his majesty? 

Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your 
sight 
With a new Gorgon: — Do not bid me speak; 
See, and then speak yourselves.— Aw ake! awake!— 

[Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox. 
Ring the alarum-bell:— Murther! and treason! 
Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! 
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
And look on death itself!- up, up, and see 

The great doom's image Malcolm! Banquo! 

As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites. 
To countenance this horror! Ring the bell. 

[Bell rings. 
Enter Lady Macbeth. 
Lady M. What 's the business. 
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak! 

Macd. O, gentle lady, 

'T is not for you to hear what I can speak: 
The repetition, in a woman's ear. 

Would murther as it fell. 

Enter Banquo. 
O Banquo! Banquo! our royal master's murther'd' 
Lady M. Woe, alas! what, in our house? 
Ban. Too cruel, anywnere. 

Dear Duff, I prithee contradict thyself. 
And say, It is not so. 

Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. 
Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance. 



I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant. 

There 's nothing serious in mortality: 

All is but toys: renown, and grace, is dead; 

The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lee 

Is left this vault to brag of. 

Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 
Don. What is amiss? 

Macb. You are, and do not know 't, 

The spring, the head: the fountain of your blood 
Is stopp'd; the very source of it is stopp'd. 
Macd. ycAiv royal father's murther'd. 
Mai. O, by whom? 

Len. Those of his chamber, as it seeni'd, had done't: 
Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood, 
So were their daggers, which, unvvip'd, we found 
Upon their pillows: they star'd, and were distracted; 
No man's life was to be trusted with them. 

Macb. O, vet I do repent me of my fury. 
That I did kill them. 
Mucd. Wherefore did you so? 

il/ac6. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and 
furious. 
Loyal, and neutral, in a moment? No man: 
The expedition of my violent love 
Outran the pauser reason.— Here lay Dimcan, 
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood; 
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature 
For ruin's wasteful entrance: there, themurtherers, 
Steep'd In the colours of their trade, their daggers 
Unmannerly breech'd with gore: Who could refrain 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage, to make his love icnown? 
Lady M. Help me hence, hoa! 

Macd. Look to the lady. 

Mai. Why do we hold our tongues. 

That most may claim this argument for ours? 

Don. What should be spoken here. 
Where our fate, hid in an auger-hole. 
May rush, and seize us? Let 's away; our tears 
Are not yet brew'd. 

Mai. Nor our strong sorrow 

Upon the foot of motion. 
Ban. ' Look to the lady:— 

[Lady Macbeth !S carried out. 
And when we have our naked frailties hid. 
That suffer in exposure, let us meet. 
And question this most bloody piece of work. 
To know It further. Fears and scruples shake us: 
In the great hand of God I stand; and thence. 
Against the uudivulg'd pretence Iflght 
Ot treasonous malice. 
Macd. And so do I. 

All. So all. 

3Iacb. Let 's briefly put on manly readiness. 
And meet i' the hall together. 
All. Well contented. 

[Exeunt all but Mai. and Don. 
Mai. What will you do? Let 's not consort with 
them: 
To show an unfelt sorrow is an office 
Which the false man does easy: I '11 to England. 

Don. To Ireland, I; our separated fortune 
Shall keep us both the safer: where we are. 
There 's daggers in men's smiles: the near in blood. 
The nearer bloody. 

Mai. This murtherous shaft that 's shot 

Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way 
Is to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse; 
And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
But shift away: There 's warrant in that theft 
Which steals itself, when there 's no mercy left. 

[E.veunt. 

Scene IV.— Without the Castle. 

Enter Rosse and an old Man. 

Old M. Threescore and ten I can remember well: 

Within the volume of V/hich time, I have seen 

Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore 

night 
Hath trifled former knowings. 

Rosse. Ah, good father. 

Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man's act, 
Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, 't is day. 
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: 
Is 't night's predominance, or the day's shame. 
That darkness does the face of earth intomb. 
When living light should kiss it? 

Old M. 'T is unnatural. 

Even like the deed that 's done. On Tuesday last, 
A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place. 
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. 
Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strange 
and certain,) 
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out. 
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would 
Make war with mankind. 
Old 31. 'T is said, they eat each other. 

Rosse. They did so; to the amazement of mine 
eyes. 
That look'd upon 't. Here comes the good Mac- 
duff:— 

Enter Macduff. 
Ho\%' goes the world, sir, now? 
Macd. Why, see you not? 
Rosse. Is 't known who did this more than bloody 

deed? 
Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain. 
Rosse. Alas, the day! 

What good could they pretend? 

Macd. They were suborn'd: 

Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons, 
Are stol'n away and fled; which puts upon them 
Suspicion of the deed. 

Rosse. 'Gainst nature stlU: 

Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up 
Thine own life's means!— Then 't is most like 
The soverignty will fall upon Macbeth. 

Macd. He is already nam'd; and gone to Scone, 
To be invested. 
Rosse. Where is Duncan's body? 

Macd. Carried to Colme-kill; 
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors. 
And guardian of their bones. 
Rosse. Will you to Scone? 

Macd. No, cousin, I '11 to Fife. 

Rosse. Well, I will thither. 

Macd. Well, may you see things well done there:— 
adieu! 
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new! 
Rosse. Farewell, father. 

Old M. God's benison go with you, and with those 
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 
ScENiS I.— Forres. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Banquo. 
Ban. Thou hast it now, king, Cawdor, Glamls, all, 
As the weird women promis'd; and I fear 
Thou play'dst most foully for 't: yet it was said. 
It should not stand in thy posterity; 
But that myself should be the root, and father 
Of man.v kings, if there come truth from them, 
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) 
Why, by the verities on thee made good, 
May the.v not be my oracles as well. 
And set me up in hope? But, hush; no more. 

Senet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as King: Lady 

Macbeth, as Qneen; Lenox, Rosse, Lords, Ladles, 

and Attendants. 

Macb. Here 's our chief guest. 

Lady M. If he had been forgotten 

It had been as a gap in our great feast. 
And all-thing unbecoming. 

Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir. 
And I '11 request your presence. 

Ban. Let your higliness 

Command upon me; to the which, my duties 
Are with a most indissoluble tie 
For ever knit. 

Macb. Ride you this afternoon? 

Ban. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. We should have else desir'd your good advice 
(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,) 
In this day's council; but we '11 take to-morrow. 
Is 't far you ride? 

Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, 
I must become a borrower of the night, 
For a dark hour, or twain. 

Macb. Fail not our feast. 

Ban. My lord, I will not. 

Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
In England, and in Ireland; not confessing 
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
With strange invention: But of that to-morrow; 
When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state. 
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: Adieu, 
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you? 

Ban. Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon us. 

Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot; 
And so I do commend you to their backs. 
Farewell. [Exit Banquo. 

Let every man be master of his time 
Till seven at night; to make society 
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
Till supper-time alone: while then, God be with 
you. 
[Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, &e. 
Sirrah, a word with you: Attend those men our plea- 
sure? 

Attend. They are, my lord, without the palace 
gate. 

Macb. Bring them before us.— [Exit Attend.] To be 
thus, is nothing; 
But to be safely thus: -Our fears in Banquo 
Stick deep; and in his royalty of nature 
Reigns that which would be fear'd: 't is much he 

dares; 
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind. 
He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
To act in safety. There is none but he 
Whose being I do fear: and under him 
My genius is rebuk'd; as, it is said, 
Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters,, 
When flrst they put the name of king upon me. 
And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like. 
They hail'd him father to a line of kings: 
Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown. 
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe. 
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand. 
No son of mine succeeding. If it be so. 
For Banquo's issue have I fil'd my mind; 
For them the gracious Duncan have I murther'd: 
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace. 
Only for them; and mine eternal jewel 
Given to the common enemy of man, 
■To make therii kings, the seed of Banquo kings! 
Bather than so, come, fate, into the list. 
And champion me to the utterance!— Who 's there?- 

Re-enter Attendant, with two Murderers. 
Now go to the door, and stay there till we call. 

[Exit Attendant. 
Was it not yesterday we spoke together? 
1 Mur. It was, so please your highness. 
Macb. Well then, now 

Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know, 
That it was he, in the times past, which held you 
So under fortune; which, you thought, had been 
Our innocent self: this I made good to you 
In our last conference; pass'd in probation with 

you, 
How you were borne in hand; how cross'd; the in- 
struments; ' 
Who wrought with them; and all things else, that 

might. 
To half a soul, and to a notion craz'd. 
Say, Thus did Banquo. 
1 Mur. You made it known to us. 

Macb. I did so; and went further, which is now 
Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
Your patience so predominant in your nature. 
That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd, 

To pray for this good man, and for his issue. 

Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave, 

And beggar'd yours for ever? 

1 ilfMr. We are men, my liege. 
Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; 

As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels 

curs, 
Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are cleped 
All by the name of dogs: the valued file 
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
The housekeeper, the hunter, every one 
According to the gift which bounteous nature 
Hath in him clos'd; whereby he does receive 
Particular addition, from the bill 
That writes them all alike: and so of men. 
Now, if you have a station in the file. 
Not in the worst rank of manhood, say it; 
And I will put that business in your bosoms 
Whose execution takes your euem.v off; 
Grapples you to the heart and love of us, 
Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
Which In his death were perfect. 

2 Mur. I am one, my liege 



S44 



JirACBETH. 



[Act III. 



Whom the vile blows ami bulTots of tlio world 
Havt* so ineens'd, that I am reckless what 
I do. to spite the world. 

1 Mar. And I another. 

So weary with disasters, tng^'d with fortune, 
That I would set n\.v life on any chance, 
To mend It, or be rid on 't. 

.V«c-(<. Both of you 

Know, Banquo was your enemy. 

2 Mm: True, my lord. 
Much. So Is he mine; and in such bloody distance, 

That every minute of being thrusts 
Against my near'st of life: And thouRh I could 
With bare-fae'd power sweep him from my sight, 
.\n<l bid my will avouch it, yet I must not. 
For certain friends that are both his and mine, 
Whose loves 1 may not drop, but wail his fall. 
Whom I myself sti'iiek down; and thence it is 
That I to your assistance do nuike love; 
Jlasklng the business from the common eye, 
For sundry weighty reasons. 

2 Mur. We shall, my lord, 

Perform what you command us. 

1 Mar. Though our lives 

Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within this 

hour, at most, 
I will advise you where to plant yourselves. 
Acquaint .you with the perfect spy o' the time. 
The moment on 't; for 't must be done tonight. 
And something from the palace; always thought 
That I require a clearness: And with him, 
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work.) 
Fleance his .son, th.at keeps him company. 
Whose absence is no less material to me 
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart; 
I '11 come to you anon. 

2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord. 
Mich. I '11 call upon you straight; abide within. 

It is concluded;— Banquo, thy soul's flight, 

If it And heaven, must find It out to-night. \Exeimt. 

Scene II.— r/w! same. Another Room. 

Enter Lady Macbeth and a Servant. 

Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court? 

Serf. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 

Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his lei- 
sure 
For a few words. 

Scrv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent, 
Where our desire is got without content: 
'T is safer to be that which we destroy. 
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 

Enter Macbeth. 
How now, my lord? why do you keep alone. 
Of sorriest fancies your companions making? 
Using those thoughts which should indeed have died 
With them they think on? Things without all remedy. 
Should be without regard: what 's done is done. 

Macb. We havescotch'd the snake, not kill'd it; 
She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice 
Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds 

suffer, 
Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
In the affliction of these terrible dreams. 
That shake us nightly: Better be with the dead. 
Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace. 
Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave; 
After life's fitful fever he sleeps well; 
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison, 
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
Can touch him further. 

Lady M. Come on; 

Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks; 
Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night. 

Mncb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: 
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; 
Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue: 
Unsafe the while, that we 

Must lave our honours in these flattering streams; 
And make our faces vizards to our hearts. 
Disguising what they are. 

Lady M. You must leave this. 

Mach. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife! 
Thou know'st that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 

Lady M. But in tliem nature's copy 's not eterne. 

Macb. There 's comfort yet; they are assailable; 
Then be thou jocund; Ere the bai hath flown 
His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's sunimons. 
The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums. 
Hath rung night's yawning peal. 
There shall be done a deed of dreadful note. 

Lady M. What 's to be done? 

Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest 
chuck. 
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, 
SUarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; 
And, with thy bloody and Invisible hand, 
Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond 
Which keeps me pale!— Light thickens; and the crow 
JIakes wing to the rooky wood; 
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; 
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. 
Tliou marvell'st at my words; but hold thee still; 
Tilings bad begun make strong themselves by ill: 
So, prithee, go with me. {Exeunt. 

Scene III.— The same. A Park or Lawn, with a Gate 
leading to the Palace. 

Enter three Murderers. 

1 Mm: But who did bid thee join with us? 
3illur. Macbeth. 

2 Miir. He needs not our mistust; since he delivers 
Our otlices, and what we have to do. 

To the direction just. 

\ Mu): Then stand with us. 

The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: 
Now spurs the lated traveller apace, 
To gain the timely inn; and near approaches 
The subject of our watch. 

3 Mur. Hark! I hear horses. 
Bon. \ Within.] Give us a light there, hoa! 

' 2 Mur. Then 't Is he; the rest 

That are within the note of expectation. 
Already are i' the court. 
1 ilfur. His horses go about. 

3 Mur. Almost a mile; but he does hsually. 
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate 
Hake it their walk. 



Enter Banquo a nd Fleance with a torch. 

2 Mur. A light, a light! 

3 Mur. 'T is he. 
1 Mur. Stand to 't. 

Bon. It will be rain tonight, 

1 Mur. Let it come down. 

[Assaults Banquo. 
Ban. O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly; 
Thou may'st revenge.— O slave! 

[Dies. Fleance escaijes. 
3 .Vwr. Who did strike out the light? 

1 .Wiir. Was 't not the way? 
3 Mur. There 's but one down; the son is fled. 

2 3Iur. We have lost best half of our affair. 

1 Mur. Well, let 's away, and say how much is done. 

lE.veunt. 

Scene IV. -^ Room of State in the Palace. 

A Banquet prejjared. 

Enter Macbeth, Lady Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, 

and Attendants, 

Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down; at 
first 
And last, the hearty welcome. 

Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 

Macb. Ourselves will mingle with society, 
And play the humble host. 
Our hostess keeps her state; but, in best time, 
We will require her welcome. 

Lady M. Pronounce It for me, sir, to all our friends; 
For my heart speaks, they are welcome. 

Enter first Murderer, to the door. 

Macb. See, they encounter thee with their hearts' 
thanks; 
Both sides are even: Here I '11 sit i' the midst: 
Be large in mirth; anon, we '11 drink a measure 
The table round. {A2iproaching the door.] There 's 
blood upon th.y face. 

Mur. 'T is Banquo's then. 

Macb. 'T is better thee without, than he within. 
Is he dispatch'd? 

Mur. My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him. 

Macb. Thou art the best o' the cutthroats: Yet 
he 's good. 
That did the like for Fleance: if thou didst it. 
Thou art the nonpareil. 

Mur. Most royal sir, 

Fleance is 'scap'd. 

Macb. Then comes my fit again: I had else been 
perfect; 
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock: 
As broad and general as the casing air; 
But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confln'd, bound In 
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo 's safe? 

Mur. Ay, my good lord: safe in a ditch he bides. 
With twenty trenched gashes on his head; 
The least a death to nature. 

Macb. Thanks for that: 

There the grown serpent lies; the worm, that 's fled. 
Hath nature that in time will venom breed. 
No teeth for the present.- Get thee gone: to-morrow 
We '11 hear, ourselves again. \Exit Murderer. 

Lady M. My royal lord. 

You do not give the cheer; the feast is sold 
That is not often vouch'd, while 't is a making, 
'T is given with welcome: To feed, were best at 

home; 
From thence, the sauce to meet is ceremony. 
Meeting were bare without it. 

Macb. Sweet remembrancer!- 

Now, good digestion wait on appetite. 
And health on both! 

Len. May it please your highness sit? 

Enter the Ghost of Banquo, and sits in Macbeth's 
place. 

Macb. Here had we now our country's honour 
roof'd. 
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present; 
Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 
Than pity for mischance! 

Eosse. His absence, sir. 

Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your high- 
ness 
To grace us with your royal company? 

Macb. The table 's full. 

Len. Here Is a place reserv'd, sir. 

Macb. Where? 

Len. Here, my good lord. What Is 't 

that moves your highness? 

Macb. Which of you have done this? 

iords. What, my good lord? 

Macb. Thou canst not say I did it: never shake 
Thy gory locks at me. 

Rosse. Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well. 

Lady M. Sit, worthy friends:— my lord is often 
thus. 
And hath been from his youth: 'pray you, keep seat; 
The fit is momentary; upon a thought 
He will again be well: If much you note him, 
You shall offend him, and extend his passion; 
Feed, and regard him not.— Are you a man? 

Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
Which might appal the devil. 

Lady M. O proper stuff! 

This is the very painting of your fear: 
This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said. 
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, 
(Impostors to true fear,) would well become 
A woman's stor.v, at a winter's fire, 
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself! 
Why do you make such faces? When all 's done. 
You look but on a stool. 

Macb. Prithee, see there! behold! look! lo! how say 
you? 
Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too.— 
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
Those that we burj', back, our monuments 
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disaiipears. 

Lady M. What! quite unmann'd in folly? 

Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 

Lady M. Fie, for shame! 

Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden 
time. 
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal; 
Ay, and since too, murthers have been perform'd 
Too terrible for the ear; the times have been. 
That when the brains were out, the man would die, 
And there an end; but now, they rise again. 
With twenty mortal murthers on their crowns, 
And push us from our stools: This is more strange 
Than such a munther is. 

Lady M. My worthy lord, 

Your noble friends do lack you. 



Macb. I do forget:— 

Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends; 
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
To those that know me. Come, love and health to 

all; 
Then I '11 sit down:— Give me some wine, fill full:— 

Re-enter Ghost. 
I drink to the general joy of the whole table. 
And to our dear friend Banquo. whom we miss. 
Would he were here! to all, and him, we thirst; 
And all to all. 

Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 

Macb. Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth 
hide thee! 
Thy bones are niarrowless, thy blood is cold; 
Thou hast no speculation In those eyes 
Which thou dost glare with! 

Lady M. Think of this, good peers. 

But as a thing of custom: 't is no other; 
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 

Macb. What man dare, 1 dare: 
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear. 
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger. 
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
Shall never tremble: Or. be alive again. 
And dare me to the desert with thy sword; 
If trembling I inhabit then, protest me 
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! 

[Ghost disappears. 
Unreal mockery, hence!- Why, so;— being gone, 
I am a man again.— Pray you, sit still. 

Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the 
good meeting. 
With most admir'd disorder. 

Macb. Can such things be, 

And overcome us like a summer's cloud. 
Without our special wonder? You make me strange 
Even to the disposition that I owe. 
When now I think you can behold such sights. 
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks. 
When mine are blanch'd with fear. 

Rosse. What sights, my lord? 

Lady M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse 
and worse; 
Question enrages him: at once, good night: — 
Stand not upon the order of your going. 
But go at once. 

ien. Good night, and better health 

Attend his majesty! 

Lady. M. A kind good night to all! 

[Exeunt Lords and Attendants. 

Macb. It will have blood; they say, blood will have 
blood: 
Stones have been known to move, and trees to 

speak; 
Augurs, and understood relations, have 
By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought 

forth 
The secret'st man of blood.— What is the night? 

Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is 
which. 

Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his 
person. 
At our great bidding? 

Lady M. Did you send to him, sir? 

Macb. I hear it by the way; but I will send: 
There 's not a one of them, but in his house 
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow 
(And betimes I will) to the weird sisters: 
jlore shall they speak; for now I am bent to know. 
By the worst means, the worst; for mine own good. 
All causes shall give way; I am in blood 
Stepp'd in so far, that, should I wade no more. 
Returning were as tedious as go o'er: 
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand; 
Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd. 

Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 

Macb. Come, we '11 to sleep: My strange and self- 
abuse 
Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use: 
We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. 

Scene V.—The Heath. Thunder. 

Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches. 

1 Witch. Why , ho w now, Hecate? .you look angerly. 

Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
Saucy, and over-bold? How did you dare 
To trade and traffic with Macbeth, 
In riddles, and affairs of death; 
And I, the mistress of your charms. 
The close contriver of all harms. 
Was never call'd to bear my part. 
Or show the glory of our art? 
And, which is worse, all you have done, 
Hath been but for a wayward son. 
Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do. 
Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
But make amends now: Get you gone. 
And at the pit of Acheron 
Meet me i' the morning; thither he 
Will Come to know his destiny. 
Your vessels, and your spells, provide. 
Your charms, and everything beside: 
I am for the air; this night I '11 spend 
Unto a dismal anc a fatal end. 
Great business must be wrought ere noon: 
Upon the corner of the moon 
There hangs a vaporous drop, profound; 
I '11 catch it ere it come to ground: 
And that, distill'd by magic slights. 
Shall raise such artificial sprites. 
As, by the strength of their illusion. 
Shall draw him on to his confusion: 
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear; 
And you all know, securlt.y 
Is mortal's chlefest enemy. 
Song. [Within.] 'Come away, come away,' &c. 
Hark, I am call'd; my little spirit, see. 
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 

I Witch. Come, let 's make haste: she '11 soon be 
back again. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI.— Forres. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Lenox, and another Lord. 

Len. My former speeches have but hit your 

thoughts. 

Which can Interpret farther; only, I say. 

Things have been strangely borne: 'The gracious 

Duncan 
Was pitied of Macbeth:— marry, he was dead;— 
And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late; 



SCEKE VI.] 



XA CBETIl. 



345 



Whom, you may say, if 't please vou. Fleance kiU'd, 

For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. 

Who cannot want the thought how monstrous 

It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, 

To kill their gracious father? damned fact! 

How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight. 

In pious rage, the two delinquents tear. 

That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep: 

Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; 

For "t would have anger'd any heart alive 

To hear the men deny it. So that, I say. 

He has borne all things well: and I do think. 

That, had he Duncan's sons under his key, 

(As, an 't plea.se heaven, he shall not,) they should 

find 
What "t were to kill a father; so should Fleance. 
But, peacel— for from broad words, and 'cause he 

fall'd 
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, 
Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell 
Where he bestows himself? 

Lord. The son of Duncan, 

From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
Lives in the English court; and is receiv'd 
Of the most pious Edward with such grace, 
That the malevolence of fortune nothing 
Takes from his high respect: Thither Macduft 
Is gone to pray the holy king, upon his aid 
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward: 
That, by the help of these, (with Him above 
To ratify the work,) we may again 
Give to our rabies meat, sleep to our nights; 
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives; 
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours;— 
All which we pine for now: And this report 
Hath so exasperate the king, that he 
Prepares for some attempt of war. 

it'll. Sent he to Ma<^duffi ? 

Lord. He did: and with an absolute, ' Sir, not I,' 
The cloudy messenger turns me his back. 
And hums: as who should say. ' You '11 rue the time 
That clogs me with this answer.' 

Len. And that well might 

Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
Fly to the court of England, and unfold 
His message ere he come; that a swift blessing 
Ma.v soon return to this our sufEering country 
Under a band accurs'd! 

Lord. I '11 send my prayers with him! 

[Exeunt. 

ACT IV 

Scene Z.—A dark Cave. In the middle a Caldron 

boiling. Thunder. 

Enter the three Witches. 

1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 

2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 

3 Witch. Harpier cries.— 'T is time, 'tis time. 

1 Witch. Round about the caldron go; 
In the poison'd entrails throw. 
Toad, that under cold .stone. 

Days and nights hast thirty-one 
Swelter'd venom sleeping got. 
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot! 
All. Double, double, toil and trouble; 
Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 

2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake. 
In the caldron boil and bake: 
Eye of newt, and toe of frog. 
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog. 
Adder's fork, and blind -worm's sting, 
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 

For a charm of powerful trouble; 
Like a hell-broth boll and bubble. 
AIL Double, double, toil and trouble; 
Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 

3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; 
Witches' mummy, maw and gulf 

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark; 
Root of hemlock digg'd i' the dark; 
Liver of blaspheming Jew; 
Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; 
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips; 
Finger of birth-strangled babe. 
Ditch deliver'd by a dfrab. 
Make the gruel thick and slab; 
And thereto a tiger's chaudron. 
For the ingredients of our caldron. 
All. Double, double, toil and trouble; 

Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 
2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, 
Then the charm is firm and good. 
Enter Hecate. 
Hee. O", well done! I commend your pains; 
And everj' one shall share i' the gains, 
And now about the caldron sing. 
Like elves and fairies in a ring. 
Enchanting all that you put in. 

[Music and a Song, ' Black spirits,' &c. 
2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
Something wicked this wa.v comes:— 
Open, locks, whoever knocks. 

Enter Macbeth. 
Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight 
hags. 
What is 't you do? 
All. A deed without a name. 

yiach. I conjure you, by that which you profess, 
(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me: 
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
Against the churches: though the yesty waves 
Confound and swallow navigation up; 
Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown 

down; 
Though castles topple on their warders' heads; 
Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
Their heads to their foundations; though the trea- 
sure 
Of nature's germins tumble all together, 
Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
To what I ask you. 

1 Witch. Speak. 

2 Witch. Demand. 

3 Witch. We 'U answer. 

1 Witch. Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from our 
mouths. 
Or from our masters'? 
Macb. Call them, let me see them. 

1 » itch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
Her nine farrow; grease, that 's sweateu 



From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
Inio the flame. 
.17/. Come, high, or low; 

Thyself, and office, deftly shosv. 

Thunder. An Ajiparition of an armed Head rises. 
Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power,— 
1 Witch. He knows thy thought: 

Hear his speech, but say thou nought. 
App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Mac- 
duff; 
Beware the thane of Fife.— Dismiss me:— Enough. 

[Ve.'icends. 
Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution, 
thanks; 
Tliou hast harp'd my fear aright:— But one word 
more 



L. Macd. Wl.sdom! to leave his wife, to leave his 
babes. 
His mansion, and his titles. In a place 
From whence himself does fly? He loves us not; 
He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, 
The most diminutive of birds, will fight. 
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
All is the fear, and nothing is the love; 
As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
So runs against all reason. 

Rosse. My dearest coz, 

I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband 
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows ' 

The fits o' the season. I dare not speak much fur- 
ther: 
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors. 



1 Witch. He will not be commanded: Here 's an- '^^^ ^° ?°' '^"°."' ourselves; when we hold rumour 



other. 

More potent than the first. 
Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises. 

App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth!— 

Macb. Had I three ears, I 'd hear thee. 

App. Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn 
The power of man, for none of woman born 
Shall harm JIacbeth. [Descends. 

Macb. Then live, Macduff: What need I fear of 
thee? 
But yet I '11 make assurance doubly sure. 
And take a bond of fate: thou Shalt not live; 
That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies. 
And sleep in spite of thunder.— What is this. 
Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with 

a Tree in his Hand, rises. 
That rises like the issue of a king: 
And wears upon his baby brow the round 
And top of sovereignty? 

All. Listen, but speak not to 't. 

App. Be lion-mettled, proud; and take no care 
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: 
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
Shall come against him. [Descends. 

Macb. That will never be; 

AVho can Impress the forest; bid the tree 
Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements good, 
Rebellious head rise never, till the wood 
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
Sliall live the lease of nature, paj' his breath 
To time, and mortal custom.— Yet my heart 
Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, (if your arc 
Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever 
Reign in this kingdom? 

All. Seek to know no more. 

Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this. 
And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know:— 
Why sinks that caldron? and what noise is this? 

[Hautboys. 

1 Witch. Show! 

2 Witch. Show! 

3 Witch. Show! 

All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 
Come like shadows, so depart. 

Eight Kings appear, and pass over the Stage in 

order; the last with a Glass in his hand; Banquo 

follotving. 

Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; 
down! 
Thy crown does sear mine eyeballs:— And thy hair. 
Thou other gold -bound brow, is like the first:— 
A third is like the former:— Filthy hags! 
Why do you show me this?— A fourth?— Start, eyes! 
What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom? 
Another yet?— A seventh?— I '11 see no more:— 
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass 
Which shows me many more; ana some I see. 
That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry: 
Horrible sight!— Now, I see, 't is true; 
For the blood-bolter'd Banquo smiles upon me, 
And points at them for his.— What, is this so? 

1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so;— But why 
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? 
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites. 
And show the best of our delights; 
I '11 charm the air to give a sound. 
While you perform your antique round: 
That this great king may kindly say. 
Our duties did his welcome pay. 

[Music. The Witches dance, and vanish. 

Macb. Where are they? Gone?— Let this pernicious 
hour 
Stand aye accursed in the calendar!— 
Come in, without there! 

Enter Lenox. 

Len. What 's your grace's will? 

Macb. Saw you the weird sisters? 

Len. No, my lord. 

Macb. Came they not by you? 

Len. No, indeed, my lord. 

Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride; 
And damn'd all those that trust them!- i did hear 
The galloping of horse: Who was 't came by? 

Len. 'T is two or three, ray lord, that bring you 
word, 
Macduff is fled to England. 

Macb. Fled to England? 

Len. Ay, my good lord. 

Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits: 
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook. 
Unless the deed go with it; From this moment. 
The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
The firstlings of my hand. And even now, 
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and 

done: 
The castle of Macduff I will surprise; 
Seize upon Fife; give to the edge o' the sword 
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
That trace him in his line. No boasting like a fool; 
Tins deed I 'II do before this purpose cool: 
But no more sights!— Where are these gentlemen' 
Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. 

Enter Lady Macdulf. her Son, and Rosse. 



L. Macd. ^^Jhat had he done to make him fly the [ To appease an angi-y God 

Rosse. You must have patience, madam. 
^L-Jf""^- He had none; 

His flight was madness: when our actions do not. 
Our fears do make us traitors. 

Rosiie. You know not 

W hether it was his wisdom, or his fear. 



rom what we fear; yet know not what we fear; 
But float upon a wild and violent sea. 
Each way, and move.— I take my leave of you: 
Shall not be long but I '11 be here again: 
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
To what they were before.— My pretty cousin. 
Blessing upon you! 
L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he 's fatherless. 
Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, 
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort: 
I take my leave at once. [E.vit Rosse 

L. Macd. Sirrah, your father 's dead; 
And what will you do now? How will you live? 
Son. As birds do, motlier. 

L. Macd. What, with worms and flies? 

Son. With what I get, I mean; and so do thev. 
L. Macd. Poor bird! thou 'dst never fear the net, 
nor lime. 
The pit-fall, nor the gin. 
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are 
not set for. 
My father is not dead, for all your saying. 
L. Macd. Yes, he is dead; how wilt thou do for a 

father? 
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? 
L Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any mar- 
ket. 
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again. 
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and yet, i' 
faith. 
With wit enough for thee. 
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? 
L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 
Son. What is a traitor? 
L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 
Son. And be all traitors that do so? 
L. Macd. Every one that does so Is a traitor, and 
must be hanged. 

Son. And must they all be hanged that swear and 
lie? 
L. Macd. Every one. 
Son. Who must hang them? 
L. Macd. Why, the honest men. 
Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools: for 
there are liars and swearers enow to beat the honest 
men, and hang up them. 

L. Macd. Now, god help thee, poor monkey! But 
how wilt thou do for a father? 

Son. If he were dead, you'd weep tor him: it you 
would not, It were a good sign that I should quickly 
have a new father. 
L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talkest. 

Enter a Messenger. 
JJfcss. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you 
known. 
Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 
I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly: 
If you will take a homely man's advije. 
Be not found here; hence, with your little ones. 
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage; 
To do worse to you were fell cruelty. 
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve 

you! 
^ $^''?,^''!**® "° longer. [Exit Messenger. 

L. Macd. Whither should I fly? 

I have done no harm. But I remember now 
I am in this earthly world; where, to do harm 
Is often laudable; to do good, sometime. 
Accounted dangerous folly: Why, then, alas' 
Do I put up that womanly defence. 
To say, I have done no harm? What are thesa 
faces? 

Enter Murderers. 
Mur. Where is your husband? 
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified. 
Where such as thou mayst find him. 

¥"''-r^u ,• . .^ , He 's a traitor.. 

Son. Thou liest, thou shag-ear'd villain. 
ittMr. What, you egg! [Stabbing him.. 

Young fry of treachery! 

„ Son. He has kill'd me, mother: 

Run away, I pray you. [Dies 

[Exit Lady Macduff, crying ' Murder,' and' 
pursued by the Murderers. 
Scene III.— England. A Room in the King's 
Palace. 
Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 
Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, andi 
there 
Weep our sad bosoms empty. 

Macd. Let us rather. 

Hold fast the mortal sword; and, like good men. 
Bestride our down-faU'n birthdom: Each new morn, 
■New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows i 
Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
Like syllable of dolour. 

Mai. What I believe I '11 wail; 

What know, believe; and, what lean redress. 
As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues. 
Was once thought honest; you have lov'd him well; 
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young, but some- 
thing 
\ ou may deserve of him through me; and wisdom 
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent Iamb, 



Macd. I am not treacherous. 
! 3Ial. But Macbeth is. 

I -A good and virtuous nature may recoil, 
I In an imperial charge. But I shall crave your- 

pardon; 
I That which you are my thoughts cannot transpose: ■ 
.A'i,'Is are bright still, thought the brightest fell: 



346 



MA CBETIf. 



LACT V. 



Thoush all things foul would weai' the brows of 

grace, 
Yet Krace must still look so. 

Macd. I have lost my hopes. 

Mat. Perc-hanee, even there, where I did And my 
doubts. 
Why In that rawness left you wife and child, 
(Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,> 
Without leave-taking?— I pray you. 
Let not mv Jealousies be your dishonours. 
But mine own safeties:— You may be rightly just. 
Whatever 1 shall think. 

Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country! 

Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure. 
For goodness dare not check thee! wear thou thy 

wrongs. 
The title Is affeer'd.-Fare thee well, lord: 
1 would not be the villain that thou think'st 
For the whole space that 's in the tyrant's grasp, 
And the rich East to boot. 

Mnl. Be not Offended; 

1 speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
I tnink, our country sinks beneatli the yoke; 
It weeps, it bleeds: and each new day a gash 
Is added to her wounds: I think, withal. 
There would be hands uplifted in my right; 
And here, from gracious England, have I oilier 
Of goodly thousands: But, for all this. 
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head. 
Or wear It on my sword, yet my poor country 
Shall have more vices than It had before; 
More suffer, and more sundi-y ways than ever. 
By him that shall succeed. 

Macd. What should he be? 

Mai. It is myself I mean: in whom I know 
All the particulars of vice so grafted. 
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
Will seem as piire as snow; and the poor state 
Esteem him as a lamb, being compared 
With my conftneless harms. 

Macd. Not in the legions 

Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd 
In evils, to top Macbeth. 

Mai. I grant him bloody. 

Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful. 
Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
That has a name: But there 's no bottom, none. 
In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters. 
Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up 
The cistern of my lust; and my desire 
All continent Impediments would o'erbear. 
That did oppose my will: Better Macbeth, 
Than such a one to reign. 

Macd. Boundless intemperance 

In nature is a tyranny; It hath been 
The untimely emptying of the happy throne, 
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
To take upon you what is yours: you may 
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty. 
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hoodwink. 
We have willing dames enough; there cannot be 
That vulture in you, to devour so many 
As will to greatness dedicate themselves. 
Finding it so inclin'd. 

Mai. With this there grows. 

In my most ill-compos'd affection, such 
A staunehless avarice, that, were I king, 
I should cut off the nobles for their lands; 
Desire his jewels, and this other's house: 
And my more-having would be as a sauce 
To make me hunger more: that I should forge 
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal. 
Destroying them for wealth. 

Macd. This avarice 

Sticks deeper; grows with more pernicious root 
Than summer-seeming lust; and it hath been 
■The sword of our slain kings: Yet do no fear; 
Scotland hath foysons to fill up your will 
Of your mere own: All these are portable. 
With other graces weigh'd. 

Mai. But I have none: The king-becoming graces, 
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, 
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness. 
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
I have no relish of them; but abound 
In the division of each several crime. 
Acting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 
Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell. 
Uproar the universal peace, confound 
All unity on earth. 

Macd. O Scotland! Scotland! 

Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak: 
I am as I have spoken. 

Macd. Fit to govern! 

No. not to live.— O nation miserable. 
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter'd, 
When Shalt thoa see thy wholesome days again? 
Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, 
And does blaspheme his breed?— Thy royal father 
Was a most sainted king; the queen, that bore thee. 
Of t'ner upon her knees than on her feet, 
Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! 
These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself 
Have banish'd me from Scotland. — O, my breast. 
Thy hope ends here! 

Mai. Macduff, this noble passion. 

Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts 
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 
By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me 
From over-credulous haste: But God aboVe 
Deal between thee and me! for even now 
I put myself to thy direction, and 
Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure 
The taints and blames I laid upon myself. 
For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
Unknown to woman; never was forsworn; 
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own; 
At no time broke my faith; would not betray 
The devil to his fellow; and delight 
No less In truth, than life: my first falsespeaking 
Was this upon myself: What I am truly. 
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command: 
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, 
Old Slward, with ten thousand warlike men. 
Already at a point, was setting forth; 
Now we '11 together: And the chance, of goodness. 
Be like our warranted quarrel! Why are you silent? 

Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at 
once, 
'T is hard to reconcile. 



Enter a Doctor. 

Mai. Well; more anon.— Comes the king forth, I 
pray you? 

Doct. Ay, sir: thei'e are a crew of wretched souls 
That stay his cure: their malady convinces 
The great assay of art; but, at his touch, 
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, 
They presently amend. 

Mat. I thank you, doctor. 

{E.v)t Doctor. 

Macd. What 's the disease he means? 

Mat. 'T Is called the evil; 

A most miraculous work in this good king: 
Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven. 
Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people, 
AH swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 
The mere despair of surgery, he cures; 
Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, 
Put on with holy prayers: and 't Is spoken. 
To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue. 
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy; 
And sundry blessings hang about his throne. 
That speak him full of grace. 

Enter Rosse. 

Macd. See, who comes here? 

Mai. My countryman; but yet I know him not. 

Macd. Sly ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 

Mai. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove 
The means that make us strangers! 

Rosse. Sir, Amen. 

Macd. Stands Scotland where it did? 

Mosse. Alas, poor country; 

Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing, 
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile; 
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rend the 

air. 
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems 
A modern ecstacy; the dead man's knell 
Is there scarce ask'd, for who; and good men's lives 
Expire before the flowers in their caps. 
Dying, or ere they sicken. 

Macd. O, relation, 

Too nice, and yet too true! 

Mai. What 's the nowest grief? 

Eosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; 
Each minute teems a new one. 

Macd. How does my wife? 

Eosse. Why, well. 

Macd. And all my children? 

Eosse. Well, too. 

Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace? 

Bosse. No; they were well at peace, when I did 
leave them. 

Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech: How goes 
it? 

Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tid- 
ings. 
Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumour 
Of many worthy fellows that were out; 
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot: 
Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland 
Would create soldiers, make our women fight 
To doff their dire distresses. 

Mai. Be 't their comfort. 

We are coming thither: gracious England hath 
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men; 
An older, and a better soldier, none 
That Christendom gives out. 

Rosse. 'Would I could answer 

This comfort with the like! But I have words 
That would be how I'd out in the desert air. 
Where hearing should not latch them. 

Macd. What concern they 

The general cause? or is it a fee-grief, 
Due to some single breast? 

Rosse. No mind that 's honest 

But in it shares some woe; though the main part 
Pertains to you alone. 

3Iacd. If it be mine, 

Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 

Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for 
ever. 
Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound 
That ever yet they heard. 

Macd. Humph! I guess at It. 

Rosse, Your castle is surpris'd; your wife, and 
babes. 
Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner. 
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer. 
To add the death of you. 

Mai. Merciful heaven! — 

What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your browns. 
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak 
Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids It break. 

Macd. My children too? 

Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all that could be 
found. 

Macd. And I must be from thence! My wife kill'd 
too? 

Rosse. I have said. 

Mai. Be comforted: 
Let 's make us med'clnes of our great revenge. 
To cure this deadly grief. 

Macd. He has no children.— All my pretty ones? 
Did you say, all?— O, hell-kite!— All? 
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, 
At one fell swoop? 

Mai. Dispute it like a man. 

Macd. I shall do so; 

But I must also feel it as a man: 
I cannot but remember such things were, 
That were most precious to me.— Did heaven look 

on. 
And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, 
They were all struck for thee! naught that I am, 
Not for their own demerits, but for mine. 
Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them 
now! 

Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword: let grief 
Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 

Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, 
And braggart with my tongue!— But, gentle heavens, 
Cut short all Intermission; front to front. 
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; 
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape. 
Heaven forgive him too! 

Mai. This time goes manly; 

Come, go we to the king; our power is leady. 
Our lacTc is nothing but our leave: Macbeth 
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 



Put on their Instruments. Receive what cheer you 

niay; 
The night is long that never finds the day. \Exe. 

ACT V. 
Scene I.— Dunslnane. A Room in the Caatle. 

Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentle- 
woman. 

Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but can 
perceive no truth in your report. When was it she 
la.st walked? 

Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have 
seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown 
upon her, u?doek her closet, take forth paper, fold 
it, write upon 't, read it, afterwards seal it, and 
again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast 
sleep. 

Doct. A great perturbation in nature! to receive at 
once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of 
watching.— In this slumbery agitation, besides her 
walking and other actual performances, what, at 
any time, have you heard hei- say? 

Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her. 

Doct. You may, to me; and 't is most meet you 
should. 

Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no wit- 
ness to eonfirm my speech. 

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper. 
Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise; and, 
upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her: stand close. 

Doct. How came she by that light? 

Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by her 
continually; 't is her command. 

Doct. You see, her eyes are open. 

Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. 

Dnct. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs 
her hands. 

Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem 
thus washing her hands. I have known her continue 
in this a quarter of an hour. 

Lady M. Yet here's a spot. 

Doct. Hark, she speaks: I will set down what 
comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the 
more strongly. 

Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say!— One; Two: 
Why, then 't is time to do 't!— Hell is murky!-^Fie, 
my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard! What need we 
fear who knows it, when none can call our power to 
account?— Yet who would have thought the old man 
to have had so much blood in him! 

Doct. Do you mark that? 

Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife; Where Is 
she now?— What, will these hands ne'er be clean'. 
—No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that: you mar 
all with this starting. 

Doct. Go to, go to; you have known what you 
should not. 

Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am 
sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. 

Lady M. Here 's the smell of the blood still: all 
the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
hand. Oh! oh! oh! 

Doct. What a sigh is there! The heart Is sorely 
charged. 

Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, 
for the dignity of the whole body. 

Doct. Well, well, well,— 

Gent. 'Pray God, It be, sir. 

Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I 
have known those which have walked in their 
sleep who have died hollly in their beds. 

Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night- 
gown; look not so pale:— I tell you yet again. Ban- 
quo 's buried; he cannot come out on 's grave. 

Doct. Even so? 

LadyM. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at the 
gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. 
What 's done cannot be undone; To bed, to bed, to 
bed. . (Exit Lady Macbeth. 

Doct. Will she go now to bed? 

Gent. Directly. 

Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad: Unnatural 
deeds 
Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds 
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
More needs she the divine than the physician. 
God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; 
Remove from her the means of all annoyance. 
And still keep eyes upon her:— So, good night: 
My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight: 
I think, but dare not speak. 

Gent. Good night, good doctor. [Exe. 

Scene II.— The Coxntry near Dunsinane. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Menteth, Cath- 
ness, Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers. 

Ment. The English power is near, led on by Mal- 
colm, 
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. 
Revenges biu-n in them: for their dear causes ■ 
Would, to the bleeding and the grim alarm. 
Excite the mortified man. 

Ang. Near Birnam wood 

Shall we well meet them; that way are the.v coming. 

Cath. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother? 

Len. For certain, sir, he is not: I have a file 
Of all the gentry: there is Siward's son. 
And man.y unrough youths, that even now 
Protest their first of manhood. 

Ment. What does the tyrant? 

Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies: 
Some say he 's mad; others, that lesser hate him, 
Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain, 
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause 
Within the belt of rule. 

Ang. Now does he feel 

His secret murthers sticking on his hands; 
Now mintitely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; 
Those he commands move only in command, 
Nothing in love: now does he feel his title 
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
Upon a dwarfish thief. 

Ment. Who then shall blame 

His pester'd senses to recoil, and start. 
When all that is within him does condemn 
Itself, for being there? 

Cath. Well, march we on. 

To give obedience where 't is truly ow'd: 
Meet we the medicine of the sickly weal; 
And with him pour we. In our country's purge, 
Each drop of us. 

ie». Or so much as It needs. 

To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. 



Scene u.) 



MA CBETII. 



247 



Make we our march towards Biriiain. 

iExeunt, marching. 

Scene III.— Dunsinane. A Roont in the Castle. 

Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendanta. 

Mach. Brinp me no more reports; let them fly alt; 
Till Biriiam would remove to Dunslnalie, 
I cannot taint with fear. What 's the boy Malcolm? 
Wa.s he not born of woman? The spirits that know 
All mortal consequences have pronouno'd me thus: 
' Fear not, Macbeth; no man that 's born of woman 
Shall e'er have power upon thee.' Then fly, false 

thanes. 
And mingle with the English epicures: 
The mind I swa.v by, and the heart I bear. 
Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. 

Enter a Servant. 
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon; 
Where gott'st thou that goose look? 

Sell'. There is ten thousand— 

Macb Geese, villain? 

Sen: Sold iers, sir. 

Macb. Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, 
Thou lily-llver'd boy. Whai; soldiers, patch? 
Death ol thv soul! those linen cheeks of thine 
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? 

Sen: The English force, so please you. 

Macb. Take thy face hence.— Seytonl— I am sick at 
heart. 
When I behold— Seyton, I say!— This push 
Will cheer me ever, or dis-seat me now. 
I have liv'd long enough: my way of life 
Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf: 
And that which should accompany old age, 
As honour,. love, obedience, troops of friends, 
I must not look to have; but, in their stead. 
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, 
Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. 
Seyton!— 

Enter Seyton. 

Sey. What 's your gracious pleasure? 

Maeb. What news more? 

Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. 

Macb. I '11 tight, till from my bones my flesh be 
hack'd. 
Give me my armour. 

Sey. 'T is not needed yet. 

Macb. I '11 put it on. 
Send out more horses, skir the country round; 
Hang those that talk of tear.— Give me mine arm- 
our:— 
How does your patient, doctor? 

jDocf. Not so sick, my lord, 

AS slie is troubled with thick-coming fancies. 
That keep liei from her rest. 

Macb. Cure her of that: 

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd: 
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; 
Raze out the written troubles of the brain; 
And, with son\e sweet oblivious antidote. 
Cleanse the stuft'd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
Which weighs upon the heart? 

Doct. Therein the patient 

Must minister to himself. 

Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I '11 none of it.— 
Come, put mine armoui on; give me ray staff:— 
Seyton, send out.— Doctor, the thanes fly from 

me:— 
Come, sir, dispatch:— It thou could'st, doctor, cast 
The water of my land, find her disease, 
And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
■That should applaud again.— Pull 't off, I say.— 
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, 
Would scour these English hence?— Hearest thou of 
them? 

Doct. Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation 
Makes us hear something. 

Macb. Bring it after me. — 

I will not be afraid of death and bane. 
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit. 

Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear. 
Profit again should hardly draw me here. [ixit. 

Scene IV.— Country near Dunsinane: A Wood 

in view. 

Enter, with drum and colours, Malcolm, old Siward 

and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, Cathness, Angus, 

Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching. 

Mai. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand, 
That chambers will be safe. 

Ment. We doubt it nothing. 

Siiv. What wood is this before us? 

Ment. The wood of Birnam. 

Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough. 
And bear 't before him; thereby shall we shadow 
The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
Err in report of us. 

Sold. ft shall be done. 

Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant 
Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
Our setting down before 't. 

Mai. 'T is his main hope: 

For where there is advantage to be given, 
Both more and less have given him the revolt; 
And none serve with him but constrained things. 
Whose hearts are absent too. 

Macd. Let our just censures 

Attend the true event, and put we on 
Industrious soldiership. 

Siw. The time approaches, 

That will with due decision make us know 
What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate; 
But certain issue strokes must abitrate: 
Towards which advance the war. 



ScEXE v.— Dunsinane. Within the Castle. 

Enter, with drums and colours. Macbeth, Seyton, and 
Soldiers. 

Mach. Hang out our banners on the outward walls; 
The cry is still, ' They come:' Our castle's strength 
Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie. 
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up: 
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, 
We might have met them daretui, beard to beard. 
And beat them backward hemic. What is that 
noise? [A cry irilhin, of women. 

Sey. It is the cry of women, my gootl lord. 

Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears: 
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair 
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir 
AS life were in 't; I have supp'd full with horrors; 
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, 
Cannot once start me.— Wherefore was tliat cry? 

Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 

Macb. She should have died hereafter; 
There would have been a time for such a word.— 
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and tomorrow, 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day. 
To the last syllable of recorded time; 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dust.v death. Out, out, brief candle! 
Life 's but a walking shadow: a poor player 
That struts and fiets his hour upon the stage, 
And then is heard no more; it is a tale 
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. 
Signifying nothing.— 

Enter a Messenger. 
Thou com'st to use thy tongue; thy story quickly. 

Mess. Gracious my lord, 
I should report that which I say I saw. 
But know not how to do it. 

Macb. Well, say, sir. 

Mess, As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
I look'd towaVd Birnam, and, anon, methouglit, 
Tlie wood began to move. 

Macb. Liar, and slave! 

[Striking him. 

31e.<is. Let me endure your wrath if 't be not so; 
Within this three mile may you see it coming; 
I say, a moving grove. 

Macb. If thou speak'st false. 

Upon the next tree Shalt thou hang alive, 
'Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth, 
I care not if thou dost for me as much.— 
I pull in resolution; and begin 
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend. 
That lies like truth: ' Fear not, till Birnam wood 
Do come to Dunsinane;'— and now a wood 
Comes toward Dunsinane.— Arm, arm, and out!— 
It this which he avouches does appear. 
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here. 
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun. 

And wish the estate o' the world were now undone.— 
Ring the alarum-bell:— Blow wind! come wrack! 
At least we '11 die with harness on our back. [Exe. 

Scene VJ.—The same. A Plain before the Castle. 
Enter, with drums and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, 
Macduff, tfcc, and their Army, tvith boughs. 
3Ial. Now, near enough; your leavy screens throw 
down. 
And show like those you are:- You, worthy uncle. 
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son. 
Lead our first battle: worthy Macduff, and we, 
Shall take upon us what else remains to do, 
According to our order. 

Siw. Fare you well.— 

Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, 
Let us be beaten if we cannot fight. 
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all 
breath, 
Those clatnorous harbingers of blood and death. 

lExeunt. Alarums continited. 

Scene VII.— Tfte same. Another Fart of the Plain. 

Enter Macbeth. 
Macb. They have tied me fo a stake; I cannot fly. 
But, bear-like, I must fight the course.— What 's he 
That was not born of woman? Such a one 
Am I to fear, or none. 

Enter Young Siward. 
Yo. Siw, What is thy name? 

Macb. Thou 'It be afraid to hear it. 

Yo. Siw. No; though thou call'st thyself a hotter 
name 
Than any is in hell. 
3Iacb. My name 's Macbeth. 

Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce a 
title 
More hateful to mine ear. 
Macb. No, nor more fearful. 

Fo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my 
sword 
I '11 prove the lie thou speak'st. 

[They fight, and young Siward is slain. 
Mach. Thou wast born of woman.— 

But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 
Brandish'd by man that 's of a woman born. [Exit. 
Alarums. Enter Macduff. 
Macd. That way the noise is:— Tyrant, show thy 
face: 
It thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine. 
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. 
I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms 
Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth, 
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, 
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be; 
By this great clatter, one of greatest note 



Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune! 
And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum. 

Enter Malcolm and old Siward. 
Siw. This way, my lord;— the castle 's gently ren- 
der'd: 
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; 
The noble thanes do bravely In the war; 
The day almost itself professes yours, 
And little is to do. 

Mai. We have met with foes 

That strike beside us. 
Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. 

[ Exeunt. Alarum. 
Re.enter Macbeth. 

Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die 
On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashes 
Do better upon them. 

Re-enter Macduff. 

Macd. Turn, hellhound, turn. 

Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee: 
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd 
With blood of thine already. 

Macd. I have no words. 

My voice is in my sword; thou bloodier villain 
Than terms can give thee out! [They fight 

Macb. Thou losest labour: 

As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air 
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: 
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests; 
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
To one of woman born. . 

Macd. Despair thy charm; 

And let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd 
Tell thee, Macduff was from his motlier's womb 
Untimely ripp'd. 

3Iacb. Accursed be the tongue that tells me so. 
For it hath cow'd my better part of man! 
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd, 
That palter with us in a double sense; 
That keep the word of promise to our ear. 
And break it to our hope.— I '11 not fight with thee. 

Macd. Then yield thee, coward. 
And live to be the show and gaze o' the time. 
We '11 have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 
Painted upon a pole; and imderwrit, 
' Here may you see the tyrant.' 

Macb. I will not yield. 

To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born. 
Yet £ will try the last: Before my body 
I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; 
And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough. 

[Exeunt, fighting 
Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter, with drum and colours, 

Malcolm, okl Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angus, Cath- 
ness, Menteth, and Soldiers. 

Mai. I would the friends we miss were safe at 
rlv'd. 

Siic. Some must go off; and yet, by these I see, 
So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 

Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. 

Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid asoidier's deb! 
He only liv'd but till he was a man; 
The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd. 
In the unshrinking station where he fought, 
But like a man he died. 

Siw. Then he is dead? 

Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field: your cause of 
sorrow 
Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then 
It hath no end. 

Siw. Had he his hurts before? 

Rosse. Ay, on the front. 

Siw. Why, then, God's soldit^r be he! 

Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
I would not wish them to a fairer death; 
And so his knell is knoU'd. 

Mai. He 's worth more ;orrow. 

And that I '11 spend for him. 

Siw. He 's worth no more; 

They say, he parted well, and paid his score: 
And so, God be with him!— Here comes newer com- 
fort. 

Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's head. 

Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, where 
stands 
The usurper's cursed head: the time is free: 
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
That speak my salutation in their minds; 
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine,— 
Hail, Icing of Scotland! 

AH. Hail, king of Scotland! 

[Flourish. 

Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of time. 
Before we reckon with your several loves. 
And make us even with you. My thanes and kins- 
men. 
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
In such an honour nam'd. What 's more to do. 
Which would be planted newly with the time- 
As calling home our exii'd friends abroad 
That fted the snares of watchful tyranny; 
Producing forth the cruel ministeis 
Of this dead butcher, and his flend-Iike queen. 
Who, as 't is thought, by self and violent hands 
Took off her life;— this, and what needful else 
That calls upon tis, by the grace of Grace, 
We will perform in measure, time, and place: 
So thanks to all at once, and to each one, 
Wliom we invite to see us crovvn'd at Scone. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 



ajs 



TIM ox OF ATIIESS. 



LAOT I. 



TIMON OF ATHENS. 



rERSOXS nKPIiESJSNTED. 



TiMON, a noble Athenian. 

Lucius, 

lucullus, 

SEMPIiOMUS, 



Lords and flatterers 
Timon. 



of 



Ventidius, one ()/'Tlnion's/a7st'/ru'i»f!s. 
Apkmantus, o churlish philosopher. 
ALciBiADES, an Atheniar. general. 
Flavius, steward to Timon. 




Timon's servants. 



servants to Timon's cred- 
ilors. 



Two servants of VaiTO, and the sei'vant 
of Isadore, tim of Timon's creditors. 
Cupid and Maskers. 
Three Strangers. 
Poet. 
Painter. 
Jeweller. 
Merchant. 
An old Athenian. 



A Page. 
A Fool. 
Phrynia, 

TiMANDRA, 



mistresses to Alcibiades. 



Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Sol- 

diei'S, Banditti, and Attendants. 
SCENE.— Athens; and the woods ad- 
Joining. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— Athens. A Hall in Timon's House. 

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller. Merchant, and others' 
at several doors. 

Poet. Good day, sir. 

Pain. I am glad you are well. 

Poet. I have not seen you long: How goes the 
world ? 

Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. 

Poet. Ay, that "s well known; 

But what particular rarity? what strange. 
Which manifold record not matches? See, 
Magic of bounty I all these spirits thy power 
Hath conjur'd to attend. I Know the merchant. 

Pain. I know them both; th' other 's a jeweller. 

Mer. O, 't IS a worthy lordl 

Jew. Nay, that 's most flx'd. 

Mer. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it 
were. 
To an untirable and coiitinuate goodness: 
He passes. 

Jew. I have a jewel here. 

Mer. O, pray, let 's see 't: For the lord Timon, sir':" 

Jew. If he will touch the estimate: But, for that— 

Poet. "When we for recompense have prais'd the 
vile, 
It stains the glory in that happy verse 
Which aptly sings the good.' 

Mer. 'T is a good form. {Looking at the jewel. 

Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you. 

Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedi- 
cation 
To the great lord. 

Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 

Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes 
From whence 't is nourished : The fire 1' the flint 
Shows not till it be struck, our gentle flame 
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies 
Each bound it chafes What have you there? 

Pain. A picture, sir.— When comes your book 
forth? 

Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 
Let 's see your piece. 

Pain. 'T is a good piece 

Poet. So 't is: this comes olt well and excellent. 

Pain. Indifferent. 

Poet. Admirable: How this grace 

Speaks his own standingl what a mental power 
This eye shoots forth' how big imagination 
Moves in this lip' to the dumbness of the gesture 
One might interpret. 

Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life 
Here is a touch: Is 't good? 

Poet. I '11 say of It 

It tutors nature; artificial strife 
Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 

Enter certain Senators, and pass over. 

Pain. How this lord 's follow'dl 

Poet. The senators of Athens:-Happy men! 

Pain. Look, more! 

Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of 
visitors. 
I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man 
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
With amplest enteriainment: My free drift 
Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
In a wide sea of wa.x: no levell'd malice 
Infects one comma in the course I hold; 
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, 
Leaving no tract behind. 

Pain. How shall I understand you' 

Poet. I '11 unbolt to you 

You see how all conditions, how all minds, 
(.\s well of glib and slippery creatures, as 
Of grave and austere quality,) tender down 
Their services to lord Timon: his large fortune. 
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging. 
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glassfac'd flat- 
terer 
To Apemantiis, that few things loves better 
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down 
The knee before him, and returns in peace 
Most rich in Timon's nod. 

Pain. I saw them speak together. 

Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, 
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o' the 

mount 
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinds of natures, 
That labour on the bosom of this sphere 
To propagate their .states: amongst them all. 
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady flx'd, 
One do I personate of lord Timon's frame. 
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; 
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants. 
Translates his rivals. 

Pain. 'T is conceiv'd to scope. 

This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks. 
With one man Ijeckon'd from the rest below. 
Bowing his head against the steepy mount 
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
In our condition. 

Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on: 

All those which were his fellows but of late, 
(Some better than his value,) on the moment 
Follow his strides, his lobbies flll with tendance. 



Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear. 

Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him 

Drink the free air. 

Pain. Ay, marry, what of these? 

Poet. AVhen Fortune, in her shift and change of 
mood. 
Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants. 
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top. 
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down. 
Not one accompanying his declining foot. 

Pain. 'T is common: 
A thousand moral paintings I can show. 
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of for- 
tune's 
More pregnantly tlian woi-ds. Yet you do well. 
To show lord Timon that mean eyes have seen 
The foot above the head. 

Truynpets sound. EnterTlmon, attended; t/teServant 
o/Ventidlus, talking ii-ith him. 

Tim. Imprison'd is he say you? 

Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord; five talents is his 
debt; 
His means most short, his creditors most strait: 
Your honourable letter he desires 
To those have shut him up; which failing to hiin. 
Periods his comfort. 

Tim Noble Ventidius! Well; 

I am not of that feather, to shake off 
My friend when he must need me. I do know him 
A gentleman that vvell deserves a help. 
Which he shall have: I 'II pay the debt and free him. 

Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. 

Tim. Commend me to him. I will send his ran- 
som; 
And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me:— 
'T is not enough to help the feeble up. 
But to support him after.— Fare you well. 

Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour. [Exit. 
Enter an old Athenian. 

Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 

Tim. Freely, good father. 

Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lucllius. 

Tim. I have so: What of him? 

Old Ath Most noble Timon, call the man before 
thee 

Tim: Attends he here, or no?— Lucllius! 
Enter Lucllius. 

Luc. Here, at vour lordship's service. 

Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy 
creature, 
B.v night frequents my house. I am a man 
That from my flrst have been inclin'd to thrift; 
And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd 
Than one which holds a trencher. 

Tim. Well; what further? 

Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else. 
On whom I may confer what I have got: 
I The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, 
And I have bred her at my dearest cost, 
In qualities of the best. This man of thine 
Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord, 
Join with me to forb'd him her resort; 
Myself have spoke in vain. 

Tim. The man is honest. 

Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon: 
His honesty rewards him in itself. 
It must not bear my daughter. 

Tim Does she love him? 

Old Ath. She is young, and apt: 
Our own precedent passions do instruct is 
What levity 's in youth. 

Tim. [To Lucllius ] Love you the maid' 

Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. 

Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be missing, 
I call the gods to witness, I will choose 
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the orld. 
And dispossess her all 

Tim. How shall she be ndow'd. 

If she I)e mated with an equal husband' 

Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, 
all. 

Tim This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long; 
To build his fortune I will strain a little. 
For 't is a bond in men. Give him thy daughter: 
What yon bestow, in him I '11 counterpoise. 
And make him weigh with her. 

Old Ath. Most noble lord, 

Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. 

Tim. My hand to thee; mine honour on my pro- 
mise 

Luc. Humbly I thank vour lordsliip: Never may 
That state or l^ortune fall into my keeping. 
Which is not ow'd to you' 

{Exeunt Lucllius and old Athenian. 

Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your 
lordship! 

Tim. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon: 
Go not away. —What have you there, my friend? 

Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech 
Your lordsliip to accept. 

Tim. Painting is welcome. 

The painting Is almost the natural man; 
For since dishonour traffics with man's nature. 
He is but outside; These pencill'd figures are 
Even such as they give out. I like your work; 
And you shall And I like it: wait attendance 



Till vou hear further from me. 

Pain. The gods preserve you! 

Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen : Give me your hand: 
We must needs dine together.— Sir, your jewel 
Hath suffer'd under praise. 

Jew. What, my lord? dispraise? 

Tim. A meer satiety of commendations. 
If I should pay you for 't as 't is extoli'd 
It would unclew me quite. > 

Jeiv. My lord, 't is rated 

As those which sell would give: But you well know, 
Things of like value, differing in the owners. 
Are prized by tlieir masters: believe 't, dear lord. 
You mend the jewel by the wearing it. 

Tim. Well mock'd. 

Mer. No, my good lord; he speaks the common 
tongue. 
Which all men speak with him. 

Tim. Look, who comes here. Will you be chid? 
Enter Apemantus. 

Jeiv. We will bear with your lordship. 

Mer. He'll spare none. 

Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! 

Apem. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good 
morrow; 
When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves hon- 

Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou 
kiiow'st them not. 

Apem. Are they not Athenians? 

Tim. Yes. 

Apem. Then I repent not. 

Jew Yon know me, Apemantus. 

Apem. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy 
name. 

Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 

Apem. Of nothing so much as that I am not like 
Timon. 

Tim. Whither art going? 

Apem. To knock out an nonest Athenian's brains. 

Tim. That 's a deed thou 'It die for. 

Apem. Right, If doing nothing be death by the law. 

Tim. Howlikest thou this picture, Apemantus? 

Apem. The best, for the innocence. 

Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it? 

Apem. He wrought better that made the painter; 
and yet he 's but a filthy piece of work. 

Pain. You are a dog. 

Apem. Thy mother is of nty generation: What 's 
she, if I be a dog? 

Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? 

Apem. No; I eat not lords. 

Tim. An thou should'st, thou 'dst anger ladies. 

Apem. 0, they eat lords; so they come by great 
bellies. 

Tim. That 's a lascivious apprehension. 

Apem. So thou apprehend'st it: Take it for thy 
labour. 

Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? 

Apem. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not 
cost a man a doit. 

Tim. What dost thou think 't is worth? 

Apem. Not worth my thinking.— How now, poet? 

Poet. How now, philosopher? 

Apem. Thou Uest. 

Poet. Art not one? 

Apem. Yes. 

Poet. Then I lie not, 

Apem. Art not a poet? 

Poet. Yes. 

Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, 
where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. 

Poet. That 's not feign'd, he is so. 

Apem. Yes, lie is worthy of thee, and to pay t^ee 
for thy labour: He that loves to be flattered is 
worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! 

Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus? 
. Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord 
I with mv heart. 
i Tim. What, thyself? 
I Apem. Ay. 
! Tim. Wherefore? 

Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. — 
Art not thou a merchant? 

Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 

Apem. Tramc confound thee, if the gods will not! 

Mer. If tralHc do it, the gods do it. 

Apem. Traffic 's thy god, and thy god confound 
thee! 
Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. 

Tim. What trumpet is that? 

Serv. 'T is Alcibiades, and some twenty horse. 
All of companionship. 

Tim. Pray entertain them; give them guide to 
U.S.— \E.vcunt some .attendants. 

You must needs dine with me:— Go not you hence 
"Till I have thank'd you; when dinner 's done. 
Show me this piece.— I am joyful of your sights. 

Enter .\Icililades, with his company. 
Most welcome, sir! [They salute. 

Apem. So, so; there!— 

Aches contract and starve your supple joints!— 
That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet 

knaves. 
And all this court'.sy' Tlie strain of man 's bred out 
Into baboon and monkey. 



Scene i.] 



riMON OF A THKNS. 



249 



Alcih. Sir you have sav'd my longing, and I feed 
Most hungo-ly on your sight. 

Tim. Right welcome, sir. 

Ere we depart, we '11 share a bounteous time 
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 

\_Exeunt oil but Apemantus. 
Enter Two Lords. 
1 Loi-d. What time a day is 't, Apemantus? 
Apetn. Time to be honest. 

1 Lord. That time serves still. 

Apem. The most accursed thou that still omitfst it. 

2 Lord. Thou art goingto lord Timon's feast? 
Apem. Ay; to see meat flU knaves, and wine heat 

fools. 

2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. 

Atum. Tliou art a fool to bid me farewell twice. 

2 Lord. Whv, .-Vpemantus? 

Apem, Should'st have kept one to thyself, for I 
mean to give thee none. 

1 Lord. Hang thyself. 

Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make 
thy requests to tliy friend. 

2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I '11 spurn thee 
hence. 

Aijem. I will fly, like a dog, the lieels of the ass. 

[E.vit. 

1 Lord. He is oppo.'Site to humanity. Come, shall 

we in, 
And taste lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes 
The very heart of kindness. 

2 Lord. He pours it out; Plutus, the god of gold, 
Is but his steward: no meed, but he repays 
Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him. 

But breeds tlie giver a return exceeding 
AH use of quittance. 

1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries. 
That ever govern 'd man. 

2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunesl Shall we 

in? 
1 Lord. I '11 keep you company. [Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— The same. A Room of State in 
Timon's House. 
Hauthovs ploying loud music. A great banquet serv- 
ed in; FlRvius and others attending; then enter 
Timon, Alcibiades, Lucius, LucuUus, Sempronius, 
and other Athenian Senators, with Ventidius, and 
Attendants. Then comes, dropping after all, Apem- 
antus, discontentedly. 
Ven. Most honour'd Timon, 
It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my father's 

age. 
And call him to long peace. 
He is gone happy, and has left me rich: 
Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 
To your free heart, I do return those talents. 
Doubled, with thanks, and service, from whose help 
Ideriv'd liberty. 

Tim. O, by no means. 

Honest Ventidius: you mistake my love; 
I gave it freely ever; and there 's none 
Can truly say he gives, if he receives: 
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare 
To imitate them: Faults that are rich, are fair. 
Fen. A noble spirit! 

[They all stand ceremonioxisly looking on Timon. 
Tim. Nay, ray lords, ceremony was but devis'd at 
first 
To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, 
EccantUig goodness, sorry ere 't is shown; 
But where there is true friendship, there needs none. 
Pray sit; more welcome are you to my fortunes. 
Than my fortunes to me. ( They sit. 

1 Lord. My lord, we always have confess'd it. 
Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it! hang'd It, have you 

not? 
Tim. O, Apemantus!— you are welcome. 
Apem. No, you shall not make me welcome: 
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. 
Tim. Fye, thou 'rt a churl; you have got a humour 
thei-e 
Does not become a man, 't is much to blame: — 
They saj', my lords, ira furor brevis est, 
But yond' man's very angry. 
Go, let him have a table by himself; 
For he does neither affect company. 
Nor is he fit for 't, indeed. 

Apem. Let me stay ac thine apperil, Timon: 
I come to observe; 1 give thee warning on 't. 

Tim. I take no heed of thee; thou art an Athenian; 
therefore welcome: I myself would have no power: 
prithee, let my meat make thee silent. 
Apem. I scorn thy meat; 'would choke me, for I 
should 
Ne'er flatter thee.— O you gods! what a number 
Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not! 
It grieves me to see so many dip their meat 
In one man's blood; and all the madness is. 
He cheers them up too. 

I wonder men dare trust themselves with men: 
Methinks, they should invite them without knives; 
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives 
There 's much example for 't; the fellow, that 
Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and pledges 
■The breath of him in a divided draught. 
Is the readiest man to kill him: it has been prov'd 
If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at 

meals; 
Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: 
Great men should drink with harness on their 
throats. 
Tim. My lord, in heart; and let the health go 

round. 
2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 
Apem. Flow this way! A brave fellow!— he keeps 
his tides well. 
Those healths will make thee, and thy state, look HI, 

Timon: 
Here 's that, which is too weak to be a sinner. 
Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire: 
This, and my food, are equals; there 's no odds. 
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 

Apemastus's Grace. 
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; 
I pray for no man, but myself: 
Grant I may never prove so fond, 
■To trust man on his oath or bond; 
Or a harlot, for her weeping; 
Or a dog, that seems a sleeping; 
Or a keeper with my freedom; 
Or my friends, if I should need 'm, 
Amen. So fall to 't: 



Rich men sin, and I eat root. 

[Eats and drinks. 
Much good dlch thy good heart, Apemantus! 

Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart 's in the field 
now. 

Alcib. Mv heart is ever at your service, my lord. 

Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies, 
than a dinner of friends. 

Alcili. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, there 
's no meat like them; I could wish my best friend at 
such a feast. , . 

Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine ene- 
mies then; that then thou might'st kill 'em, and bid 
nie to 'em. 

1 Lord. Might we but have tliat happiness, my 
lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby 
we might express some part of our zeals, we should 
think our.iselves for ever perfect. 

Tim. O, no doubt, mv good friends, but the gods 
themselves have provided that I shall have much 
help from you: How liad \-ou been my friends elsei' 
why have you that charitable title from thousands, 
did' not yoii chiefly belong to my heart? I have told 
more of you to myself, than you can with modesty 
speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm 
you. O, you gods, think I, what need we have any 
ifriends, if we should ne'er have nei'<l of them:^ they 
were the most needless creatures living should we 
ne'er have use for them: and would most resemble 
sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their 
sounds to themselves. Why, I have often wished 
myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. 
We are born to do benefits: and what better or 
properer can we call our own than the riches of our 
friends? O, what a precious comfort 't is to have so 
many like brothers, commanding one another's for- 
tune's! O joy, e'en made away ere it can be born! 
Mine eves cannot hold out water, methinks; to for- 
get the'ir faults, I drink to you. 

Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. 

2 Lord. Jov had the like conception in our eyes, 
And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up. 

Apem. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bas- 
tard. 

3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me 

much. 
Apem. Much! [Tucket sounded. 

Tim. What means that trump?- -How now? 

Enter a Servant. 
Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies 
most desirous of admittance. 
Tim. Ladies? What are their wills? 
Sen.'. There comes with them a forerunner, my 
lord, which bears that office to signify their plea- 
sures. 
Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. 

Enter Cupid. 
Cup. Hall to thee, worthy Timon;— and to all 
That of his bounties taste!— the five best senses 
Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely 
To gratulate thy plenteous bosom: 
The ear, taste, touch, smell, pleas'd from thy table 

rise; 
They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 
Tim, They are welcome all; let them have kind ad- 
mittance. 
Music, make their welcome. [Exit Cupid. 

1 Lord. You see, my lord, how ample y' are be- 
lov'd. 
Music. Reenter Cupid, with a masque of Ladies as 
Amazons, with lutes in their hands, dancing and 
playing. 

Apem. Hey day, what a sweep of vanity comes this 
way! 
They dance! they are mad women. 
Like madness is the glory of this life. 
As this pomp shows to a little oil and root. 
We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves; 
And spend our flatteries, to drink those men, 
Upon whose age we void it up again, 
With poisonous spite and envy. 
Who lives that 's not depraved, or depraves? 
Who dies, that bears not one spurn to their graves 
Of their friends' gift? 

I should fear those that dance before me now, 
Would one day stamp upon me: It has been done: 
Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 
The Lords rise from table, with much adoring of Ti- 
mon; and, to show their loves, each singles out an 
Amazon, and all dance, men with women, a lofty 
strain or two to the hautboys, and cease. 
Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, 
fair ladies. 
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment. 
Which was not halt so beautiful and kind; 
You have added worth unto 't, and lustre, 
And entertaln'd me with mine own device; 
I am to thank you for it. 
1 Lady My lord, you take us even at the best. 
Apem 'Faith, for the worst is filthy; and would 
not hold taking, I doubt me 

Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet 
Attends you: please you to dispose yourselves. 
All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord. 

[Exeunt Cupid and Ladies. 
Tnn. Flavins! 
Flav. My lord. 

Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 

Flav. Yes, my lord.— More jewels yet! 
There is no crossing him in his humour; [Aside. 

Else I should tell him,— Well,— i' faith, I should. 
When all's spent, he 'dbecross'd then, and he could. 
'T IS pity bounty had not eyes behind; 
That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. 

[E.Tit, and 7'eturns with the casket. 

1 Lord. Where be oui men? 
Serv. Here, my lord, m readiness. 

2 Lord. Our horses. 

rim. O my friends, 

I have one word to say to yon;— Look you, my good 

lord, 
I must entreat you, honour me so much, 
] As to advance this jewel; accept it, and wear it. 
Kind my lord. 
1 Lord. I am so far already in your gifts,— 
All. So are we all. 

Enter a Servant. 
Seri!. My lord, there are certain nobles of the 
senate 
Newly alighted, and come to visit you. 
Tim. They are fairly welcome. 



Flav. I beseech your honour, 

'Vouchsafe me a word; It docs concern you near. 

Tim. Near? why then another time 1 '11 hear thee: 
I prithee, let 's be provided to show them entertain- 
ment. 
Flav. I scarce know how. [Aside. 

Enter another Servant. 

2 Serv. May it please your honoui-, lord Lucius, 
Out of his free love, hath presented to you 
Four milk-white horses, trapiJ'd in silver. 

Tim. I shall accept them fairly: let the presents 
Enter a third Servant. 
Be worthily entertaln'd.— How now, what news? 

3 Sou. Please you, my lord, that honourable gen- 
tleman, lord LucuUus, entreats your company to- 
morrow to hunt with him; and has sent your honour 
two brace of greyhonnd.s. 

Tnn. 1 '11 hunt with him; and let them be receiv'd, 
Not without fair reward. 

Flav. [Aside.] What will this come to? 

He commands us to provide, and give great gifts. 
And all out of an empty coffer.- 
Nor will he know his purse; oryield me this. 
To show him v\'hat a beggar his heart is. 
Being of no power to make his wishes good; 
His promises fly so beyond his state. 
That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes for every 

word; 
He is so kind, that he now pays interest for 't; 
His lands put to their books. Well, 'would I were 
Gently put out of office, before I were forc'd out! 
Happier is he that has no friend to feed. 
Than such that do even enemies exceed. 
I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit. 

Tim. You do ourselves 

Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits: 
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. 

2 Loid. With more than common thanks I will re- 

ceive it. 

3 Lord. O, he is the very soul of bounty! 

Tim. And now I remember, my lord, you gave 
Good words the other day of a bay coui-ser 
I rode on: it is youi's, because you lik'd it! 

2 Lord. O, I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in 
that. 

Tim. You may take my word, my lord; I know no 
man 
Can justly praise, but what he does affect: 
I weigh my friends' affection with mine own: 
I '11 tell you true, I'll call to you. 

All Lords. None so welcome. 

Tim. I take all and your several visitations 
So kind to heart, 't Is not enough to give; 
Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, 
And ne'er be weary.— Alcibiades, 
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich; 
It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living 
Is 'mongst the dead; and all the lands thou hast 
Lie in a pitch'd field. 

Alcib. Ay, defil'd land, my lord. 

1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound,— 

Tim. And so 

Am I to you. 

2 Lord. So Infinitely endear'd — 
Tim. All to you;— Lights, more lights. 

1 Lord. The best of happiness, 

Honour and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon! 

Tim. Ready for his friends. 

[Exeunt Alcibiades, Lords, i&c. 

Apem. What a coil 's here! 

Serving of becks, and jutting out of bums! 
I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums 
That are given for 'em. Friendship 's full of dregs: 
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs. 
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on coiirt'sies. 

Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, 
I would be good to thee. 

Apem No, I '11 nothing: for if I should be brib'd 
too, there would be none left to rail upon thee; and 
then thou would'st sin the faster. Thou giv'st so 
long, Timon, I fear me, thou wilt give away thyself 
in paper shortly: What need these feasts, pomps, 
and vain glories? 

Tim. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I 
am sworn not to give regard to you. Farewell; and 
come with better music. [Exit. 

Apem. So;— Thou 'It not hear from me now,— thou 
Shalt not then. I '11 lock thy heaven from thee. 
O, that men's ears should be 
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! [Exit. 

ACT IL 
Scene I.— Athens. A Room in a Senator's House. 
Enter a Senator, with papers in his hand. 
Sen. And late, five thousand: to Varro, and to 
Isidore, 
He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum. 
Which makes it five and twenty.— Still in motion 
Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not. 
It I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog 
And give it Timon, wh.v, the dog coins gold: 
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, 
Ask nothing, give it him, it toa'ls me straight 
And able horses: No porter at his gate; 
But rather one that smiles, and still invites 
All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason 
Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, hoa! 
Caphis, I say! 

Enter Caphis. 
Caph. Here, sir: What is your pleasure' 

Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord 
Timon; 
Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd 
I With slight denial; nor then silenc'd, when— 
1 'Commend me to your master '—and the cap 

Plays in the right hand, thus:— but tell him, sirrah, 
I My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 
I Out of mine own; his days and times are past, 
And my reliances on his fracted dates 
I Have smit my credit: I love, and honour him; 
I But must not break my back, to heal his finger: 
j Immediate are my needs; and my relief 
I Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, 
I But find supply immediate. Get you gone: 
Put on a most importunate aspect, 
A visage of demand; for, I do fear. 
When every feather sticks in his own wing. 
Lord Timon will be left a naked gull. 
Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. 

PART 31. 



250 



TIMON OF A TIIENS. 



LACT III. 



Cnph. I go, sir. 

Sen. I (?», sir.— Take the bonds along with you, 
And have the. dates In compt. 
Caph. I win, sir. 

Sen. Go. [Exe. 

Scene II.— ^ HoH in Timnn's House. 
Enter Flavins, with many bills in his hand. 
Flav. No care, no stop! so senseless of e.\pense, 
That he will neither know how to maintain It, 
Nor cease his flow of riot: Takes no account 
How things go from him; nor resumes no care 
Of what Is to continue. Never mind 
Was to beso unwise, to be so kind. 
What shall be done? He will not hear, till feel: 
I must be round with him, now he comes from hunt- 
ing. 
I"ye, fye, fye, fye! 

Enter Caphls, and the Servants of Isidore and 

Varro. 
Caph. Good even, Varro: What, 

Ton come for money? 

Var. Serv. Is 't not your business too? 

Caph. It is;— and yours too, Isidore? 

Jsid. Serv. It is so. 

Caph. 'Would we were all dlscharg'd! 

Var. Serv. I fear it. 

Caph. Here comes the lord. 

Enter Timoii, Alciblades, and Lords, <Cc. 

Tim. So soon as dinner 's done, we 'II forth again, 
My Alciblades.- With me? What is your will? 

'Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 

Tim. Dues? whence are you? 

Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 

Tim. Go to my steward. 

Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off 
To the succession of new days this month: 
My master is awak'd by great occasion. 
To call upon his own: and humbly prays you. 
That with your other noble parts you '11 suit, 
In giving him his right. 

Tim. Mine honest friend, 

I prithee but repair to me next morning. 

Caph. Nay, good my lord,— 

Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. 

Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord,— 

Isid. Serv. From Isidore; 

He humbly prays your speedy payment,— 

Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's 
wants, — 

Var. Serv. 'T was due on forfeiture, my lord, six 
weeks. 
And past,— 

Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord; 
And I am sent expressly to your lordship. 

Tim. Give me breath:— 
I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; 

{Exeunt Alciblades and Lords. 
I 'II wait upon you instantly.— Come hither, pray 
you, [To Flavins. 

How goes the world that I am thus encounter'd 
With clamorous demands of date-broken bonds, 
And the detention of long-since-due debts, 
Against my honour? 

Flav. Please you, gentlemen. 

The time is unagreeable to this business: 
Your importunacy cease till after dinner; 
That I may make his lordship understand 
Wherefore you are not paid. 

Tim. Do so, my friends: 

See them well entertained. [Exit Timon. 

■ Flav. Pray draw near. \Exit. 

Enter Apemantus and Fool. 

Caph. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Ape- 
mantus; let 's have some sport with 'em. 

Var. Serv. Hang him, he '11 abuse us. 

Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog! 

Var. Serv. How dost, fool? 

Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? 

Var. Serv. I speak not to thee. 

Apem. No; 't is to thyself.— Come away. 

{To the Fool. 

Isid. Serv. [To Var. Serv.] There 's the fool hangs 
on your back already. 

Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou are not on 
him yet. 

Caph. Where 's the fool now? 

Apem. He last asked the question. — Poor rogues 
and usurers' men! bawds between gold and want! 

All Serv. What are we, Apemantus? 

Apem. Asses. 

All Serv. Why? 

Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not 
know yourselves.— Speak to 'em, fooL 

Foot. How do you, gentlemen? 

All Serv. Oramercies, good fool: How does your 
mistress? 

Fool. She "s e'en setting on water to scald such 
chickens as you are. 'Would we could see you at 
Corinth. 

Apem. Good! Gramercy. 

Enter Page. 

Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. 

Page. {To the Fool.) Why, how now, captain? what 
do you In this wise company? How dost thou, Ape- 
mantus? 

Apem. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I 
might answer thee profitably. 

Page. PritheCi Apemantus, read me the super- 
scription of these letters; I know not which is which. 

Apem. Canst not read? 

Page. No. 

Apem. There will little learning die then, that day 
thou art hanged. This Is to lord Timon; this to 
Alciblades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and 
thou 'It die a bawd. 

Page. Thou wast whelped a dog; and thou shalt 
famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone. 

(Exit Page. 

Apem. Even so thou out-runn'st grace. Fool, I will 
go with you to lord Timon's. 

Fool. Wlllyou leave me there? 

Apem. If 'Timon stay at home.— You three serve 
three usurers? 

All Serv. Ay; 'would they served us! 

Apem. So would I,— as good a trick as ever hang- 
man served thief. 

Fool. Are you three usurers' men? 

All Serv. Ay, fool. 

Fool. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant: 
My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men 



come to borrow of your masters, they approach 
sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mis- 
tress' house merrily, and go away sadly: The rea- 
son of this? 

Var. Serv. I could render one. 

Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee a 
whoremaster and a knave; which notwithstanding, 
thou Shalt be no less esteemed. 

Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool? 

Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like 
thee. 'T is a spirit: sometime It appears like a lord; 
sometime like a lawyer; .sometime like a philoso- 
pher, with two stones more ihan his artificial one: 
He is very often like a knight, and, generally, in all 
shapes that man goes up and down in, from four- 
score to thirteen, this spirit walks in. 

Var. Serv. Thou art not altoeether a fool. 

Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much 
foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. 

Apem. That answer might have become Apeman- 
tus. 

All Serv. Aside, aside; here comes lord Timon. 
Re-enter Timon and Flavlus 

Apem. Come with me, fool, come. 

Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, 
and woman; sometime, the philosopher. 



(Ex-eiiht Apemantus and Fool, 
alk 



Flav. 'Pray you, walk near; I '11 speak witli you 
anon. [E.vennt Serv. 

Tim. You make me marvel: Wherefore, ere this 
time, 
Had you not fully laid my state before me; 
That I might so have rated my expense, 
As I had leave of means? 

Flav. You would not hear me, 

At many leisures I propos'd. 

Tim. Go to: 

Perchance, some single vantages you took, 
When my indisposition put you back; 
And that unaptness made you minister. 
Thus to excuse yourself. 

Flav. O my good lord! 

At many times I brought in my accounts; 
Laid them before you; you would throw them off, 
.■Vnd say, you found them in mine honesty. 
When, for seme trifling present, you have bid me 
Return so much, I have shook my head, and wept: 
Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you 
To hold your hand more close: I did endure 
Not seldom, nor no slight clieoks; when I have 
Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate. 
And your great flow of debts. Jly lov'd loj-d. 
Though you hear now, (too late!) yet now 's a time. 
The greatest of your having lacks a half 
To pay your present debts. 

Tim. Let all my land be sold. 

Flav. 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone; 
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
Of present dues: the future comes apace: 
What shall defend the interim? and at length 
How goes our reckoning? 

Tim. To Lacedsemon did my land extend. 

Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word: 
Were it all yours, to give it in a breath, 
How quickly were it gone? 

Tim. You tell me true. 

Flav. It you suspect my husbandry, or falsehood. 
Call me before the exactest auditors. 
And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me. 
When all our offices have been oppress'd 
With riotous feeders; when our vaults have wept 
With drunken spilth of wine; when every room 
Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy; 
I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock. 
And set mine eyes at flow. 

Tim. Prithee, no more. 

Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this 
lord! 
How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants. 
This night englutted! Who is not Timon's? 
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord 

Timon's? 
Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon? 
Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise. 
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: 
Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers. 
These flies are couch'd. 

Tim. Come, sermon me no further: 

No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; 
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 
Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack 
To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; 
If I would broach the vessels of my love. 
And try the argument of hearts by borrowing. 
Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use, 
As I can bid thee speak. 

Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts! 

Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are 
crown'd. 
That I account rhem blessings; for by these 
Shall I try friends: You shall perceive, how you 
Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. 
Within there!— Flamlnius!—Servilius! 

Enter Flaniinlus, Servllius, and other Servants. 

Serv. My lord, my lord,— 

Tim. 1 will despatch you severally.— You to lord 
Lucius,— to lord Lucullus you; I hunted with his 
honour to-day;— you, to Sempronlus: Commend me 
to their loves; and. I am proud, say, that my occa- 
sions have found time to use them toward a supply 
of money let the request be fifty talents. 

Flam. As you have said, my lord. 

Flav. Lord Lucius, and Lucullus? humph! {Aside. 

Tim. Go you, sir, {to another Serv.] to the senators, 
(Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have 
Deserv'd this hearing,) Did 'em send o' the instant 
A thousand talents to me. 

Flav. I have been bold 

(For that I knew it the most general way,) 
To them to use your signet, and your name; 
But they do shake their heads, and I am here 
No richer in return. 

Tim. Is 't true? can 't be? 

Flav. They answer, in a Joint and corporate voice. 
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 
Do what they would; are sorry— you are honour- 
able,— 
But yet they could have wish'd— they knoiv not— 
Something had been amiss— a noble nature 
May catch a wrench— would all were well— 't is pity — 
And so, intending other serious matters. 
After distastefullooks, and these hard fractions, 
With certain half-cups, and cold-moving nods. 



They froze me into silence. 

riti. Yon gods, reward them! 

'Prithee, man, look cheerly! These old fellows 
Have their Ingratitude in them heveditai-y: 
Their blood is cak'd, 't is cold, it seldom flows; 
'T Is lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind; 
And nature, as it grows again toward earth, 
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy. 
Go to Ventidius,— [to a Serv.J 'Prithee, [to FiavlusJ be 

not sad, 
Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak. 
No blame belongs to thee— [to Serv.i Ventidius 

lately 
Buried his father; by whose death he 's stepp'd 



- him from me; 

Bid him suppose some good neces.sity 

Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd 

With those five talents:— that had, [to Flav.] give 't 

these fellows 
To whom 't is instant due. Ne'er speak, or think 
That Timon's fortunes 'niong his friends can sink. 
Flav. I would I could not think it: That thought Is 

bounty's foe; 
Being free itself it thinks all others so. [Exeunt. 

ACT IIL 

SCEXE I.— Athens. .4 Room in LucuUus's House. 

Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him. 

Serv. 1 have told my lord of you, he is coming down 

to you. 
Flam. I thank you, sir. 

Enter Lucullus. 

Serv. Here 's my lord. 

Lucul. [Aside.] One of lord Timon's men? a gift, 
I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver 
bason and ewer to-night. Flaminius. honest Fla- 
minius; you are very respectively welcome, sir.— Fill 
me some -wine. -f Ex-it Servant.] And how does that 
honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of 
Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master? 

Flam. His health is well, sir. 

Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, sir: 
And what hast tliou there under thy cloak, pretty 
Flaminius? 

Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; 
which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your 
honour to supply; who, having great and instant oc- 
casion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lordship 
to furnish him, nothing doubting your present as- 
sistance therein. 

Lucul. La, la, la, la,— nothing doubting, says he? 
alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 't is, it he would 
not keep so good a house. Many a time and often 
I ha' dined with him, and told him on 't; and come 
again to supperto him, of purpose to have him spend 
less: and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no 
warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, 
and honesty is his; I ha' told him on 't, but I could 
ne'er get him from 't. 

Reenter Servant, imth teine. 

Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine. 

Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. 
Here 's to thee. 

Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 

Lucul. 1 have observed thee always for a towardly 
prompt spirit,— give thee thy due,— and one that 
knows what belongs to reason; and canst use the 
time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in 
thee.— Get you gone, sirrah.— [To the Servant, who 
goes out. J— Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord 
's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art wise; and 
thou know'st well enough, although thou com'st to 
me. that this is no time to lend money; especially up- 
on bare friendship, without security. Here 's three 
solidares for thee; good boy, wink at me, and say 
thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well. 

Flam. Is 't possible, the world should so much 
differ: 
And we alive, that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness, 
To him that worships thee! 

• [Throwing the money ateay. 

Lucul. Ha! now I see thou art a fool, and fit for thy 
master. [Exit Lucullus. 

Flam. May these add to the number that may 
scald thee! 
Let molten coin be thy damnation. 
Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! 
Has friendship such a faint and milky heart. 
It turns in less than two nights? O, you gods, 
I feel my master's passion! This slave unto his 

honour 
Has my lord's meat in him; 
Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment. 
When he is turn'd to poison? 

O, may diseases only work upon 't! , 

And.jvhenhe 's sick to death, let not that part of 

nature 
Which my lord paid for, be of any power 
To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! {Exit. 

Scene XL— .4 public Place. 
Enter Lucius, with Three Strangers. 
Luc. Who, the lord Timon? he Is my very good 
friend, and an honourable gentleman. 

1 Stran. We know him for no less, though we are 
but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing, 
my lord, and which I hear from common rumours: 
now lord Timon's happy hours are done and past, 
and his estate shrinks from him. 

Luc. Fye uo, do not believe it; he cannot want for 
money. 

2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that, not 
long ago, one of his men was with the lord Lucullus, 
to borrow so many talents; nay, urged extremely for 
't, and showed what necessity belonged to 't, and yet 
was denied. 

Luc. How? 

2 Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord. 

Luc. What a strange case was that! now, before 
the gods, I am ashamed on 't. Denied that honour- 
able man; there was very little honour show'd in 't. 
For my own part, I must needs confess I have re- 
ceived some small kindnesses from him, as money, 
plate, .I'ewels, and such like trifles, nothing compar- 
ing to his; yet, had he mistook him, and sent to me, 
I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many 
talents. 



Scene n.] 



TIMOIS! OF ATHENS. 



851 



Enter Servilins. 

Ser. See, by good hap, yonder 's mv lord; I have 
sweat to see his honour.— My honoured lord,— 

[To Lucius. 

Luc. Servllius! you are liindly met, sir. Fare thee 
well —Commend me to thy honourable-virtuous lord, 
my very exquisite friend. 

Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath sent— 

Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so much endear- 
ed to that lord; he 's ever sending: How shall I 
thank him, think'st thou? And what has he sent 
now? 

Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now, 
my lord: requesting your lordship to supply his in- 
stant use with so many talents. 

Lue. I know his lordship is but merry with me; 
He cannot want fifty-live hundred talents. 

Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. 
If his occasion were not virtuous, 
I should not urge it halt .so faithfully. 

iuc. Dost thou speak seriousl.T, Servillus? 

Ser. Ui^on my .soul, 'tis true, sir. 

Lue. ^\ hat a wicked beast was I, to disfurnish my- 
self against such a good time, when I might have 
shown myself honourable! How unluckily It hap- 
pened, that I should purchase the day before for a 
little part, and undo a great deal of honour!— Ser- 
vilius, now before the gods I am not able to do 't, 
the more beast, I say :— I was sending to use lord Ti- 
mon myself, these gentlemen can witness; but I 
would not, for the wealth of Athens, I had done 't 
now. Commend nie bountifully to his good lord- 
ship; and I hope his honour will conceive the fairest 
of me, because I have no power to be kind:— And 
tell him this from me, I count it one of my greatest 
afflictions, say, that 1 cannot pleasure such an hon- 
ourable gejitleman. Good Servllius, will you be- 
friend me so far, as to use mine own words to him? 

Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 

Luc. I '11 look you out a good turn, Servllius.- 

[Exit Servllius. 
True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed; 
And he that 's once denied will hardly speed. 

[Exit Lucius. 

1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius? 

2 Stran. Ay, too well. 
1 Stran. Why this is the worUl's soul; 

And just of the same piece 

Is every flatterer's sport: wlio can call him his friend 

That dips in the same dish? for, in my knowing, 

Timon has been this lord's father. 

And kept his credit with his purse; 

Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money 

Has paid his men their wages: He ne'er drinks, 

But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; 

And yet, (O, see the monstrousness of man 

When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!) 

He does deny him, in respect of his. 

What charitable men afford to beggars. 

3 Stran. Religion groans at it. 

1 Stran. For mine own part, 

I never tasted Timon in my life. 
Nor came any of his bounties over me, 
To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest. 
For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue. 
And honourable carriage. 
Had his necessity made use of me, 
I would have put my wealth into donation. 
And the best half should have return'd to him, 
So much I love his heart: But, I perceive. 
Men must learn now with pity to dispense: 
For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— ^-1 Room in Sempronius's House. 
Enter Sempronius, and a Servant of Timon's. 

Sem. Must he needs trouble me In 't? Humph! 
'bove all others';* 
He might have tried lord Lucius, or LucuUus; 
And now Ventidius Is wealthy too. 
Whom he redeem'd from prison; All these 
Owe their estates unto him. 

Sen: My lord. 

They have all been touchd, and found base metal; 
For they have all denied him! 

Setn. How! have thev denied him? 

Has Ventidius and LucuUus denied him? 
And does he send to me? Three? humpli.'— 
It shows but little love or judgment in him. 
Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like phy- 
sicians. 
Thrice give him over: Must I take th' cure upon me? 
H' has much disgrae'd me In 't, I 'm angi-y at him, 
That might have known my place: I see no sense 

for 't. 
But his occasions might have woo'd me Uvst; 
For, in my conscience, I was the first man 
1 hat e'er receiv'd gift from him: 
.4.nd does he think so backwardly of me now, 
That I '11 requite it last? No. 
So it may prove an argument of laughter 
To the rest, and 'mongst lords I be thought a fool. 
I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum, 
H' had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake; 
I had such a courage to do him good. But now re- 
turn. 
And with their faint reply this answer join; 
Who bates mine honour, shall not know my coin. 

[Exit. 

Sen: Excellent! Your lordship 's a goodly vlllam. 
The devil knew not what he did when he made man 
politic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot think, 
but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him 
clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! 
takes virtuous copies to be wicked; like those that, 
under hot ardent zeal, would set whole realms on 
fire: Of such anature is his politic love. 
This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled. 
Save only the gods: Now his friends are dead, 
Doors that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
JIany a bounteous year, must be employ'd 
Now to guard sure their master. 
.\nd this Is all a liberal course allows; 
Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. 

[Exit. 
Scene IT. —^ ffall in Timon's Rouse. 

Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of 
Lucius, meeting Titus, Hortensius, and other 
Servants to Timon's creditors, waiting his coming 
out. 
Var. Serv. Well met; good-morrow, Titus and 

Hortensius. 
Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 



Hor. Lucius? 

What, do we meet together? 

Luc. .Sen: Ay, and I think 

One business doth command us all; for mine 
Is money. 

Tit. So is theirs and ours. 

Enter Philotus. 



Luc. Serv. And sir 

Philotus too. 

Phi. Good day at once. 

Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother. 

What do you think the hour? 

JPhi. Labouring for nine. 

Luc. Sei-v. So much? 

Phi. Is not my lord seen yet? 

Lite. Serv. Not yet. 

Phi. I wonder on 't; he was wont to shine at seven. 

Luc. Sen: Ay, but the days are waxed shorter 
Avlth htm: 
You must consider, that a prodisal coiu'se 
Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable. 
I fear, 

'T is deepest winter In lord Timon's purse; 
That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet 
Find little. 

Phi. I am of your fear for that. 

Tit. I '11 show you how to observe a strange event. 
Y'our lord sends now for money. 

Hor. Most true, he does. 

Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift. 
For which I wait for money. 

Hor. It is against my heart. 

Luc. Serv Mark, how strange it shows 

Timon In this should pay more than he owes: 
And e'en as If your lord should wear rich jewels. 
And send for money for 'em. 

Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods can wit- 
ness: 
I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth. 
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 

1 Var. Serv. Y^es, mine 's three thousand crowns: 
What 's yours? 

Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 

1 Var. Serv. 'T is much deep: and it should seem 

by the sum. 
Your master's confidence was above mine; 
Else, surely, his had equall'd. 

Enter Flaminius. 

Tit. One of lord Timon's men. 

Luc. Serv. Flaminius! sir, a word: 'Pray, is my 
lord ready to come forth? 

Flam. No, indeed, he is not. 

Tit. We attend his lordship; 'Pray, signify so much. 

Flam. I need not tell him that; he knows you are 
too diligent. [Exit Flaminius. 

Enter Flavius, in a cloak, muffled. 

Luc. Serv. Ha! is not that his steward muffled so? 
He goes away In a cloud: call him, call him. 
Tit. Do you hear, sir? 

2 Var Serv. By your leave, sir,— 

Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend? 

Tit. We ivait for certain money here, sir. 

Flav. Ay, 

If money were as certain as your waiting, 
'T were sure enough. 

Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills. 
When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? 
Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts. 
And take down th' Interest into their gluttonous 

maws. 
You do yourselves but wrong, to stir me up; . 
Let me pass quietly: 

Believe 't, my lord and I have made an end; 
I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 

Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. 

Flav. It 't will not serve 't is not so liase as you; 
For you serve knaves. [E.vit. 

1 Var. Serv. How! what does his cashler'd worship 
mutter? 

2 Var. Sen: No matter what: he 's poor, and that 's 
revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he 
that has no house to put his head in? Such may rail 
against great buildings. 

Enter Servillus. 

Tit. O, here 's Servillus; now we shall know some 
answer. 

Ser. It I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair 
some other hour, I should derive much from 't: for, 
take 't of my soul, my loi'd leans wond'rously to dis- 
content. His comfortable temper has forsook him; 
he Is much out of health, and keeps his chamber. 

Luc. Serv Many do keep their chamhei-s are not 
sick: 
iud it it be so far beyond his health, 
Methlnks, he should the sooner pay his debts. 
And make a clearway to the gods. 

Ser. Good gods! 

Tit. We cannot take this for answer, sir. 

Flam. [Within.] Servillus, help!— my lord! my lord! 

Enter Timon, in a rage; Flaminius /oHoiting. 

Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my pas- 
sage? 
Have I been ever free, and must my house 
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? 
The place which I have feasted, does It now. 
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart'? 

Luc. IServ. Put in now, Titus. 

Tit. My lord, here is my bill. 

Luc. Serv. Here 's mine. 

Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord. 

Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord. 

Phi. All our bills. 

Tim. Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the 
girdle. 

Luc. Serv. Alas! my lord,— 

Tim. Cut mv heart in sums. 

Tit. Mine, fifty talents. 

Tim. Tell out my blood. 

Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. 

ITini.Flve thousand drops pay that. 
Wliac yours?— and yours? 

1 Var. Serv. My lord,— 

2 Var. Serv. My lord,— 

Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon 
you! , [Exit. 

Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw j 
their caps at their money; these debts may well be 
called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. 

[Exeunt. | 



Reenter Timon and! Flavlus. 

Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, the 
slaves: 
Creditors!- devils. 

Flav. Mv dear lord,— 

Tim. What if it should be so? 

Flam. My lord,— 

Tim. I '11 have it so:— My steward! 

Flav. Here, my lord. 

Tim. So, fitly. Go, bid all my friends again, 
Lucius, LucuUus, and Sempronius; all: 
I '11 once more feast the rascals. 

Flav. o my lord. 

You only speak from your distracted soul; 
There is not much left, to furnish out 
A moderate table. 

Tim. Be 't not In thy care; go, 

I charge thee; Invite them all; let In the tide 
Of knaves once more; my cook and I '11 provide. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene Y.—Tlie Senate House. 



The Senate sitting. Enter Alclbiades, attended. 

1 Sen. My lord, vou have my voice to it: 
The fault 's bloody; 

'T Is necessary he should die: 

Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 

2 Sen. Most true; the law shall bruise him. 

Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the 
senate! 

1 Sen. Now, captain. 

Alcih. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; 
For pity is the virtue of the law, 
And none biit tyrants use it cruelly. 
It pleases time, and fortune, to lie heavy 
Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood, 
Hath stepp'd Into the law, which Is past depth 
To those that, without heed, do plunge into 't. 
He is a man, setting his fate aside. 
Of comely virtues: 

Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice; 
(An honour in him, which buys out his fault,) 
But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit. 
Seeing his reputation touch'd to aeath, 
He did oppose his foe: 
And with such sober and imnoted passion 
He did behave his anger, ere 't was spent. 
As if he had but prov'd an argument. 

\Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, 
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: 
Your words have took such pains, as If they labour'd 
To bring manslaughter into form, and set quarrel- 
ling 
Upon the head of valour; which, indeed. 
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world 
When sects and factions were newly born; 
He 's truly valiant that can wisely suffer 
The worst that man can breathe; 
And make his wrongs his outsides. 
To wear them like his raiment, carelessly; 
And ne'er prefer his Injuries to his heart, 
To bring it into danger. 
If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kUl, 
What folly 't is to hazard life for ill? 

Alcib. My lord,— 

1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear; 
To revenge is no valour, but to bear. 

Alcib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me. 
If I speak like a captain.— 

Why do fond men expose themselves to battle. 
And not endure all threats? sleep upon 't. 
And let the foes quietly cut their throats. 
Without repugnancy? It there be 
Such valour in the bearing, what make we 
Abroad? why then, women are more valiant, 
That stay at home. If bearing carry It; 
And the ass, more captain than the lion; 
The felon loaden with Irons, wiser than the judge. 
If Avlsdom be In suffering. O my lords. 
As you are great, be pitifully good: 
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? 
To kill, I grant. Is sin 's extremest gust: 
But, in defence, by mercy, 't is most just. 
To be in anger Is Impiety; 
But who is man that is not .'ingry? 
Weigh but the crime with this. 

2 Sen. You breathe in vain. 

Alcib. In vain? his service done, 

At Lacedaemon, and Byzantium, 
Were a sufficient briber for his life. 

1 Sen. What 's that? 

Alcib. Why, I say, my lords, h' has done fair ser- 
vice. 
And slain in fight many of your enemies; 
How full of valour did he bear himself 
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! 

2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em. 
He 's a sworn rioter; he has a sin 

That often drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: 

If there were no foes, that were enough 

To overcome hini: In that beastly fury 

He has been known to commit outrages. 

And cherish factions: 't Is inferr'd to us. 

His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 

1 Sen. He dies. 

Alcib. Hard fate! he might have died in war. 
My lords, if not for any parts In him, 
(Though his right arm might purchase his own time. 
And be in debt to none.) yet. more to move you. 
Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both: 
And, for I know, your reverend ages love security, 
I '11 pawn my victories, all my honour to you. 
Upon his good returns. 
If by this crime he owes the law his life. 
Why, let the war receive 't in valiant gore; 
For la\v is strict, and \\'ar is nothing more. 

1 Sen. We are for law, he dies: urge it no more. 
On height of our displeasure; Jriend, or brother, 
He forfeits his own blood that spills another. 

Alcib. Must it be so? it must not be. My lords, 
I do beseech you. know me. 

2 Sen. How? 
Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 

3 Sen. ■ Wh.-it? 
Alcib. I cannot think but your age has forgot me; 

It could not else be I should prove so base. 
To sue, and be denied such common grace: 
My wounds ache at you. 

1 Sen. Do you dare our anger? 

'T is in few words, but spacious in effect; 
We banish thee for ever. 

Alcib. Banish me? 

Banish your dotage; banish usury. 



252 



TIM ON OF ATHENS. 



LACT IV. 



That makes the senate URly. 

1 Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee. 
Attend our weightier judKment. And, not to swell 

our spirit. 
He shall be executed presently. [E.x'eunt .Senators. 

Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enougli; that you 
may live 
Only In bone, that none may look on you! 
I 'm worse than mad: I have kept back their foes, 
While tliey have told their money, and let out 
Tlieircoin upon large inteivst; I myself, 
Rich only in large hurts:— All those, for this? 
Is tliis the balsam, that the usuring senate 
Pours Into captains" wounds? Banishment? 
It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; 
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury. 
That I may strike at Athens. I "U cheer up 
My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 
'T Is honour with most lands to be at odds; 
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. 

lExit. 

Scene VX.—A magnrftcent Room in Tlmon's 

House. 

Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. 
Enter divers Lords, at several doors. 

1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 

2 Lord. I also wish It to you. I think this honour- 
able lord did but try us this other day. 

1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when 
we encountered: I hope it is not so low with him, as 
he made it seem In the trial of his several friends. 

2 Lord. It should not be, by the persuasion of his 
new feasting. 

1 Lord. 1 should think so: He hath sent me an 
earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did 
urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me be- 
yond them, and I must needs appear. 

2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my impor- 
tunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. 
I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my 
provision was out. 

1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand 
how all things go. 

2 Lord. Every man here 's so. What would he 
have borrowed of you? 

1 Lord. .\ thousand pieces. 

2 Tx>rd. A thousand pieces! 
1 Lord. What of you? 

3 Lord. He sent to me, sir,— Here he comes. 

Enter Timon and Attendants. 
Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both:— And how 
fare you? 

1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your lord- 
shi p. 

2 Lord. The swallow follows not summer more 
willing than we your lordship. 

Tim. [Aside.'l Nor more willingly leaves winter; 
such summer-birds are men.— Gentlemen, our din- 
ner will not recompense this long stay: feast your 
ears with the music awhile; if they will fare so 
harshly on the trumpet's sound: we shall to 't pre- 
sently. 

1 Xord. I hope it remains not unkindly with your 
lordship, that I returned you an empty messenger. 

Tim. O, sir, let it not trouble you. 

2 Lord. My noble lord,— 

Tim. Ah, my good friend! what cheer'' 

\The banquet brought in. 

2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick 
of shame, that when your lordship this other day 
sent to me I was so unfortunate a beggar. 

Tim. Think not on 't, sir. 

2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours before, — 

Tim. Let it not cumber your better remem- 
brance.— Come, bring in all together. 

2 Lord. All covered dishes! 

1 Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 

3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money, and the season, 
can yield it. 

1 Lord. How do you'r* What 's the news? 

S Lord. Alcibiades is banished: Hear you of it? 

1 £& 2 Lord. Alcibiades banished! 

3 Lord. 'T is so, be sure of it. 

1 Lord. How? how? 

2 Lord. I pray you, upon what? 

Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 

3 Lord. I '11 tell you more anon. Here 's a noble 
feast toward. 

2 Lord. This is the old man still. 

3 Lord. Will 't hold, will 't hold? 

2 Lord. It does: but time will— and so— 

3 Lord. I do conceive. 

Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he 
would to the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in 
all places alike. Make not a citv feast of it, to let 
the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place: 
Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. 

You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with 
thankfulness. For your own gifts make yourselves 
praised: but reserve still to give lest your deities be 
despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need 
not lend to another: for, were your godheads to 
borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make 
the meat be beloved, more than the man that gives 
It. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score 
of villains: If there sit twelve women at the table, 
let a dozen of them be— as they are.— The rest of 
your fees, O gods,— the senators of Athens, to- 
gether with the common lag of people,— what is 
amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for destruc- 
tion. For these my present friends, as they are to 
me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to no- 
thing are they welcome. 
Uncover, dogs, and lap. 

[The dishes uncovered., are full of warm water. 

Some speak. What does his lordship mean? 

Some other. I know not. 

Tim. May you a better feast never behold, 
You knot or mouth-friends! smoke and lukewarm 

water 
Is your perfection. This is Tlmon's last; 
Whostuekfand spangled you with flatteries. 
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces 

[Throwing water in their faces. 
Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd, and long, 
Most smiling, stnooth, detested parasites. 
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears. 
You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, 
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks! 
Of man and beast the Infinite malady 
Crust you quite o'er!— What, dost thou go? 



Soft, take thy physic first— thou too,— and thou;— 

[Thrnxi's the dishes at them, and drives them out. 
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.- 
Wliat, :ill in motion? HeiK-erurtli be no feast, 
Wliereat a villain 's nut .i wi'leonie guest. 
Biiin, house; sink, Athens! luucel'orth hated be 
Of Timon, man, and all humanity. [E.vit. 

Reenter the Lords, ivith other Lords, and Senators. 

1 Lord. How now. my lords? 

2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Tlmon's 

fin-y? 

3 Lord. Pish! did you see my cap? 

4 Lord. I have lost my gown. 

3 Lord. He 's but a mad lord, and nought but 
humour sways him. He gave me a jewel the other 
day, and now he has beat it out of my hat:— Did you 
see my jewel? 

4 Lord. Did you see my cap? 
2 iMrd. Here 't is. 

4 iMrd. Here lies my gown. 

1 Lord. Let 's make no stay. 

2 Lord. Lord Timon 's mad. 

3 Lord. I feel 't upon my bones. 

4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day 

stones. {^Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Scene 1.— Without the Walls of Athens. 
Enter Timon. 
Tim. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall. 
That girdlest In those wolves, dive in the earth. 
And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! 
Obedience fail in childi'en! Slaves and fools 
Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench, 
And minister in their steads! To general fifths 
Convert, o' the instant, green virginity- 
Do 't in your parent's eyes! Bankrupts, hold fast; 
Rather than render back, out with your knives. 
And cut your trusters' throats! Bound servants, 

steal! 
Large-handed robbers your grave master are, 
And pill by law! Maid, to thy master's bed; 
Thy mistress is 'o the brothel! Son of sixteen. 
Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire. 
With it beat out his brains! Piety and fear, 
Religion to the gods, peace, .iustice, truth. 
Domestic awe, night rest, and neighbourhood. 
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, 
Decline to your confounding contraries. 
And yet confusion live!— Plagues, incident to men, 
Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
On Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica, 
Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
As lamely as their manners! Lust and liberty 
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth; 
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive. 
And drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains. 
Sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop 
Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath; 
That their society, as their friendship, may 
Be merely poison: Nothing I '11 bear from thee, 
But nakedness, thou detestable town! 
Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! 
Timon will to the woods; where he shall find 
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all,) 
The Athenians both within and out that wall! 
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may glow 
To the whole race of mankind, high and low! 
Amen. [Exit. 

Scene II.— Athens. A Room in Tlmon's Souse. 

Enter Flavins, with Two or Three Servants. 
1 Secy. Here you, master steward, where 's our 
master? 
Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? 

Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? 
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 
I am as poor as you. 

1 Serv. Such a house broke! 

So noble a master fallen! All gone! and not 
One friend to take his fortune by the arm. 
And go along with him! 

2 Serv. As we do turn our backs 
From our companion thrown into his grave, 

So his familiars to his buried fortunes 
Slink all away; leave their false vows with him. 
Like empty purses pick'd: and his poor self, 
A dedicated beggar to the air. 
With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, 
Walks, like contempt, alone.— More of our fellows. 
Enter other Servants. 
Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 

3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Tlmon's livery, 
That see I by our faces; we are fellows still. 
Serving alike in sorrow: Leak'd is our bark; 
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, 
Hearing the surges threat: we must 'all part 
Into this sea of air. 

Flav. Good fellows all, 

The latest of my wealth I '11 share amongst you. 
Wherever we shall meet, for Tlmon's sake, 
Let 's yet be fellows; let 's shake our heads, and say, 
As 't were a knell unto our master's fortunes, 
' We have seen better days.' Let each take some; 

[Giinng them money. 
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: 
Thus pan we rich in sorrow, parting poor. 

[Bxennt Servants. 
O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! 
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt. 
Since riches point to misery and contempt? 
Who 'd be so mock'd with glory? or to live 
But in a dream of friendship? 
To have his pomp, and all what state compounds, 
But only painted, like his varnish'd friends? 
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart; 
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood. 
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! 
Who then dares to be half so kind again? 
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. 
My dearest lord,— bless'd to be most accurs'd, 
Rich, only to be wretched— thy great fortunes 
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! 
He 's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat 
Of monstrous friends: 
Nor has he with him tc^supply his life. 
Or that which can command It. 
I '11 follow, and inquire him out: 
I '11 ever serve his mind with my best will; 
Whilst I have gold I '11 be his steward still. lExit. 



Scene IIL— IVie Woods. 
Enter Timon. 
Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth 
Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb 
Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,— 
Whose procreation, residence, and birth. 
Scarce is dividant,— touch them with several for- 
tunes; 
The greater scorns the lesser; not nature. 
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune. 
But by contempt of nature: 
Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord; 
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary. 
The beggar native honour: 
It is the pasture lards the brother's sides, 
The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who 

dares. 
In purity of manhood stand upright. 
And say, ' This man 's a flatterer '? If one be, 
So are they all; for every grize of fortune 
Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate 
Ducks to the golden fool: All Is oblique; 
There 's nothing level in our cursed natures, 
But direct villainy. Therefore, be abhorr'd 
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men! 
His semblable, yea, himself. Timon disdains: 
Destruction fang mankind!— Earth, yield me roots! 

[Digging. 

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 

With thy most operant poison! What is here? 

Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? 

No, gods, I am no idle votarist. 

Roots, you clear heavens! Thus much of this, will 

make 
Black, white; foul, fair; wrong, right; 
Base, noble; old, young; coward, valiant. 
Ha, you gods! why this? What this, you gods? Why 

this 
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides; 
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: 
This yellow slave 

Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd; 
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves. 
And give them title, knee, and approbation. 
With senators on the bench: this is it, 
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again; 
She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores 
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices 
To the April-day again. Come, damned eartn. 
Thou common whore of manltind, that putt'st odds 
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
Do thy right nature.— [ilfarcTi afar o.^.J— Ha! a 

drum?— Thou 'rt quick. 
But yet I "11 bury thee: Thou 'It go, strong thief. 
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand:— 
Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold.^ 

Enter Alcibiades, with drum and fife, in warlike 
manner; Phrynia and Timandra. 

Alcib. What art thou there? Speak! 

Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy 
heart, 
For showing me again the eyes of man! 

Alcib. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to 
thee. 
That art thyself a man? 

Tim. I am misanthropos, and hate mankind. 
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog. 
That I might love thee something. 

Alcib. Iknow thee well; 

But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 

Tim. I know thee too; and more, than that I know 
thee, 
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum; 
With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules: 
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel; 
Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine 
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 
For all her cherubin look. 

Phry. Thy lips rot off! 

Tim. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns 
To thine own lips again. 

Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change? 

Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give; 
But then renew I could not, like the moon; 
There were no suns to borrow of. 

Alcib. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do 
thee? 

Tim. None, but to maintain my opinion. 

Alcib. What is it, Timon? 

Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none: 
If thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for 
thou art a man! if thou dost perform, confound 
thee, for thou 'rt a man! 

Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. 

Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. 

Alcib. I see them now; then was a blessed time. 

Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. 

Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the 
world , 

Voiic'd so regardfuUy? 

Tim. Art thou Timandra? 

Timan. Yes. 

jRjn. Be a whore still! They love thee not that use 
thee. 
Give them disease?, leaving with thee their lust. 
Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves 
For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth 
To the tub-fast and the diet. 

Timan. Hang thee, monster! 

Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra; for his wits 
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. 
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 
The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
In my penurious band: I have heard, and griev'd. 
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, 
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states. 
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them,— 

Tim. I prithee beat thy drum, and get thee gone. 

Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. 

Tim. How dost thou pity nim, whom thou dost 
trouble? 
I had rather be alone. 

Alcib. Why, fare thee well: 

Here 's some gold for thee. 

Tim. Keep 't, I cannot eat it. 

Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap, — 

Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? 

Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 

Tim. The gods confound them all in thy conquest; 
and thee after, when thou hast conquer'd! 

Alcib. Why me, Timon? 

Tim. That, by killing of villains, thou wast born to 



Scene hi.] 



TIMON OF A TIJENS. 



353 



conquer my country- 
Put up thy gold: fio on,— here 's gold,— go on; 
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
Will o'er soiui- hieli-vic'd elty hang his poison 
In till' -irk air: Li't ni.i thv sxvord skip one: 
Pity not lioiiourM age for his white biMrd, 
He's an usurer: Strike nie the counterfeit matron; 
It is her habit only that is honest. 
Herself 's a bawd: Let not the virgin's cheek 
Make soft thy trencliant sword: for those milk paps, 
That through the wiiulow-bars bore at men's eyes. 
Are not within the leaf of pity writ. 
But set them down horrible traitors: Spare not the 

babe, 
■Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their 

mercy; 
Think it a bastard, whom the oracle 
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut. 
And minee it sans remorse: Swear against objects; 
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes: 
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, 
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding. 
Shall pierce a jot. There 's gold to pay thy soldiers: 
Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, 
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone. 
Alcih. Hast thou gold yet? I 'U take the gold thou 
giv'st me, 
Not all thv counsel. 
Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse 

upon thee! 
Fhr. & Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon: 

hast thou more? 
Tim. Enough to make a whore forsvpear her trade. 
And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, 
Your aprons mountant: You are not oathable,— 
Although, I know, you 'U swear, terribly swear, 
Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues. 
The immortal gods that hear you,— spare your oaths, 
I '11 trust to your conditions: Be whores still; 
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you. 
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; 
Let your close Are predominate his smoke. 
And be no turncoats: Yet may your pains, six 

months. 
Be quite contrary: And thatch your poor thin roofs 
With burdens of the dead;— some that were hang'd. 
No matter:— wear them, betray with them: whore 

still: 
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: 
A pox of wrinkles! 

Phr. £ Timan. Well, more gold;— What then?— 
Believ 't that we '11 do anything for gold. 

Tim. Consumptions sow 
In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins. 
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, 
That he may never more false title plead. 
Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen 
That scolds against the quality of flesh. 
And not believes himself: down with the nose, 
Down with.it flat; take the bridge quite away 
Of him, that his particular to foresee. 
Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruf- 

flans bald; 
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
Derive some pain from you: Plague all; 
That your activity may defeat and quell 
The source of all erection.— There 's more gold:— 
Do you damn others, and let this damn you. 
And ditches grave you all! 
Phr. £• Timan. More counsel with more money, 

bounteous Timon. 
Tim. More whore, more mischief nrst; I have giv- 
en you earnest. 
Aleib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Fare- 
well, Timon; 
If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. 
Tim. If I hope well, I '11 never see thee more. 
Alcib. I never did thee harm. 
Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. 
Alcib. Call'st thou that harm? 
Tim. Men daily And it. Get thee away. 
And take thy beagles with thee. 

Alcib. We but offend him. — 

Strike. 

[Drum beats. Exeunt Alcibiades, Phrynia, and 
Timandra. 
Tim. That nature, beingsick of man's unkindness, 
Should yet be hungry;— Common mother, thou, 

[Digging. 
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, 
Teems, and feeds all; whose self-same mettle. 
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is pufE'd, 
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, 
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, 
With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven 
Whereon Hyperion's quickening flre doth shine; 
Y'ield him, who all the human'sons doth hate. 
From forth th.v plenteous bosom, one poor root! 
Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb. 
Let it no more bring out ingratetul man! 
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; 
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
Hath to the marble mansion all above 
Never presented!— O, a root,— Dear thanks! 
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas; 
Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, 
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, 
That from it all consideration slips! 
Enter Apemantus. 
More man? Plague! plague! 

Apem. I was directed hither: Men report 
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them, 

Tim. 'T is then, because thou dost not keep a dog 
Whom I would imitate: Consumption catch thee! 

Apem. This is in thee a nature but infected; 
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
From change of fortune. Why this spade? this 

place? 
This slave-like habit? and these looks of care? 
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft; 
Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot 
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods. 
By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee. 
And let his very breath, whom thou 'It observe. 
Blow oft th.y cap; praise his most vicious strain, 
And call it excellent: Thou wast told thus: 
Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade wel- 
come. 
To knaves and all approachers: 'T is most just 
That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again, 
Bascals should have 't. Do not assume my likeness. 
Tim. Were I like thee X 'd throw away myself. 



A2)em. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like 
thv.self; 
A madman so long, now a fool: What, think'st 
That the bleak air, thv boisterous chamberlain, 
Will put thv shirt on wariny Will these nioss'd trees, 
That have nutliv'il the eafjle. pn^'e thy heels. 
And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold 

brook. 
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste. 
To cure thy o'er-night's surfeit? Call the creatures,— 
Whose naked natures live in all the spite 
Of wreakful heaven; whose bare unhoused trunks, 
To the conflicting elements e.xpos'd. 
Answer mere nature,— bid them flatter thee; 
O! thou Shalt find— 

Tim. A fool of thee: Depart. 

AiK-m. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 

Tim. I hate thee worse. 

Apein. Why? 

Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 

Apem. I flatter not; but say thou art a caitiff. 

Tim. Why dost thou seek me out? 

Apem. To vex thee. 

Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's; 
Dost please thyself in It? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. What! a knave too? 

Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on 
To castigate thy pride, 't were well: but thou 
Dost it enforcedly; thou 'dst courtier be again, 
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before: 
■The one is filling still, never complete; 
The other, at high wish: Best state, contentle.ss. 
Hath a distracted and most wretched being. 
Worse than the worst, content. 
Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. 

Tim. Not by his breath that is more miserable. 
Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm 
With favour never clasp'd; but bred a dog. 
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath proceeded 
The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
To such as may the passive drugs of it 
Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thy- 
self 
In general riot; melted down thy youth 
In different beds of lust; and never learn'd 
The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, 
Who had the world as my confectionary; 
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of 

men 
At duty, more than I could frame employment; 
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare 
For every storm that blows;— I, to bear this. 
That never knew but better, is some burden: 
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time 
Hath made thee hard in 't. Why should'st thou hate 

men? 
They never flatter'd thee: What hast thou given? 
If thou ^vill curse, thy father, that poor rag, 
Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff 
To some she beggar, and compounded thee 
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! be gone! 
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men. 
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. 

Apem. Art thou proud yet? 

Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. 

Apem, I, that I was no prodigal. 

Tim. I, that I am one now; 

Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, 
I 'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone.— 
That the whole life of Athens were in this! 
Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root. 

Apem. Here; I will mend thy feast. 

[Q^ermfir him something. 

Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. 

Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of 
thine. 

Tim. 'T is not well mended so, it Is but botch'd; 
If not, I would it were. 

Apem. What would'st thou have to Athens? 

Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, 
Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. 

Apem. Here is no use for gold. 

Tim. The best and truest: 

For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 

Apem. Where ly'st o' nights, Timon? 

Tim. Under that 's above me. 

Where feed'st thou o' days, Apemantus? 

Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, 
where I eat it. 

Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my 
mind! 

Apem. Where would'st thou send It? 

Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 

Apem. The middle of humanity thou never knew- 
est, but the extremity of both ends: When thou wast 
In thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for 
too much curiosity; in thy rags thou knowest none, 
but art despised for the contrary. There 's a medlar 
for thee, eat it. 

Tim. On what I hate I feed not. 

Apem. Dost hate a medlar? 

Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 

Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, thou 
shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man 
didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after 
his means? 

Tim. Who, without those means thou talk'st of, 
didst thou ever know beloved? 

Apem. Myself. 

Tim. I understand thee; thou hadst some means to 
keep a dog. 

Apem. What things in the world canst thou nearest 
compare to thy flatterers? 

Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the things 
themselves. What wouldst thou do with the world, 
Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? 

Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. 

Tim. Would'st thou have thyself fall In the confu- 
sion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? 

Apem. Ay, Timon. 

Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant 
thee to attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would 
beguile thee: if thou wert the lamb, the fox would 
eat thee: if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect 
thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by the 
ass: If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment 
thee; and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the 
wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would 
afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for 



thy dinner: wert flmu the uulooni, pride .ind wrath 
would conl'mniil (lic'i\ :iiiil Tiinkc thine own self the 
con(iu(*st of U\s fury: wertlhuu a l)e;u', I liou u'ouldst 
be killetl !>>■ the horse; wert thou a horse, thou 
wouldst be seized by the leopard: wert thou a 
leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and the spots 
of thy kindred were jurors on thy life: all thy safely 
were remotion; :\u(l Ihy defence, nVisenee. What 
beast eouUlst tliou I"', Ihiit were nut subject to a 
beast? anil what a li.asl art thou already, that seest 
not thy loss in transformation? 

Apein. It thou couldst please me with speaking to 
me, thou mightst have hit upon it here: The cora- 
monw-ealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. 

Tim. How! has the ass broke the wall, that thou 
art out of the city? 

Axiem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter: The 
plague of company light upon thee! I will fear to 
catch it, and give way: When I know not what else 
to do, I '11 see thee again. 

Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou 
Shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog, 
than Apemantus. 

Apem. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. 

Tim. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon. 

Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. 

Tim. All villains that do stand by thee are pure. 

Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st. 

Tim. If I name thee.— 
I '11 beat thee, but I should infect my hands. 

Apem. I would my tongue could rot them off! 

Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog! 
Choler does kill me, that thou art alive; 
I swoon to see thee. 

Avem,. 'Would thou wouldst burst! 

Tim. Away, 

Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose 
A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him,. 

Apem. Beast! 

Tim. Slave! 

Apem. Toad! 

Tim. Rogue, rogue, rogue! 

[Apemantus retreats backivard.as going. 
I am sick of this false world; and will love nought 
But even the mere necessities upon 't. 
Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; 
Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
Thy grave-stone daily: make thine epitaph, 
•That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 

thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 

[Looking on the gold. 
'Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright defiler 
Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars! 
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer. 
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god, 
That solder'st close impossibilities. 
And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every 

tongue. 
To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts! 
Think, thy slave man rebels; and by thy virtue 
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
May have the world in empire! 

Apem. 'Would 't were so: — 

But not till I am dead!- 1 '11 say, thou hast gold: 
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. 

Tim. Throng'd to? 

Apem. Ay. 

Tim. Thy back, I prithee. 

Apem. Live, and love thy misery! 

Tim. Long live so, and so die!— I am quit. 

[Exit Apemantus. 
More things like men?— Eat, Timon, and abhor 
them. 

Enter Banditti. 

1 Ban. Where should he have this gold? It is 
some poor fragment, some slender ort of his re- 
mainder: The mere want of gold, and the falling 
from of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. 

2 Ban. It is noised he hath a mass of treasure. 

3 Ban. Let us make the assay upon him. If he 
care not for 't, he will supply us easily: If he covet- 
ously reserve it, how shall 's get it? 

3 Ban. True; for he bears it not about him, 't is 
hid. 

1 Ban. Is not this he? 
Banditti. Where? 

2 Ban. 'T is his description. 

3 Ban. He; I know him. 
Banditti. Save thee, Timon. 

Tim. Now, thieves? 

Banditti. Soldiers, not thieves. 

Tim. Both too; and women's sons. 

Banditti. We are not thieves, but men that much 
do want. 

Tim. Your greatest want is you want much of 
meat. 
Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots; 
Within this mile break forth a himdred springs: 
The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips; 
The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush 
Lays her full mess before vou. Want? why want? 

1 Ban. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water. 
As beasts, and birds, and fishes. 

Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and 
I fishes; 

' You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con. 
That you are thieves profess'd; that you work not 
In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft 
In limited professions. Rascal thieves, 
I Here 's gold: Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape. 
Till the high fever seeth your blood to froth. 
And so 'scape hanging. Trust not the physician, 
1 His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
More than you rob. Take wealth and lives together; 
Do villainy, do, since you protest to do 't. 
Like workmen. I '11 example you with thievery: 
The sun 's a thief, and with his great attraction 
Robs the vast sea: the moon 's an arrant thief, 
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: 
The sea 's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
The moon into salt tears: the earth 's a thief. 
That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen 
From general excrement: each thing 's a thief. 
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power 

1 Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves: away; 
Rob one another. There 's more gold: Cut throats; 
All that you meet are thieves: To Athens go; 
Break open shops: nothing can you steal. 

But thieves do lose It: Steal not less, for this 
j I give you; and gold confound you howsoever: 

Amen. [Timon retires to his cave. 

3 Ban. He has almost charmed me from my pro- 
' fession, by persuading me to it. 



254 



TIMON OF A THENS. 



[Act v. 



IBan. 'T is In the malice of mankind, that he thus 
advises us; not to have us thrive In our mystery. 

2 Ban. I 'U believe him as an enemy, and give over 
my trade. 

1 Ban. Let us first see peace In Athens: There is 
no time so miserable but a man may be true. 

[Exeunt Banditti. 
Enter Flavlus. 

Flav. O yon gods! 
Is yon dospis'il and ruinous man my lord? 
Full of decay and falling? O monument 
And bonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! 
What an alteration of honour has 
Desperate want made! 

What viler thing upon the earth, than friends, 
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends: 
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, 
When man was wlsh'd to love his enemies; 
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo 
Those that would mischief me, than those that do! 
He has caught me In his eye: I will present 
My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord. 
Still serve him with my life.— My dearest master! 

Timon conies forward from his cave. 

Tim. Away! what art thou? 

Flav. Have you forgot me, sir? 

Tim. Why dost ask that? I have forgot all men; 
Then, if thou grant'st thou 'rt a man, I have forgot 
thee. 

Flav. An honest poor servant of yours. 

Tim. Then I know thee not. 
1 ne'er had honest man about me; ay, all 
I kept were knaves to serve in meat to villains. 

Flav. The gods are witness. 
Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. 

Tim. What, dost thou weep?— Come nearer:— then 
I love thee. 
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st 
Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give 
But thorough lust and laughter. Pity 's sleeping: 
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with 
weeping! 

Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, 
Tojaccept my grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts. 
To entertain me as your steward still. 

Tim. Had I a steward 
So true, so just, and now so comfortable? 
It almost turns my dangerous nature wild. 
Let me behold thy face.— Surely, this man 
Was born of woman.— 

Forgive my general and exceptless rashness. 
You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim 
One honest man,— mistake me not,— but one;— 
No more, I pray,— and he 's a steward.— 
How fain would I have hated all mankind, 
And thou redeem'st thyself: But all, save thee, 
I fell with curses. 

Methinks, thou art more honest now than wise;' 
For by oppressing and betraying me. 
Thou might'st have sooner got another service: 
For many so arrive at second masters. 
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, 
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,) 
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous. 
If not a usuring kindness; and as rich men deal gifts. 
Expecting in return twenty for one? 

Flav. No, my most worthy master. In whose breast 
Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late; 
You should have fear'd false times, when you did 

feast: 
Suspect still comes where an estate Is least. 
That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, 
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind. 
Care of your food and living: and, believe it. 
My most honour'd lord. 
For any benefit that pomts to me. 
Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange 
For this one wish. That you had power and wealth 
To requite me, by making rich yourself. 

Tim. Look thee, 't is so!— thou singly honest man. 
Here, take:— the gods out of my misery 
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy: 
But thus condition'd: Thou shall build from men; 
Hate all, curse all: show charity to none: 
But let the famish'd fiesh slide from the bone. 
Ere thou relieve the beggar: give to dogs 
What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow 

them, 
Debts wither them to nothing: Be men like blasted 

woods, 
And may diseases lick up their false bloods! 
And so, farewell, and thrive. 

Flav. O, let me stay, and comfort you, my master. 

Tim. If thou hat'st curses 
Stay not; fly, whilst thou art bless'd and free; 
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. 

lExeunt severally. 

ACT V. 

Scene I —Before Timon's Cave. 

Enter Poet and Painter; Timon behind, vnscen. 

Fain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far 
where he abides. 

Poec. What 's to be thought of him? Does the ru- 

ur hold for true, that he 's so full of gold.' 

uin. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and 

Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched 

poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 'T is 

said he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. 

Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try 
for his friends. 

Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm in 
Athens again, and flourish with the higliest. There- 
fore, 't is not amiss we tender our loves to him, in 
this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in 
us; and is very likely to load our purposes with what 
they travel for, if it be a just and true report that 
goes of his having. 

poet. What have .you now to present unto him? 

Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation: only 
I will promise him an excellent piece. 

Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent 
that 's coming toward him. 

Pain. Good as the best. 
Promising is the very air o' the time; 
It opens the eyes of expectation: 
Performance is ever the duller for his act; 
And, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, 
The deed of saying is quite out of use. 
To pi'omlse is most courtly and fashionable: 
Performance is a kind of will, or testament, 



Which argues a great sickness in his judgment 
That makes it. 

Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint 
a man so bad as Is thyself. 

Poet. I am thinking 
What I shall say I have provided for him: 
It must be a personating of himself: 
A .satire against the softness of prosperity; 
With a discovery of the infinite flatteries 
That follow youth and opulency. 

Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine 
own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other 
men.' Do so, I have gold for thee. 

Poet. Nay, let 's seek him: 
Then do we sin against our own estate. 
When we may profit meet, and come too late. 

Pain. True: 
When the day serves, before black-corner'd night. 
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. 
Come. 

Tim. I "11 meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, 
That he Is worshipp'd in a baser temple. 
Than where swine feed! 
'T Is thou that rigg'st the bark and plough'st the 

foam; 
Settlest admired reverence In a slave: 
To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye 
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! 
'Fit I meet them. [Advancing. 

Poet. Hail, worthy Timon! 

Pain. Our late noble master. 

Tim. Havel once llv'd to see two honest men? 

Poet. Sir, 
Having often of your open bounty tasted. 
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, 
Whose thankless natures— O abhorred spirits! 
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough— 
What! to you! 

Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence 
To their whole being! I 'm rapt, and cannot cover 
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
With any size of words. 

Tim. Let It go naked, men may see it the better; 
You, that are honest, by being what you are. 
Make them best seen, and known. 

Pain. He, and myself. 

Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts. 
And sweetly felt it. 

Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 

Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service. 

Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite 
you? 
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. 

Both. What we can do, we '11 do, to do you service. 

Tim. You are honest men: You have heard that I 
have gold; 
I am sure you have: speak truth: your 're honest 
men. 

Pain. So it Is said, my noble lord: but therefore 
Came not my friend, nor I. 

Tim. Good honest men: Thou draw'st a counter- 
feit 
Best in all Athens: thou art. Indeed, the best; 
Thou counterfeit'st most lively. 

Pain. So, so, my lord. 

Tim. Even so, sir, as I say: And for thy fiction, 

[To the Poet. 
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth. 
That thou art even natural in thine art.— 
But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, 
I must needs say you have a little fault: 
Marry, 't is not monstrous in you; neither wish I 
You take much pains to mend. 

Both. Beseech your honour, 

To make It known to us. 

Tim. You '11 take It lU. 

Both. Most thankfully, my lord. 

Tim. Will you, Indeed? 

Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 

Tim. There 's never a one of you but trusts a 
knave. 
That mightily deceives you. 

Both. Do we, my lord? 

Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble. 
Know his gross patchery, love hlin, feed him, 
Iveep in your bosom: yet remain assur'd, 
Th,it he 's a made-up villain. 

Pa in. I know none such, my lord. 

Poet. Nor L 

Tim. Look you, I love you well; I '11 give you gold. 
Rid me these villains from your companies: 
Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught. 
Confound them by some course, and come to me, 
I '11 give you gold enough. 

Both. Name them, my lord, let 's know them. 

Tim. You that way, and you this, — but two in com- 
pany:— 
Each man apart, all single and alone. 
Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. 
It where thou art, two villains shall not be, 

[To the Painter. 
Come not near him.— If thou wouldst not reside 

[To the Poet. 
But where one villain is, then him abandon.— 
Hence! pack! there is gold, ye came for gold, ye 

slaves. 
You have work for me, there 's payment: Hence! 
You are an alchymist, make gold of that:— 
Out, rascal dogs! 

[Exit, beating and driving them out. 

Scene II.— The same. 

Enter Flavius and Two Senators. 

Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with 
Timon; 
For he Is set so only to himself. 
That nothing Ijut himself, which looks like man. 
Is friendly with hiiu. 

1 Sen. Bring us to his cave; 
It is our part, and promise to the Athenians 
To speak witli Timon. 

2 Sen. At all times alike. 

Men are not still the same: 'T was time, and griefs, 
That fram'd him thus: time, with his fairer hand, 
Offering tlie fortunes of his former days. 
The former man may make him: Bring us to him. 
And chance it as it may. 

Flav. Here Is his cave. — 

Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon! 
Lot)k out, and speak to friends: The Athenians, 
By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: 
Speak to them, noble Timon. 



Enter Timon. 
Tim. Thou sun, that comforfst, burn!- Speak, and 
be hang'd: 
For each true word, a blister! and each false 
Be as a caut'risine to the root o' the tongue. 
Consuming It with speaking! 

1 Sen. Worthy Timon,— 
Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. 

2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. 
Tim. I thank them; and would send them back: 

the plague. 
Could I but catch It for them. 

1 Sen. O forget 
What we are sorry for ourselves In thee. 
The senatoi-s, with one consent of love. 
Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought 
On special dignities, which vacant lie 

For thy best use and wearing. 

2 Sen. They confess. 
Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross; 
Which now the public body,— which doth seldom 
Play the recanter,— feeling In itself 

A lack of Tlinon's aid, hath sense withal 
Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon; 
And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render^ 
Together with a recompense more fruitful 
Than their offence can weigh down by the dram; 
Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth. 
As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs. 
And write in thee the figures of their love. 
Ever to read them thine. 

Tim. You witch me In It; 

Surprise me to the very brink of tears: 
liCnd me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes, 
And I '11 beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 

1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with us. 
And of our Athens (thine and ours,) to take 

The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, 
Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name 
Live with authority:— so soon we shall drive back 
Of Alcibiades the approaches wild; 
Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up 
His country's peace. 

2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning swordl 
Against the walls of Athens. 

1 Sen. Therefore, Timon,— 

Tim. Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; 'Thus, — 
If Alcibiades kill my countrymen. 
Let Alcibiades know tills of Timon, 
That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, 
And take our goodly aged men by the beards. 
Giving our holy virgins to the stain 
Of contumelious, beastly, mad-braln'd war; 
Then, let him know,— and tell him, Timon speaks it 
In pity of our aged, and our youth, 
I cannot choose, but tell him, that I care not. 
And let him tak 't at worst; for their knives care not. 
While you have throats to answer: for myself, 
There 's not a whittle in the unruly camp. 
But [ do prize it at my love, before 
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you 
To the protection of the prosperous gods, 
As thieves to keepers. 

Flav. Stay not, all 's In vain. 

Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph; 
It will be seen to-morrow: my long sickness 
Of health, and living, now begins to mend. 
And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; 
Be Alcibiades your plague, you nis. 
And last so long enough! 

1 Sen. We speak in vain. 

Tim. But yet I love my country, and am not 
One that rejoices in the common wrack. 
As common, bruit doth put it. 

1 Sen. That 's well spoke. 

Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen,— 

1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass 

through them. 

2 Sen. And enter in our ears like great triumphers 
In their applauding gates. 

Tim. Commend me to them; 

And tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs. 
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, 
■Their pangs of love, with other incident throes 
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain 
In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do 

them: 
I '11 teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 

2 Sen. I like this well, he will return again. 

Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close. 
That mine own use invites me to cut down. 
And shortly must I fell it: Tell my friends, 
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, 
Fiom high to low throughout, that whoso please 
To stop affliction, let him take his haste. 
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe. 
And hang himself :— I pray you, do my greeting. 

Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shaU 
find him. 

Tim. Come not to me again: but say to Athens, 
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion ■ 

TJp(5n the beached verge of the salt flood; 
Whom once a day with his embossed froth 
The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come. 
And let my grave-stone be your oracle.— 
Lips, let sour words go by, and language end: 
What is amiss, plague and infection mend! 
Graves only be men's works; and death their gain! 
bun, hide thy beams! Timon hath done his reign. 

[Exit Timon. 

1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveably 
Coupled to nature. 

2 Se7i. Our hope in him is dead: let us return. 
And strain what other means is left unto us 
In our dear peril. 

1 Sen. It requires swift foot. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— The Walls of Athens. 
Enter Two Senators, and a Messenger. 

1 Sen. Thou hast painfully dlscover'd; are his files 
As full as thy report? 

Mess. I have spoke the least; 

Besides, his expedition promises 
Present approach. 

1 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not 
Timon. 

Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend; — 
Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd. 
Yet our old love made a particular force. 
And made us speak like friends:- this man was rid- 
ing 
From Alcibiades to Timon's cave 
With letters of entreaty, which imported 



Scene in.] 



HAMLET. 



355 



His fellowship 1' the cause against your city, 
In part for his sake mov'tl. 

Enter Senators /rom Timon. 

1 Sen. Here come our brothers. 

2 Sen. No talk of Tlmon, nothing of him expect.— 
The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
Doth choke the air with dust: In, and prepare; 
Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. lE.veunt. 

Scene IV.— The Woods. Tlmon's Cave, and a Tomb- 
stone seen. 

Enter a Soldier, seeking. 

Sold. By all description this should be the place. 

Who 's here? speak, hoal— No answer?- What is 

this? 
Timon Is dead, who hath outstretched his span; 
Some beast— Read this. There does not live a man. 
Dead, sure; and this his grave.— What 's on this 

tomb 
I cannot read; the character I '11 take irtth wax: 
Our captain liatli in every figure skill; 
An ag'd interpreter, though young In days: 
Before proud .\thens he 's set down by this, 
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit. 

Scene V.— Before the walls o/ Athens. 

Trumpets sottnd. Enter Alcibiades and Forces. 

Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town 

Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded. 

Enter Senators on the n-alls. 
Tin now you have gone on, and fiU'd the time 
.With all licentious measvue, making your wills 
The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such 
As slept within the shadow of your power, 
Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and 

breath'd 
Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush. 
When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong. 
Cries, of itself, 'No more:' now breathless wrong 
Shall sit and pant in your great chair of ease; 
And pursy insolence shall break his wind. 
With fear; and horrid flight. 

1 Sen. Noble, and young. 
When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, 



Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear, 
We sent to thee; to give thy ragf s balm. 
To wipe out <iur Ingratitude with loves 
Above their quantity. 

2 Sen. So did we woo 

Transformed Tlmon to our city's love. 
By humble message, and by promls'd means; 
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
The common stroke of war. 

\ Sen. These walls of o'.irs 

Were not erected by their hands from whom 
You have recelv'd your griefs: nor are they such 
That these great towers, trophies, and schools should 

fall 
For private faults In them. 

2 Sen. Nor are they living 

Who were the motives that you first went out; 
Shame that they wanted cunning, in excess, 
Hatli broke their hearts. March, noble lord, 
Into our city witli thy banners spread: 
By decimation and atithed death. 
(If thy revenges hunger for that food. 
Which nature loaths.) take tliou the destin'd tenth; 
And by the hazard of the spotted die. 
Let die the spotted. 

1 Sen. All have not offended; 
For those that were. It Is not square to take. 
On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands, 
Are not inherited. Tiien, dear countryman. 
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: 
Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin 
vvhich, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall 
With those that have offended: like a shepherd, 
Approacli the told, and cull the infected forth, 
But kill not altogether. 

2 Sen. What thou wilt. 
Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile. 
Than hew to 't with thy sword. 

1 Sen. Set but thy foot 
Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope; 
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before. 

To say thou 'It enter friendly. 

2 Sen. Throw thy glove; 
Or any token of thine honour else, 

That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress. 
And not as our confusion, all thy powers 



Shall make their harbour in our town, till we 
Have seal'd thy full desire. 

Alcib. Then there 's my glove; 

Descend, and open your uncharged ports; 
Those enemies of Tlmon's and mine own. 
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, 
Fall, and no more: and,— to atone your fears 
With my more noble meaning,— not a man 
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream 
Of regular justice in your city's bounds, 
But shall be render'd to your public laws, 
At heaviest answer. 

Both. 'T is most nobly spoken. 

Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 

The Senators descend and open the gates. 

Enter a Soldier. 

So?. My noble general, Timon Is dead; 
Entomb'dupon the very hem o' the sea: 
And on his grave-stone this insculpture, which 
With wax I brought away, whose soft impression 
Interprets for my poor ignorance. 
Alcib. IReads.] Here lies a wretched corse of 

wretched soul liereft; 
Seek not mv name: A plague consume you wicked 

caitiffs left! 
Here He I Timon; who, alive, all living men did 

hate: 
Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass and stay not 

here thy gait. 
These will express In thee thy latter spirits: 
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, 
Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets 

which 
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
Is noble Tlmon; of whose memory 
Hereafter more.— Bring me into your city. 
And I will use the olive with my sword. 
Make war Ijreed peace; make peace stint war: make 

each 
Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. 
Let our drums strike. [Exeunt. 



HAMLET. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



CLAtJDros, King of Denmark. 
H.\MLET, ."ion to the forn^r, and nephew 

to the present King. 
POLONIL'S, Lord Chamberlain. 
JlORATlo, f)-iend to Hamlet. 
L.tERTES, son to Polonlus. 

SS'e"i1Ss"; I'^ourtiers. 



ROSENCRANZ, Icourtieri 

Gl'ILDENSTERN, S ''0""'6»^«- 

OsRic, a courtier. 
Another courtier. 
A Priest. 

Marcellus, an officer. 
Bernardo, an officer. 
Francisco, a soldier. 



Reynaldo, seiwant to Polonlus. 

A Captain. 

An Ambassador. 

Ghost of Hamlet's father. 

FoRTiNBRAS, Prince of Norway. 



Gertrude, 
mother of 



j>ueen of Denmark, and 
Polonlus. 



Ophelia, daughter of Polonlus. 

Lords, Ladies. Officei-s, Soldiers, Play- 
ers, Grave-diggers, Sailors, Messen- 
gers, and other Attendants, 

SCENE.— Elsinore. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle. 

Francisco on his post. Enter to him Bernardo. 

Ber. Who 's there? 

Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and 

unfold 
Yourself. 

Ber. Long live the king! 

I^an. Bernardo? 

Ber. He. 

Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 

Ber. 'T Is now struck twelve; get thee to bed, 
Francisco. 

Fran. For this relief, much thanks: 'tis bitter cold, 
And I am sick at heart. 

Ber. Have you had quiet guard? 

Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 

Ber. Well, good night. 
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Fran. I think I hear them.— Stand! who Is there? 

Hor. Friends to this ground. 

Mar. And Kegemen to the Dane. 

Fran. Give you good night. 

Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier: 

Who hath rellev'd you? 

Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 

Give you good night. [Exit Francisco. 

Mar. Holla! Bernardo! 

Ber. Say. 

What, Is Horatio there? 

Hor. A piece of him. 

Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Marcel- 
lus. 

Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to- 
night? 

Ber. I have seen nothing. 

3far. Horatio says, 't is but our fantasy; 
And will not let belief take hold of him. 
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us: 
Therefore I have entreated him along 
With us to watch the minutes of this night; 
That, if again this apparition come. 
He may approve our eyes, and speak to It. 

Hor. Tush! tush! 't will not appear. 

Ber. Sit down awhile; 

And let us once again assail your ears. 
That are so fortified against our story, 
What we two nights have seen. 

Hor. Well, sit we down 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 

Ber. Last night of all. 
When yon same star, that's westward from the pole. 
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself. 
The bell then beating one,— 

Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes 
again! 

Enter Ghost. 

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that 's dead. 



Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 

Ber. Looks It not like the king? mark it, Horatio. 

Hor. Most like:— it harrows me with fear, and 
wonder. 

Ber. It would be spoke to. 

Mar. Question It, Horatio. 

Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of 
night. 
Together with that fair and warlike form 
In which the majesty of burled Denmark 
Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, 
speak. 

Mar. It is offended. 

Ber. See! it stalks away. 

Hor. Stay: speak: speak! I charge thee, speak! 

[Exit Ghost. 

ilfar. 'T is gone, and will not answer. 

Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look 
pale: 
Is not this something more than fantasy? 
What think you on 't? 

Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe, 
Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 

Mar. Is it not like the king? 

Hor. As thou art to thyself: 
Such was the very armour he had on. 
When he the ambitious Norway combated; 
So f rown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. 
'T is strange. 

Mar. Thus, twice before, and just at this dead 
hour. 
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 

Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know 
not; 
But, in the gross and scope of my opinion. 
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 

Jlfar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that 
knows. 
Why this same strict and most observant watch 
So nightly toils the subject of the land? 
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon. 
And foreign mart for Implements of war: 
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
Does not divide the Sunday from the week: 
What might be toward that this sweaty haste 
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day; 
Who is 't that can Inform me? 

Hor. That can I; 

At least, the whisper goes so. Out last king. 
Whose image even but now appear'd to us. 
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride. 
Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet 
(For so this side of our known world esteem'd him) 
Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact, 
Well ratified bv law, and heraldry. 
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands. 
Which he stood seiz'd on, to the conqueror: 
Against the which, a moiety competent 
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd 
To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same cov'nant 



And carriage of the article deslgn'd. 

His fell to Hamlet: How, sir, young Fortinbras, 

Of unimproved mettle hot and full. 

Hath In the skirts of Norway, here and there, 

Shark'd up a list of landless resolutes. 

For food and diet, to some enterprize 

That hath a stomach in 't: which is no other 

(And It doth well appear unto our state,) 

But to recover of us, by strong hand. 

And terms compulsative, those 'foresaid lands 

So by his father lost: And this, I take it. 

Is the main motive of our preparations; 

The source of this our watch; and the chief head 

Of this post-haste and romage in the land. 

Ber. I think it be no other, but even so: 
Well may it sort, that this portentous figure 
Comes armed through our watch: so like the king 
That was, and is, the question of tliese wars. 

Hor. A moth it is to trouble the mind's eye. 
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets: 
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood. 
Disasters in tlie sun; and the moist star, 
Upon whose Inflitence Neptune's empire stands, 
Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. 
And even the like precurse of fierce events, 
As harbingers preceding still the fates. 
And prologue to the omen coming on. 
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
Unto our climatures and countrymen.— 
Reenter Ghost. 

But, soft; behold! lo, where it comes again! 

I '11 cross it, though It blast me.— Stay, illusion! 

If thou hast any sound, or use of voice. 

Speak to me: 

If there be any good thing to be done. 

That may to thee do ease, and grace to me. 

Speak to me: 

If thou art privy to thy country's fate, 

Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 

O, speak! 

Or, If thou hast uphoarded In thy life 

Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 

For which, they say, you spirits oft walk In death, 

fCocJ; crows. 
Speak of it:— stay, and speak.— Stop it, Marcellus. 

Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partizan? 

Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 

Ber. "I is here! 

Hor. 'T Is here! 

Mar. 'T is gone! [Exit Ghost. 

We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
To offer it the show of violence; 
For it is, as the air, invulnerable. 
And our vain blows malicious mockery. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock cre\v. 

Hor. And then It started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard. 
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, 
Doih with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning. 



•i56 



HAMLET. 



LACT I. 



Whether in sea or fire, In earth or air, 
The extravnjjant and errinjx spirit hies 
To his ciiiilinc: .111. 1 of Ilir tiiitli licrein 
This inTs.-iit olijiL-i iiKidi' in-ohation. 

Mdi: It failed on tlieorouing of tlie cock. 
Some say, tliat ever 'painst that season comes 
■\Vherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated. 
The bird of dawning sinpetli all night long: 
And then, they say, no spiiit can walk abroad; 
The nights are whoU-soinc: then no planets strike, 
No fairy takes, nor witcli Math power to charm, 
So hallow'd and s(> gracious is the time. 

Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. 
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill: 
Break we our \\'atch up: and, by my advice. 
Let us impart what we have seen tonight 
Unto young Hamlet: for, upon my life. 
This spirit, dumlj to us, will speak to him: 
Do you consent we shall accjuaint liim with it. 
As needful in our loves, fitting ourdut.v? 

Mar. Let 's do 't, I pray: and I this morning know 
Where we shall find nim most conveniently. [Exe. 

ScE.NE IL— The same. A Room of State in the same. 

Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonlns. Laertes, 
Voltimand, Cornelius, and Lords Attendant. 

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's 
death 
The memory be green; and that it ns befitted 
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe; 
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
That we "with wisest sorrow think on him, 
Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
The in'.perial jointress of this warlike state. 
Have we, as 't were, with a defeated joy. 
With one auspicious, and one dropping eye; 
With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage 
In equal scale, weighing delight and dole. 
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd 
Your better wisdoms, w^hich have freely gone 
With this aftair along: — For all, our thanks. 

Now follows, that you know, yoimg Fortinbras, 
Holding a weak supposal of our worth; 
Or thinking, by our late dear 'orother's death. 
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
Colleagued with the dream of his advantage, 
He hatii not fail'd to pester us with message. 
Importing the surrender of those lands 
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law. 
To our most valiant brother.— So much for him. 
Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting. 
Thus much the business is: We have here writ 
To Norway, uncle of .young Fortinbras. 
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress 
His further gait herein; in that the levies. 
The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
Out of his subject: and we here despatch 
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
For bearing of this greeting to old Norway; 
Giving to you no further personal power 
To business with the king, more than the scope 
Of these dilated articles allow. 
Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty. 

Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we show our 
duty. 

King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell. 

[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
And now, Laertes, what 's the news with you? 
You told us of some suit' What is 't, Laertes? 
Y^ou cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
And lose your voice: What would'st thou beg, La- 
ertes, 
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? 
The head is not more native to the heart. 
The hand more instrumental to the mouth. 
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
What would'st thou have, Laertes? 

Laer. Dread my lord, 

Y'our leave and favour to return to France; 
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, 
To show my duty in your coronation; 
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done. 
My thoughts and wishes bend again towards France, 
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 

King. Have you your father's leave? What says 
Polonius? 

Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow 
leave. 
By laboursome petition; and, at last. 
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 
I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 

King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine. 
And thy best graces spend it at thy will! 
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, — 

Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. 

\Aside. 

King. How Is it that the clouds still hang on .vou? 

Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun. 

Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nightly colour off, 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids 
Seek for thy noble father in the dust: 
Thou know'st, 't is common; all that lives must die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 

Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 

Queen. It it be. 

Why seems it so particular with thee? 

Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not 
seems. 
'T Is not alone my inky cloak, good mother. 
Nor customary suits of solemn black. 
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath. 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye. 
Nor the dejected haviour of the visage. 
Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief. 
That can denote me tiuly: "These, indeed, seem. 
For the.v are actions that a man might play: 
But I have that within which passeth show; 
These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 

King. 'T is sweet and commendable In your na- 
ture, Hamlet, 
To give these mourning duties to your father: 
But, you must know, your father lost a father; 
That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound 
In filial obligation, for some term 
To do obsequious sorrow: But to persever 
In obstinate condolement, is a course 
Of Impious stubbornness; 't Is unmanly grief: 
It shows a will most Incorrect to heaven; 



A heart unfortified, a mind impatient. 

An understanding simple and unsehool'd: 

For w hat, we know, must be, and is as common 

As aii\' the nu)st vulgar thing to sense. 

Why should we, in our peevish opposition. 

Take it to heart? Fye! 't is a fault to heaven, 

A fault against the dead, a fault to nature. 

To reason most absurd; whose common theme 

Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, 

From the first corse, till he that died today. 

This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth 

This unprevailing woe; and think of us 

As of a father: for let the world take note, 

You are the most immediate to our throne, 

And, with no less nobility of love. 

Than that which dearest father bears his son, 

Do 1 impart towards you. For your intent 

In going, back to school in Wittenberg, 

It is most retrogade to our desire: 

And, we beseech you, bend you tx) remain 

Here, in the cheer and comfort 01 our eye. 

Our chlefest coiirtier, cousin, and our son. 

Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Ham- 
let; 
I pray thee, sta.v with us; go not to Wittenberg. 

Ham. I shall In all my best obey you, madam. 

King. Wh.v, 't is a loving and a fair reply; 
Be as ourself in Denmark.— Madam, come; 
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, 
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day. 
But the great cannons to the clouds shall tell; 
And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again. 
Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 

[Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, <&c., Polonius, 
and Laertes. 

Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt. 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! 
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
His canon 'gain.st self-slaughter! O God! O God! 
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
Seem to me all the uses of this w orld! 
F.ve on 't! O fye! 't is an unweeded garden. 
That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in na- 
ture. 
Possess it merely. That it should come to this! 
But two months dead!— nay, not so much, not two; 
So excellent a king; that was, to this, 
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother. 
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! 
Must I remember? why, she would hang-ou him. 
As if increase of appetite had grown 
By what it fed on: And yet, within a month, — 
Let nie not think on 't; Frailty, thy name is wo- 
man' — 
A little month; or ere those shoes were old. 
With which she follow'd my poor father's body. 
Like Niobe, all tears;— why she, even she, — 

heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
Would have mourn'd longer,- married with mine 

uncle. 
My father's brother; but no more like my father, 
Than I to Hercules: Within a month; 
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
Had left the flushing of her galled eyes. 
She married;— O most wicked speed, to post 
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets; 
It Is not, nor it cannot come to, good; 
But break, my heart; for I must nold my tongue! 

Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Marcellus. 

Hor. Hail to your lordship! 

Ham. I am glad to see you well: 

Horatio,— or I do forget m.vself. 

JJor. "rhe same, my lord, and your poor servant 
ever. 

Ham. Sir, my good friend; I '11 change that name 
with you. 
And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?— 
Marcellus? 

Mar. My good lord, — 

Ham. I am very glad to see you; good even, sir,— 
But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? 

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 

Ham. I would not have your enemy say so. 
Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
To make it truster of your own report 
Against yourself: I know, you are no truant. 
But what is your affair in Elsinore? 
We '11 teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-stu- 
dent; 

1 think it was to see my mother's weddinir. 
Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 
Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral bak'd 

meats 
Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
Ere I had ever seen that day, Horatio!— 
My father,— Methinks, I see my father. 

Hor. O, where, 

My lord? 

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his like again. 

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 

Ham. Saw! who? 

Hor. My lord, the king your father. 

Ham. The king my father! 

Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
With an attent ear; till I may deliver. 
Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
■rhis marvel to you. 

Hain. For heaven's love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch. 
In the dead waste and middle of the night. 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, 
Arm'd at all points, exactly, cap-a pe, 
.\ppears before them, and, with solemn march. 
Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd. 
By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes. 
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, bestill'd 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear. 
Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
In dreadful secresy impart they did; 
And I with them the third night kept the watch: 
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time. 
Form of the thing, each word made true and good. 
The apparition comes: I knew your father; 
These hands are not moro like. 



Ham. But where was this? 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 
watch'd. 

Ham. Did you not speak to It? 

Hor. My lord, I did: 

But answer made it none: yet once, methought. 
It lifted up its head, and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak: 
But, even then, the morning cock crew loud; 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away. 
And vanish'd from our sight. 

Ham. 'T is very strange. 

Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 't is true; 
An<i we did think it writ dosvn in our duty. 
To let you know of It. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
Hold you the watch to-night? 

All. We do, my lord. 

Ham, Arm'd, say you? 

All. . Arm'd, my lord. 

Ham. From top to toe? 

All. M.v lord, from head to foot. 

Ham. Then saw you not his face. 

Hor. O, yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up. 

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly? 

Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. 

Ham. Pale or red? 

Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you? 

Hor. Most constantly. 

Ham. I would I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amazed you. 

Ham. Very like, ver.y like; Stay'd it long? 

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a 
hundred. 

JIfar. Ber. Longer, longer. 

Hor. Not when I saw it. 

Ham. His beard was grizly? no. 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
A sable sUver'd. 

Hatn. I will watch to-night; 

Perchance, 't will walk again. 

Hor. I warrant it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
I '11 speak to it, though hell itself should gape. 
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight. 
Let it be tenable in your silence still. 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night. 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue; 
I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well: 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I '11 visit you. 

All. Our duty to your honour. 

Ham. Your love, as mine to you: Farewell. 

[Exennt Horatio, Marcellus. and Bernardo. 
My father's spirit in arms! all is not well; 
I doubt some foul play: 'would the night were come! 
Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise. 
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them to men's eyes. 

[Exit. 

Scene III.— ^ Room in Polonius' House. 

Enter Laertes cmd Ophelia. . . 

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd; farewell: 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit. 
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, 
But let me hear from you. 

Oph. Do you doubt that? 

Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favours. 
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; 
A violet in the youth of primy nature. 
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting. 
The perfume and suppliance of a minute; 
No more. 

Oph. No more but so? 

Laer. Think It no more: 

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
In thews, and bulk; but, as this temple waxes, 
The inward service of the mind and soul 
Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now; 
And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch 
The virtue of his will: but, you must fear. 
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own; 
For he himself is subject to his birth: 
He ma.v not, as unvalued persons do. 
Carve for himself; for on his choice depends 
The sanctity oud health of the whole state; 
And therefore must his choice be circumscrlb'd 
Unto the voice and yielding of that body. 
Whereof he is the head: Then if he says, he loves 

you. 
It flts your wisdom so far to believe it. 
As he in his peculiar sect and force 
May give his saying deed; which is no further. 
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain, 
If with too credent ear you list his songs; 
Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open 
To his unmaster'd importunity. 
Fgar it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; ■ 

And keep within the rear of your affection, 
Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
The chariest maid is prodigal enough. 
If she unmask her beauty to the moon: 
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes: 
The canker galls the infants of the spring. 
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd; 
And In the morn and liquid due of youth 
Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
Be wary then: best safety lies in fear; 
Youth to Itself rebels, though none else near. 

Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, 
As watchman to my heart: But, good my brother. 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do. 
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; 
Whilst, like a puft'd and reckless libertine. 
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads. 
And recks not his own read. 

Laer. O fear me not. 

I stay too long; -But here my father comes. 

Enter Polonius. 
A double blessing is a double grace; 
Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 

Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard, for shame: 
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail. 
And you are staid for. There, my blessing with you! 
[Laying his hand on Laertes' head. 
And these few precepts in thy memory 
See thou character. Give tliy thoughts no tongue. 
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 



Scene hi.] 



HAMLET. 



967 



Grapple them to thy sovil with hoops of steel; ' 

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 

Of each new-hatch'd, iinfledg'd comrade. Beware 

Of entran je to a quarrel: but, beitiK in, 

Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee. 

■Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: 

Take each man's eensure, l>ut reserve tliy Judgment. 

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy: 

For the apparel oft proclaims the man; 

And they in France of the beat rank and station 

Are of a most select and generous chief in that. 

Neither a l)orrower, nor a lender be: 

For loan oft loses lX)th itself and friend; 

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 

This above all,— To thine ownself be true; 

.\nd it must follow, as the nicht the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man. 

Farewell; my blessing season this in thee! 

I,ner. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 

Pol, The time invites you; go, ycur servants tend. 

Laer. Farewell, Ophelia; and remember well 



You must not take for Are. From this time, daugh- 
ter, 
Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; 
Set your entreatments at a higher rate, 
Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
Believe so much in hnri, tliiit he is young; 
And with a larger tether may he walk. 
Than may be given you: In tew, Ophelia, 
Do not believe his vows; for tiiey are brokers; — 
Not of the eye which their investments show. 
But mere iinplorators of unholy suits, 
Breathing like sanctitled and pious bonds. 
The better to beguile. This is for all,— 
I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, 
Have you so slander any moment's leisure. 
As to give words or talk with the lord Hanilet. 
Look to 't. I charge you: come your ways. 

Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. 

Scene IW.—The Platform. 

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. 

Ham. The air bites shrewdly. It is very cold. 



From that particular fault: The dram of ill 
Doth all the noble substance often dout. 
To his own scandal. 

Enter Ghost. 

Uor. Look, my lord, it cotnesi 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend usi— 
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, 
Bring with thee airs fi-oni heaven, or blasts from 

hell, 
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
Tliou com'st in such questionable shape. 
That I will speak to thee; I '11 call thee, Hamlet, 
King, father, royal Dane; O, answer me. 
Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell. 
Why thy cannoniz'd bones, hearsed in death. 
Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre. 
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd. 
Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws. 
To cast thee up again! What may this mean. 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
Revlsit'st thus the glimpses of the moon. 




[act III. — SCENE IV.] 

What I have said to you. 

Oph. 'T Is in my memory lock'd. 

And you yourself shall keep the key of It. 

Laer. Farewell. [Exit Laertes. 

Pol. What Is 't, Ophelia, he hath said to you? 

Oph. So please you, something touching the lord 
Hamlet. 

Pol. Marry, well bethought: 
'T is told me, he hath very oft of late 
Given private time to you: and you yourself 
Have of your audience been most free and boun- 
If it be so, (as so 't is put on me, fteous; 

And that in way of caution,) I must tell you. 
You do not understand yourself so clearly. 
As it behoves ray daughter, and your honour: 
What Is between you? give me up the truth. 

Oph. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders 
Of his affection to me. 

Pol. Affection? puh! you speak like a green girl. 
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
Do you believe his tenders as you call them? 

Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 

Pol. Marry, I '11 teach you: think yourself a baby; 
That you have ta'en his tenders for true pay. 
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more 

dearly; 
Or, (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase. 
Roaming It thus,) you '11 tender me a fool. 

Oph. My lord, he liath importun'd me with love. 
In honourable fashion. 

Pol. Ay, fashion >i>u may call it: go to, go to. 

Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech. 
With all the vows of Iieaven. fmy lord, 

Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know. 
When the tulood burns, how prodigal the soul 
Gives the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, 
Giving more light than heat,— extinct in both. 
Even in their promise, as it is a making,— 



Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? 



Hor. It Is a nipping and an eager air. 

Ham. Whathournow? 

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 

Mar. No, it is struck. 

Hor. Indeed? I heard it not; then it draws near the 

Wherein the spirit held his womt to walk, [season, 

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordinance shot 

oJ)\ within. 

What does this mean, my lord? [rouse. 

Ham. The king doth wake tonight, and takes his 
Keeps wassels, and the swaggering up-spring reels; 
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down. 
The kettledrum and trumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 

Jlor. Is It a custom? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is 't: 
And to my mind, though I am native here. 
And to the manner born, it is a custom 
More honour'd in the breach than the observance. 
This heavy-headed revel, east and west. 
Makes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations: 
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes 
From our achievements, though perform'd at 
The pith and marrosv of our attribute. [height. 

So, oft it chances in particular men. 
That for some vicious mole of nature in them. 
As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty. 
Since nature cannot choose his origin,) 
By their o'ergrowth of some complexion. 
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; 
Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
The form of plausive manners; that these men. 
Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect; 
Being nature's livery, or fortune's star. 
There virtues else (be rhey as pure as grace. 
As infinite as man mav undergo,) 
Shall in the general censure take corruption 



Making night hideous; and we fools of nature. 
So horridly to shake our disposition. 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? 
Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we doi* 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it. 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 

It wafts you to a more removed ground: 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak; then will I follow it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the fear? • 

I do not set my life at a pin's fee; 
And, for my soul, what can it do to that. 
Being a thing immortal as itself? 
It waves me forth again;— I '11 follow it. 

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, flora. 

That beetles o'er his base into the sea,| 
And there assume some other horrible form. 
Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason. 
And draw you into madness? think of it: 
The very place puts toys of desperation. 
Without more motive. Into every brain. 
That looks so many fathoms to the sea. 
And hears it roar beneath. 

Ham. It wafts me still:— 

Go on, I '11 follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Havi. Hold oft your hand. 

Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 

Ham. My fate cries out. 

And makes each petty artery in tiiis body 
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. — 

[Ghost beckons. 
[fart 32.] 



258 



HAMLET. 



Still am I called;— unhand me, eentlemen; 

[Breaking fr<ym them. 
By heaven, I Ml make a ghost of him that lets me:— 
I saj', away:— Go on, I '11 follow thee. 

[A'xcuMf Ghost and Hamlet. 
JIov. He waxes desperate with Imagination. 
Mar. Let 's follow; 't Is not fit thus to obey him. 
Ilof. Have after:— To what issue will this come? 
Mnr. SomethlnR is rotten In the state of Denmark. 
Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
Ma.r. Nay, let 's follow him. 

\Bxeunt, 

Scene v.— .4 more remote Part of the Platform. 
Reenter Ghost and Hamlet. 

Ham. Where wilt thou lead me? speak, I '11 go no 
further. 

Ghost. Mark me. 

Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come. 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
Must render up myself. 

Ham. Alas, poor ghost! 

Ghost. Pity me not. but lend thy serious hearing 
To what I shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak, I am bound to liear. 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shall 
hear. 

Ham. What? 

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit; 
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night; 
And, for the da.v, confln'd to fast in fires. 
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature. 
Are burnt and purg'd away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; 
Make th.v two eyes, like stars, start from their 

spheres; 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part. 
And each particular hair to stand an end. 
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. 
But this eternal blazon must Hot be 
To ears of flesh and blood:— List, Hamlet, O list!— 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love,— 

Ham. O heavenl 

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatual mur- 
ther. 

Ham. Murther? 

Ghost. Murther most foul, as in the best It Is; 
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 

Ham. Haste me to knovt^ It; that I, with wings as 
swift 
As meditation, or the thoughts of love, 
May sweep to my revenge. 

Ghost. I find thee apt: 

And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed 
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear: 
'T is given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, 
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark 
Is by a forged process of my death 
Rankly abus'd: but know, thou noble youth, 
The serpent that did sting thy father's life. 
Now wears his crown. 

Ham. O my prophetic soull mine uncle! 

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast. 
With witchcraft of his wit. with traitorous gifts, 
(O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power 
So to seduce!) won to his shameful lust 
■The win of my most seeming virtuous queen: 
O, Hamlet, what a falling-olt was there! 
From me, whose love was of that dignity. 
That It went hand in hand even with the vow 
I made to her In marriage; and to decline 
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine! 

But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, 
Though lewdness court it In a shape of heaven; 
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd. 
Will sate itself In a celestial bed. 
And prey on garbage. 

But soft! metninks, I scent the morning's air: 
Brief let me be:— Sleeping within mine orchard, 
My custom always in the afternoon. 
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole. 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial. 
And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
The leperous distilment; whose effect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man. 
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body; 
And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset 
And curd, like aigre droppings into milk. 
The thin and whcilesome blood: so did it mine; 
And a most instant tetter bark'd about. 
Most lazarllke, with vile and loathsome crust, 
All my smooth body. 

Thus was 1, sleeping, by a brother's hand. 
Of life, of crown, and queen, at once despatch'd; 
Cut off even In the blossoms of m.v sin, 
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd; 
No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
With all mv imperfections on my head: 
O, liorrlbie! O. horrible! most horrible! 
If thou hast nature in thee, bear It not; 
Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
But, how.soever tliou pursu'st this act. 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven. 
And to those thorns that In her bosom lodge, 
To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! 
The glow worm shows the matin to be near. 
And 'gins to pale his uneffeetual fire: 
Adieu, adieu, Hamlet! remember me. [Exit. 

Ham. O all you host of heavenl O earth! What 
else? 
And shall I couple hell?— O fye'— Hold, my heart; 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old. 
But bear me stiffly up!— Remember thee? 
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
In this distracted globe. Remember thee? 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I '11 wipe away all trivial fond records. 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past. 
That youth and observation copied there; 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmlx'd with baser matter: yes, yes, by heaven. 
O most pernlcloKS woman! 
O villain, vil;ain, smiling, damned villain! 
My tables, my tables,— meet It Is I .set It down. 
That cue may smile, and smile, and be a villain; 



At least I 'm sure It may be so in Denmark; 

\ Writing. 
So, imcle, there you are. Now to my word; 
It is. Adieu, adieu! remember me. 
I have sworn 't. 

Hor. [Within.] M.v lord, my lord,— 

Mar. XWithin.} Lord Hamlet,— 

Hor. [Within.} Heaven secure him! 

Mar. J Within.) So be It! 

Hor. [Within.] lUo, ho, ho, my lord! 

Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy! come, bird, come. 
Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 

Mar. How is 't, my noble lord? 

Hor. What news, my lord? 

Ham. O, wonderful! 

Hor. Good my lord, tell It. 

Ham. No; 

You '11 reveal it. 

Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 

Mar. Nor I, my lord. 

Ham. How say you then; would heart of man once 
think it? 
But you '11 be secret,— 

Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

Ham. There 's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Den 
mark. 
But he 's an arrant knave. 

Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from 
the grave, 
To tell us this. 

Ham. Why, right; you are in the right: 

And so, without more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part; 
You, as your business and desire shall point you— 
For every man has business and desire. 
Such as It is,— and for mine own poor part. 
Look you, I '11 go pray. 

Hor. These are but wild and hurling words, my 
lord. 

Ham. I 'm sorr.v they offend you, heartily; 
Y'es, 'faith, heartily. 

Hor. There 's no offence, my lord. 

Ham. Yes. by St. Patrick, but there is, my lord. 
And much offence too, touching this vision here. 
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you; 
For your desire to know what Is between us, 
O'ermaster it as you may. And now, good friends. 
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers. 
Give me one poor request. 

Hor. What Is 't, my lord? 

We will. 

Ham. Never make known what you haye seen to- 
night. 

Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. 

Ham. Nay, but swear 't. 

Hor. In faith. 

My lord, not I. 

Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 

Ham. Upon my sword. 

Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 

Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Ham. Ha, ha, boy! say 'st thou so? art thou there, 
truepenny? 
Come on,— you hear this fellow in the cellarage,- 
Consent to swear. 

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen. 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Ham. HicetKbique? then we 'II shift our ground:— 
Come hither, gentlemen. 
And lay .vour hands again upon my sword: 
Never to speak of this that you have heard. 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear 

Ham. Well said, old mole! canst work 1' the 
ground so fast? 
A worthy pioneer!— Once more remove, good friends. 

Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous 
strange! 

Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it wel- 
come. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in our philosophy. 

But come; 

Here, as before, never, so help you mercy! 

How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself. 

As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 

To put an antic disposition on— 

That you, at such times seeing me, never shall 

With arms encumber'd thus, or thus head shake. 

Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase. 

As, 'Well, we know;'— or, 'We could, an if we 

would;'— 
Or, 'If we list to speak;'— or, 'There be, an if there 

might;'— 
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
That you know aught of me:— This not to do. 
So grace and mercy at your most need help you. 
Swear. 

Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 

Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen. 
With all my love I do commend me to you: 
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
Ma.v do, to express his love and friending to you, 
God willing, snail not lack. Let us go in together; 
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
The time Is out of joint;— O cursed spite! 
That ever I was born to .set it right! 
Nay, come, let 's go together. [Exeunt. 

ACT IL 

Scene I. — A Room in Polonius' House. 

Enter Polonius and Beynaldo. 

Pol. Give him his money, and these notes, Rey- 

naldo. 
Rey. I will, my lord. 

Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- 
naldo. 
Before you visit him, to make Inquiry 
Of his behaviour. 
Ren. My lord, I did intend it. 

Pol. Marry, well said: very well said. Look you, sir, 
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; 
And how, and who, what means, and where they 

keep. 
What company, at what expense; and finding. 
By this encompassment and drift of question. 
That they do know my son, come .vou more nearer 
Than your particular demands will touch it: 
Take you, as 't were, some distant knowlede of him; 



As thus,—' I know his father, and his friends. 
And, in part, him;' -Do you mark this, Reynaldo? 

Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. 

Pol. ' And, in part, him;'— but, you may say, ' not 
well: 
But, if 't be he I mean, he 's very wild; 
Addicted so and so;'— and there put on him 
What forgeries .vou please; marrv, none so rank 
As may dishonour him; take heed of that; 
But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips. 
As are companions noted and most known 
To youth and liberty. 

Reu. As gaming, my lord. 

Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrel- 
ling, 
Drabbing:— You may go so far. 

Rey. My lord, that would dishonour him. 

Pol. 'Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge. 
You must not put another scandal on him. 
That he is open to Incontlnency; 
That 's not my meaning: but breathe his faults so 

quaintly. 
That they may seem the taints of liberty: 
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind; 
A savageness in unreclaimed blood. 
Of general assault. 

Rey. But, my good lord,— 

Pol. Wherefore should you do this? 

Rey. Ay, my lord, 

I would know that. 

Pol. Marry, sir, here 's my drift; 

And, I believe, it Is a fetch of warrant: 
You laying these slight sullies on my son. 
As 't were a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 
Mark you. 

Your party in converse, him .vou would sound. 
Having ever seen, in the prenominate crimes. 
The youth you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd. 
He closes with you In this consequence; 
' Good sir,' or so; or ' friend, or gentleman,'— 
According to the phrase and the addition. 
Of man and country. 

Rev. Very good, my lord. 

Pol. And then, sir, does he this,- He does— 
What was I about to say? 
I was about to say something:— Where did I leave? 

Rey. At, ' closes in the consequence. 
At friend, or so, and gentleman.' 

Pol. At, closes In the consequence,— Ay, marry; 
He closes with you thus:—' I know the gentleman; 
I saw him yesterday, or t' other day. 
Or then, or then; with such, and such; and, as you 

• say. 
There was he gaming; there o'ertook in his rouse: 
There falling out at tennis; or, perchance, 
I saw him enter such a house of sale 
(Videlicet, a brothel,) or so forth. '- 
See you now; 

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth: 
And thus do we of wisdom and of reach. 
With windlaces, and with assays of bias. 
By indirections find directions out; 
So, by my former lectiire and advice. 
Shall you my son: You have me, have you not? 

Rey. My lord, I have. 

Pol. God be wi' you; fare you weU. 

Rey. Good my lord,— 

Pol. Observe his inclination In yourself. 

Rey. I shall, my lord. 

Pol. And let him play his music. 

Rey. WeU, my lord. 

[£xit. 
Enter Ophelia. 

Pol. Farewell!— How now, Ophelia? what 's the 
matter? 

Oph. Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted! 

Pol. With what, in the name of heaven? 

Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber. 
Lord Hamlet,— with his doublet all unbrac'd; 
No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd,, 
Ungarter'd, and down gyved to his ancle; 
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; 
And with a look so piteous in purport. 
As if he had been loosed out of hell. 
To speak of horrors,— he comes before me. 

Pol. Mad for thy love? 

Oph. My lord, I do not know; 

But, truly, I do fear it. 

Pol. What said he? 

Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm; 
And, with his other hand thus, o'er his brow. 
He falls to such perusal of my face. 
As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so; 
.\t last,— a little shaking of mine arm, 
And thrice his head thus waving up and down,- 
He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profouud. 
That it did seem to shatter all his bulk. 
And end his lieing: That done, he lets me go: 
And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd. 
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes; . 

For out o' doors he went without their li<<lp. 
And, to the last, bended their light on me. 

Pol. Go with me; I will go seek the king. 
This Is the very ecstasy df love; 
Whose violent propert.v foredoes Itself, 
And leads the will to desperate undertakings. 
As oft as any passion under heaven. 
That does atflict our natures. I am sorry,— 
What, have you given him any hard words of late? 

Qpfe. No, my good lord; but, as you did command, 
I did repel his letters, and denied 
His access to me. 

Pol. That hath made him mad. 

I am sorry that with better heed and judgment, 
I had not quoted liim: I fear'd, he did but trifle. 
And meant to wrack thee; but, beshrew my jeal- 
ousy! 
It seems it is as proper to our age 
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions. 
As It Is common for the younger sort 
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king: 
This must he known; which, being kept close, 

might move 
More grief to hide than hate to utter love. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— ^ Room in the Castle. 
Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, 

and Attendants. 
King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guilden- 
stern! 
Moreover that we much did lone to sec you. 
The need we have to use you did provoke 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



359 



Our hasty sencllni?. Something have you heard 

Of Hamlet's transformation; so I call it, 

Since not the exterior nor the inward man 

Kesembles that it was: What It should be. 

More than his fathers death, that thus hath put him 

So much from the understandlnK of himself, 

I cannot deem of; I entreat you Imth, 

That, being of so young days brought up with him. 

And, since, so neighboured to his youth and humour 

That you vouchsafe your rest here In our court 

Some little time; so by your companies 

To draw him on to pleasures; ana to gather 

So much as from occasions you may glean. 

Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus. 

That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 

Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of 
you; 
And, sure 1 am, two men there are not living 
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
To show us so much gentry and good will, 
As to expend your time with us a while. 
For the supply and profit of our hope. 
Your visitations shall receive such thanks 
As fits a king's remembrance. 

Ros. Both your majesties 

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us. 
Put your dread pleasures more Into command 
Than to entreaty. 

ffui'Z. We both obey; 

And here give up oui-selves, in the full bent. 
To lay our services freely at your feet, 
To be commanded. 

King. Thanks, Eosencrantz, and gentle Guilden- 
stern. 

Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen- 
crantz: 
And I beseech you instantly to visit 
My too mu'ch changed son. Go, some of you. 
And bring the gentlemen where Hamlet is. 

Guil. Heavens, make our presence, and our prac- 
tices. 
Pleasant and helpful to him! 

Queeti. Amen! 

\Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, 
and some Attendants. 
Enter Polonius. 

Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, 
Are joyfully return'd. 

King. Thou still hast been the father of good new.s. 

Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege, 
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul. 
Both to my God, one to my gracious king: 
And I do think, (or else this brain of mine 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
As I have us'd to do,) that I have found 
The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 

King. O, speak of that; that I do long to hear. 

Pol. Give first admittance to the ambassadors; 
My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 

King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them 
In. [Exit Polonius. 

He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found 
The head and source of all your sou's distemper. 

Queen. 1 doubt, it Is no other but the main; 
His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage. 

Re-enter Polonius, with Voltlmand and Cornelius. 

King. Well, we shall sift him.— Welcome, good 
friends! 
Sav, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? 

Volt. Most fair return of greetings and desires. 
Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
His nephew's levies, which to him appear'd 
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack; 
But, better look'd into, he truly found 
It was against your highness; Whereat grlev'd, — 
That so his sickness, age, and impotence, 
Wa.s falsely borne In hand,- sends out arrests 
On Fortinbras, which he, in brief, obeys; 
Receives rebuke from Norway; and, Iri fine. 
Makes vo^v before his uncle, never more 
To give the assay of arms against your majesty. 
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy. 
Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee; 
And his commission, to employ those soldiers. 
So levied as before, against the Polack: 
With an entreaty, herein further shown, 

I Gives a paper. 
That It might please you to give quiet pass 
Through your dominions for his enterprize; 
On such regards of safety, and allowance. 
As therein are set down. 

King. It likes us well; 

And, at our more eonslder'd time, we '11 read. 
Answer, and think upon this business. 
Meantime, we thank you for vour well-took labour: 
Go to your rest; at night we '11 feast together: 
Host welcome home! 

[Exeunt Voltlmand and Cornelius. 

Pol. This business is very well ended. 

My liege, and madam, to expostulate 
What majesty should be, what duty Is, 
Why day is day. night, night, and time Is time. 
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. 
Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit. 
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, 
I will be brief; Your noble son is mad: 
Mad call I it: for, to define true madness. 
What is 't, but to be nothing else but mad: 
But let that go. 

Queen. More matter, with less art. 

Pol. Sladam, I swear, I use no art at all. 
That he is mad, 't Is true: 't is true, 't is pity; 
And pity 't is, 't is true: a foolish figure; 
But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
Mad let us grant him then: and now remains. 
That we find out the cause of this effect; 
Or, rather say, the cause of this defect; 
For this effect, defective, comes by cause: 
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
Perpend. 

I have a daughter; have, whilst she is mine; 
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
Hath given me this: Now gather, and surmise. 

— ' To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most 
beautified Ophelia,' 

That 's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; beautified is a 
vile phrase; but you shall hear. 

' These. In her excellent white bosom, these.' 

Qiie.en. Came this from Hamlet to her? 

Pol. Good madam, stay awhile: I will be faithful. 



' Doubt thou, the stars are fire; [Reads. 

Doubt, that the sun doth move; 
Doubt truth to be a liar; 
But never doubt, I love. 

O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have 
not art to reckon my groans: but that I love thee 
best, O most best, believe 't. Adieu. 

'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst 
this machine Is to him, Hamlet.' 
This, in obedience, hath my daughter showed me: 
And more above, hath ills sollcitings. 
As they fell out by time, by means, and place. 
All given to mine ear. 

King. But how hath she 

ReceiVd his love? 

Pol. What do you think of me? 

King. As of a man faithful and honourable. 

Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you 
think, 
W'hcn I had seen this hot love on the wing, 
(As 1 pei'ceiv'd it, I must tell you that. 
Before my daughter told me,) what might you. 
Or my dear majesty your queen here, think. 
If I had play'd the desk, or table-book; 
Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb; 
Or look'd upon this love with idle sight; 
What might you think? no, I went round to work. 
And my young mistress thus I did bespeak; 
' Lord Hamlet is a prince out of thy star; 
This must not be:' and then I precepts gave her. 
That she should lock herself from his resort. 
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
Which done, she took the fruits of my advice; 
And he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,) 
Fell into a sadness; then into a fast; 
Thence to a watch; thence into a weakness; 
Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension, 
Into the madness whereon now he raves, 
And all we wail for. 

King. Do you think 't is this? 

Queen. It may be, very likely. 

Pol. Hath there been such a time, (I 'd faiu know 
that,) 
That I have positively said 'Tis so. 
When it prov'd otherwise? 

King. Not that I know. 

Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise: 

{Pointing to his head and shoulder. 
If circumstances lead me, I will find 
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
Within the centre. 

King. How may we try it further? 

Pol. You know, sometimes he walks four hours to- 
gether. 
Here in the lobby. 

Queen. So he has, indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I '11 loose my daughter to him; 
Be you and I behind an arras then; 
Mark the encounter: if he love her not. 
And be not from his reason fallen thereon, 
Let me be no assistant for a state, 
And keep a farm, and carters. 

King. We will try it. 

Enter Hamlet, reading. 

Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor wretch 
comes reading. 

Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away; 
I '11 board him presently:— O, give me leave.— 

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants. 
How does my good lord Hamlet? 

Ham. Well, goda-mercy. 

Pol. Do you know me, my lord? 

Ham. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. 

Pol. Not I, my lord. 

Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. 

Pol. Honest, my lord? 

Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is 
to be one man picked out of two thousand. 

Pol. That 's very true, my lord. 

Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, 
being a good kissing carrion,— Have you a daughter? 

Pnl. I have, my lord. 

Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun: conception is 
a blessing; but not as your daughter may conceive, 
—friend, look to 't. 

Pol. How say you by that? [Aside.') Still harping 
on my daughter: — yet he knew me not at first; he 
said I was a fishmonger; He is far gone, far gone: 
and truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for 
love; very near this. I '11 speak to him again.— 
What do you read, my lord? 

Ham. Words, words, words! 

Pol. What is the matter, my lord? 

Ham. Between who' 

Pol. I mean the matter that you read, my lord. 

Ham. Slanders, sir: for the satirical slave says here, 
that old men have grey beards; that their faces are 
wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber, or plum- 
tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, 
together with weak hams: All of which, sir, though 
I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold 
it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you 
yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if, like a crab, 
you could go backward. 

Pol. Though this be madness, yet there is metliod 
in it. [Aside.] Will you walk out of the air, my lord? 

Ham. Into my grave? 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air.— How pregnant 
sometimes his replies are! a happiness that often 
madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not 
so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him, 
and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between 
him and my daughter.— My honourable lord, I will 
most humbly take my leave of you. 

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from meanything that 
I will more willingly part withal; except my life, my 
lite. 

Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 

Ham. These tedious old fools! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Pol. You go to seek my lord Hamlet; there he is. 

Ros. God save you, sir! [To Polonius. 

[Exit Polonius. 

Guil. Mine honour'd lord!— 

Ros. M.v most dear lord! 

Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, 
Guildenstern? Ah, Eosencrantz! Good lads, how do 
ye both? 

Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. 

Guil. Happy, in that we are not overhappy; On 
fortune's cap we are not the very button. 

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe? 



Ros. Neither, my lord. 

Ham. Then you live about her waist, or In the 
middle of her favour? 

Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. 

Ham. In ihe secret parts of fortune? 0, most true; 
she Is a strumpet. What 's the news? 
k Rus. None, my lord; but that the world's grown 
honest. I 

Ham. Then is dooms day near: But your news is 
not true. Let me question more in particular: 
What have you, my good friends, deserved at the 
hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison 
hither? 

Guil. Prison, my lord? 

Ham. Denmark 's a prison. 

Ros. Then is the world one. 

Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many con- 
fines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being one of 
the worst. 

Ros. We think not so, my lord. 

Ham. Why, then 't is none to you: for there la 
nothing either good or bad but thinking makes It so: 
to me it is a prison. 

Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one; 't is 
too narrow for your mind. 

Ham. OGod! I could be bounded In a nut-shell, 
and count myself a king of infinite space; were it 
not that 1 have bad dreams. 

Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the 
very substance of the ambitious Is merely the 
shadow of a dream. 

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 

Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and 
light a quality, that It is but a shadow's shadow. 

Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies; and our 
monarchs and outstretch'd heroes the beggars' 
shadows! Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I 
cannot reason. 

Ros. Guil. We'll wait upon you. 

Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with the 
rest of my servants; for, to speak to you like an 
honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, in 
the beaten way of friendship, what make you at 
Elsinore? 

Ros. To visit you, my lord; no other occasion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; 
but I thank you: and sure, dear friends, my thanks 
are too dear, a halfpenny. Were you not sent for? 
Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? 
Come; deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak. 

Gnil. What should we say, my lord? 

Ham. Why anything. But to the purpose. You 
were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in 
your looks, which your modesties have not craft 
enough to colour: I know, the good king and queen 
have sent for you. 

Ros. To what end, my lord? 

Ham. That you must teach me. But let me con- 
jure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the con- 
sonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever- 
preserved love, and by what more dear a better pro- 
poser could charge you withal, be even and direct 
with me, whether you were sent for, or no? 

Ros. What say you? (To Guildenstern. 

Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you; [Aside.]— it 
you love nie, hold not off. 

Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 

Ham. I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation 
prevent your discovery of your secrecy to the king 
and queen. Moult no feather. I have of late, (but, 
wherefore, I Know not,) lost all my mirth, foregone 
all custom of exercises; and, indeed, it goes so 
heavily with my disposition, that this goodly frame, 
the earth, seems to me a steril promontory; this 
most excellent canopy, the air, look you,— this brave 
o'er hanging firmament- thismajesticalroof fretted 
with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to 
me, than a foul and pestilent congregation of 
vapours. WTiat a piece of work is a man! How 
noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! In form and 
moving, how express and admirable! in action, how 
like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the 
beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And 
yet, to me, what Is this quintessence of dust? man 
delights not me; no, nor woman neither, though, by 
your smiling, you seem to say so. 

Ros. My lord, there was no such stuff in my 
thoughts. 

Ham. Why did you laugh then, when T said, ' Man 
delights not me?' 

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, 
what lenten entertainment the players shall receive 
from you: we coted them on the way; and hither are 
they coming, to offer you service. 

Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome; 
his majesty shall have tribute of me: the adventur- 
ous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover 
shall not sigh gratis; the kumorous man shall end 
his part in peace: the clown shall make those laugh 
whose lungs are tickled o' the sere; and the lady 
shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall 
halt tor 't. — What players are they? 

Ros. Even those you were wont to take delight in, 
the tragedians of the city. 

Ham. How chances it they travel? their residence, 
both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. 

Ros. I think, their inhibition comes by the means 
of the late innovation. 

Ham. Do the5' hold the same estimation they did 
when I was in the city? Are they so followed? 

Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 

Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? 

Ros. Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted 
pace: But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little ey- 
ases, that cry out on thetopot question, and are most 
tyrannically clapped tor 't; these are now the fash- 
ion; and so berattle the common stages, (so they call 
them,) that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of 
goose quills, and dares scarce come thither. 

Ham. What, are they children? who maintains 
them? how are they escoted? Will they pursue the 
quality no longer than they can sing? will they not 
say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to 
common players, (as it is like most, if their means 
are no better,) their writers do them wrong, to make 
them exclaim against their own succession? 

Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on both 
sides; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarie them 
to controversy: there was, tor a while, no money 
bid tor argument, unless the poet ■ind the player 
went to cuirs in the q,uestion. 

Ham. Is 't possible? 

Guil. O, there has been much throwing about of 
brains. 



260 



HAMLET. 



lACT IIL 



Ham. Do the boys cnrry It away? 
Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and his 
load too. 

Ham. It Is not strange; for mine uncle Is king ot 
Denmark; and those that would make mowes at him 
while my father lived, pive twenty, forty, an hun- 
dred ducats a-nleee, for his picture In little. There is 
something in tills more than natural. It philosophy 
could nnd it out. 

^Flourish of trumpets within. 
Guil. There are the players. 

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. 
Your hands. Come: the appurtenance of welcome 
Is fashion and ceremony: let me comply with you in 
the garb; lost my extent to the players, which, I tell 
you, must show fairly outward, should more appear 
like entertainment than yours. You are welcome: 
but my uncle-father, and aunt mother, are deceiv- 
ed, 
ffwij. In what, my dear lord? 

Ham. 1 am but mad north-north-west: when the 
wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw. 
Enter Poionlus. 
Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen! 
Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern,— and you too;— at 
each ear a hearer; that groat baby you see there is 
not yet out of his swathing clouts. 

Ros. Happily, he 's the second time come to them; 
for, they say, an old man is twice a child. 

Ham. I will prophesy. He comes to tell me of the 
players: mark it.— You say right, sir: o' Monday 
morning; 't was so, indeed. 
Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When Ros- 
cius was an actor in Rome,— 
Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 
Ham. Buz, buz! 
Pot. Upon mine honour,— 
Ham. Then came each actor on his ass.— 
Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tra- 
gedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastorical-comical, 
historical-pastoral, tragical historical, tragical com- 
ical-hlstoncal-pastoral, scene individable, or poem 
unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus 
too light. For the law of writ, and the liberty, these 
are the only men. 

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel,— what a trea- 
sure hadst thou! 
Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord? 
Ham. Why- 
One fair daughter, and no more. 
The which he loved passing well. 
Pol. Still on my daughter- lAside. 

Ham. Am I not 1' the right, old Jephthah? 
Pol. If you cail me Jepthah, my lord, I have a 
daughter, that I love passing well. 
Ham. Nay, that follows not. 
Poi. What follows then, my lord? 
Ham. Why, 

'As by lot, God wot,' 
and then you know, 

' It came to pass. As most like It was.' 
The first row of the pious chanson will show j'ou 
more: for look, where my abridgements come. 

Enter Four or Five Players. 
You are welcome, masters; welcome, all:— I am glad 
to see thee well:— welcome, good friends.— O, my old 
friend! Thy face is valiant since I saw thee last; 
Cora'st thou to beard me In Denmark?— What! my 
young lady and mistress! By 'r lady, your ladyship 
is nearer heaven, than when I saw you last, by the 
altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your voice, like a 
piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the 
ring.— Masters, you are all welcome. We '11 e'en to 't 
like French falconers, fly at anything we see: We '11 
have a speech straight: Come, give us a tasteof your 
quality; come, a passionate speech. 
1 Play. What speech, my lord? 
Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once,— but it 
was never acted; or, if it was, not above once; for 
the play, I remember, pleased not the million; 't 
was caviare to the general: but It was (as I received 
It, and others, whose judgments. In such matters, 
cried In the top of mine,) an excellent play; well di- 
gested in tlie scenes; set down with as much mod- 
esty as cunning. I remember, one said, there were 
no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury; 
nor no matter in the phrase that might indite the 
author of affectation; but called it, an honest meth- 
od, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more 
handsome than fine. One chief speech in It I chiefly 
loved; 't was JEneas' tale to Dido; and therealjout of 
it especially, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter: 
If It live In your memory, begin at this line; let me 
see, let me see;— 

The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanlan beast, 
't is not so; it begins with Pyrrhus. 

The rugged Pyrrhus,— he, whose sable arms. 
Black as his purpose, did the night resemljle 
When he lay couched in the ominous horse, 
Hath now this dread and black complexion 

smear'd 
With heraldry more dismal; head to foot 
Now is he total gules; horridly trick'd 
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons; 
Bak'd and Impasted with the parching streets. 
That lend a tyrannous and damned light 
To their vile inurthers: Roasted in wrath and flre, 
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore. 
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
Old grandsiie Priam seeks. 

Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good 
accent, and good discretion. 

1 Play. Anon he finds him 

Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword, 
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls. 
Repugnant to command: Unequal match'd, 
Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage strikes wide. 
But with tlie whiff and wind of his fell sword 
The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, 
Seeming to feel his blow, with flaming top 
Stoops to his base; and with a hideous crasli 
Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo! his svvord. 
Which was doclining on the milky head 
Of reverend Prluin, seem'd i' the air to stick: 
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood: 
And, like a neutral to his will and matter. 
Did nothing. 

But, as we often see, against some storm, 
A silence in the heavens, tlic rack stand still. 
The bold winds speechless, and the orb below 



As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder 
Doth rend the region: So, after Pyrrhus' pause 
A roused vengeance sots him new a work: 
And never did the Cyclops' hammers tall 
On Mars's armours, forg'd for proof eterne. 
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword 
Now falls on Priam.— 

Out, out, thou strumpet, fortune! All you gods. 
In general synod, talie away her power; 
Break all the spokos and fellies from her wheel. 
And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, 
As low as to the fiends. 

Pol. This is too long. 

Ham. It shall to the barber's, ■with your board.— 
Prithee, say on:— He 's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, 
or he sleeps:— say on: come to Hecuba. 

1 Play. But who, O who, had seen the mobled 

queen 

Ham. The mobled queen? 

Pol. That's good: mobled queen Is good. 

1 Play. Run barefoot up and down, threat'ning the 

flame 
With bisson rheum; a clout about that head. 
Where late the diadem stood; and, for a robe 
About her lank and ail o'erteemed loins, 
A blanket, in the alarum of fear caught up; 
Who this had seen, wltli tongue in venom steep'd, 
'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pro- 

nounc'd. 
But if the gods themselves did see her then, 
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport 
In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs. 
The Instant burst of clamour that she made 
(Unless things mortal move them not at all,) 
Would have made milch the burning eyes of hea- 
ven. 
And passion In the gods. 

Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour, 
and has tears In 's eyes.— Pi-ay you, no more. 

Ham. 'Tis well; I'll have thee speak out the rest 
soon.— Good my lord, will you see the players well 
bestow'd? Do you hear, let them be well used; for 
they are the abstracts, and brief chronicles, of the 
time: After your deatli you were better have a bad 
epitaph, than their ill report while you lived. 

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their 
desert. 

Ham. Odd's bodlkln man, better; Use every man 

after his desert, and who should 'scape whipping? 

Use them after your own honour and dignity: The 

( less they deserve, the more merit Is In your bounty. 

Take them in. 

Pol. Come, sirs. 

[Exit Poionlus, with some of the Players. 
Ham. Follow him, friends: we '11 hear a play to- 
morrow.— Dost thou hear me, old friend; can you 
play the murther of Gonzago? 
1 Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. We '11 have 't to-morrow night. You could, 
for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen 
lines, which I would set down, and insert in 't? 
Could you not? 
1 Play. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Very well.— Follow that lord; and look you, 
mock him not. [Exit Player.) My good friends, [To 
Ros. and Gull.] I '11 leave you till night: you are 
welcome to Elsinore. 
Ros. Good my lord! (Exeunt Ros. and Guil. 

Ham. Ay, so, God be wl' you: Now I am alone. 
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 
But in a fiction, In a dream of passion, 
Could force his soul so to his whole conceit. 
That from her working, all his visage wann'd; 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! 
For Hecuba! 

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
Tliat he should weep for her? What would he do. 
Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
That I have? He would drown the stage with tears. 
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; 
Make mad the guilty, and appal tlie free. 
Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed. 
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. 
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause. 
And can say nothing; no, not for a king. 
Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? 
Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? 
Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? 
Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie 1' the 

throat. 
As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? 
Ha! 

Why, I should take it: for it cannot be. 
But I am pigoon-liver'd, and lack gall 
To make oppression bitter; or, ere this, 
I should have fatted all the region kites 
With this slave's offal: Bloody, bawdy villain! 
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless vil- 
lain! 

vengeance! 

What an ass am I! ay, sure, this Is most brave; 
That I, the son of the dear murthered. 
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. 
Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, 
And fall a cursing, like a very drab, 
A scullion! 

Fye upon 't! foh! About, my brains! I have heard, 
That guilty creatures, sitting at a play. 
Have by the very cunning of the scene 
Been struck so to the soul, that presently 
They haveproclaim'd their malefactions; 
For murther, though it have no tongue, will speak 
With most miraculous organ. I '11 have these play- 
ers 

Play something like the murder of my father 
Before mine uncle: I '11 observe his looks; 

1 'II tout him to the quick; if he but blench, 
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen 
May be tlie devil: and the devil hath power 
To assume a pleasing shape; yoa, and, perhaps. 
Out of my weakness, and my iiielaiioholy, 
(.\s he is very potent with such spirits.) 
Abuses me to damn me: I 11 have grounds 
More relative than this; The play is the thing. 
Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king. 

[Exit. 



ACT III. 
Scene I.— a Room in the Castle. 
Enter King, Queen, Poionlus, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, 
and Guildenstern. 
King. And can you, by no drift of circumstance. 
Get from him, why he puts on this confusion; 
Grating so har.shly all his days of quiet 
With turbulent and dangerous lunacv? 

Ros. Ho does confess he feels himse'if distracted; 
But from what cause he will by no means speak. 

Ouil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded; 
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof. 
When we would bring him on to some confession 
Of his true state. 
Queen. Did he receive you well? 

Ros. Most like a gentleman. 
Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 
Ros. Nigj/ard of question; but, of our demands, 
Most tree in his reply. 

Queen. Did you assay hira 

To any pastime? 

Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told him; 
And there did seem In him a kind of joy 
To hear of it: They are about the court; 
And, as I think, they have already order 
This night to play before him. 

Pol. 'T is most true: 

And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties. 
To hoar and see the matter. 
King. With all my heart; and It doth much content 
me 
To hear him so inclin'd. 
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge. 
And drive his purpo.se on to these delights. 
Ros. We shall, my lord. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too; 

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither; 
That he, as 't were, by accident, may here 
Affront Ophelia. 

Her father, and myself (lawful espials,) 
Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 
We may of their encounter frankly judge; 
And gather b.v him, as he is behav'd, • 
It 't be the affliction of his love or no, 
That thus he suffers for. 

Queen. I shall obey you: 

And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish. 
That your good beauties bo the happy cause 
Of Hamlet's wildness; so shall I hope your virtues 
Will bring him to his wonted way again. 
To both your honours. 
Oph. Madam, I wish It may. 

[Exit Queen. 
Pol. Ophelia, walk you here:— Gracious, so please 
you. 
We will bestow ourselves:— Read on this book; 

fro Ophelia. 
That show of such an exercise may colour 
Your loneliness. We are oft to blame in this,— 
'T is too much prov'd, that, with devotion's visage. 
And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
The devil himself. 

King. O, 't Is too true! 

How smart a lash that speech doth give my con- 
science! 
The harlot's cheek, beautiod with plast'ring art. 
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it, 
Than Is my deed to my most painted word: 

heavy burden! [Aside. 
Pol. I hear him coming; let 's withdraw, my lord. 

[Exeunt King and Poionlus. 
Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. To be, or not to be, that Is the question: 
Whether 't is nobler In the mind, to sutrer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
And, by opposing end them?— To die,— to sleep,— 
No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart -ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to,— 't is a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die— to sleep;— 
To sleep! perchance to dream;— ay, there 's the rub; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. 
Must give us pause: there 's the respect, 
Tliat makes calamity of so long life: 
For who would bear the whips and scorns ot time. 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 
The pangs of dlspriz'd love, the law's delay. 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit ot the unworthy takes. 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin? Who would those fardels bear. 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life; 
But that the dread of something after death. 
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn "" 
No tcaveller returns, puzzles the will; ' 

And makes us rather bear those ills we hare, 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; 
And thus the native hue ot rosoluticn 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
And enterprizes of great pith and moment. 
With this regard, their currents turn away. 
And lose the name of action.— Soft you, now! 
The fair Ophelia:— Nymph, in thy orisons 
Be ail my sins remeniber'd. 

Oph. Good my lord. 

How does your honour tor this many a day? 

Ham. I humbly thank you; well, well, well. 

Opii. My lord, I have romembiances of yours, 
That I have longed long to ro-doliver; 

1 pray you, now receive them. 

Ham. No, no. I never gave you aught. 

Oph. My honour'd lord, I know right well you did; 
And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos'd 
As made the things more rich: their pefume lost. 
Take these, again; for to the noble mind. 
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. 
There, my lord. 

Ham. Ha! ha! are you honest? 

Oph. My lord? 

Ham. Are you fair? 

Oph. What means your lordship? 

Hajii. That it you be honest, and fair, your hon- 
esty should admit no discourse to your beauty. 

Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce 
than with honesty? 

Ham. Ay, truly; for the power ot beauty will 
sooner transform honesty from what it Is to a bawd, 



i 

J 



Scene i.] 



HAMLET. 



2«1 



than the force of honesty can translate beauty Into 
his likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now 
the time gives it proof. I ilid love you once. 

Oph. ImkHMJ, my lord, you made me believe so. 

Ham. You should not nave believed me: for virtue 
cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall rel- 
ish of it: I lov'd you not. 

Oph. I was the more deceived. 

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery; Why would'st thou 
be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indilTerent 
honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things, 
that it were better my mother had not borne me: I 
am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more 
offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put 
them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to 
act tliem in: What should such fellows as I do crawl- 
ing between heaven and earth? We are arrant 
knaves, all; believe none of us; Go thy ways to a 
nunnery. Where 's your father? 

Oph. At home, my lord. 

Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him, thathe mav 
play the fool no way but in 's own house. Farewell. 

Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens! 

Ham. It thou dost marry, I '11 give thee this plague 
for thy dowry: Be thou as cjiaste as ice, as pure as 
snow, thou shalt not escape calunmy. Get thee to a 
nunnery, go; farewell: Or, if thou wilt needs marry, 
marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what 
monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go; 
and quietly too. Farewell. 

Oph. O heavenly powers, restore him! 

Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well 
enough. God hath given you one face, and you make 
yourselves another; you jig, you amble, and you lisp, 
and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wan- 
tonness your Ignorance: Go to, I '11 no more on 't; it 
hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more 
marriages: those that are married already, all but 
one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a 
nunnery, go. {Kvit Hamlet. 

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown! 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, 

sword: 
The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form. 
The observ'd of all observei's! quite, quite, down! 
And 1, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
That suck'd the honey of his music vows. 
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
Like sweet bells Jangled, out of tune and harsh; 
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth, 
Blasted with ecstasy: O, woe is me! 
To have seen what I have seen, see what I seel 
Reenter King and Polonius. 

King. Love! his affections do not that way tend; 
Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, 
Was not like madness. There 's something in his 

soul. 
O'er which his melancholy sits on brood; 
And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, 
Will be some danger: Which to prevent, 
I have, in quick determination. 
Thus set it down: He shall with speed to England, 
For the demand of our neglected tribute: 
Haply, the seas, and countries different, 
With variable objects, shall expel 
This something-settled matter m his heart; 
Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus 
From fashion of himself. What think you on 't? 

Pot. It shall do well; but yet do I believe. 
The origin and commencement of this grief 
Sprung from neglected love.— How now, Ophelia, 
You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said; 
We heard it all.— My lord, do as you please; 
But, If you hold it fit, after the play. 
Let ills queen mother all alone entreat him 
To show his griefs; let her be round with him; 
And I '11 be plac'd, so please you, in the ear 
Of all their conference: If she ilnd him not. 
To England send him: or confine him, where 
Your wisdom best shall think. 

Kitig. It shall be so: 

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. [Exe. 
Scene IX.— A Hall in the sayne. 
Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc- 
ed it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you 
mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief 
the town crier had spoke my lines. Nor do not saw 
the air too much— your hand thus: but use all gently: 
for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) 
the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and be- 
get a temperance, that may give it smoothness. O, 
it offends me to the soul, to see a robustious periwig- 
pated fellow tear a passion to-tatters, to very rags, 
to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the 
most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
dumb shows and noise: I could have such a fellow 
whipped for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods 
Herod: pray you, avoid it. 

1 Play. I warrant your honour. 

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own 
discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, 
tlie word to the action; with this special observ- 
ance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature; 
for anything so overdone is from the purpose of 
playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was, 
and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up to nature; 
to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own im- 
age, and the very age and body of the time, his 
form and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come 
tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, can- 
not but make the judicious grieve; the censure of 
the which one, must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a 
whole theatre of others. O, there be players, that 
I have seen play, and heard othei-s praise, and that 
highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither hav- 
ing the accent of christians, northegait of christian, 
pagan, nor man, have so strutted, and bellowed, 
that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen 
had made men, and not made them well, they imi- 
tated humanity so abominably. 

1 Play. I hope, we have reformed that indifferent- 
ly with us, sir. 

Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those that 
play your clowns, speak no more than is set down 
lorthem: for there be of them, that will themselves 
laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators 
to laugh too; though, in the mean time, some nec- 
essary question of the play be then to be considered: 
that 's villainous; and shows a most pitiful ambi- 
tion in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. 
lEj:etint Players. 



Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern. 
How now, my lordX will the king hear this piece of 
work? 

Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. 

Ham. Bid the players make haste. fExit Polonius. 
Will you too help to hasten them? 

Both. We win, my lord. 

I Exeunt Eoscncrantz and Guildenstern. 

Ham. What, ho; Horatio? 

Enter Horatio. 

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 

Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 

Hor. O, my dear lord,— 

Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter: 

For what advancement may 1 hope from thee. 
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits, 
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be 

flattered? 
No, let the candled tongue lick absurd pomp; 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee. 
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? 
Since my dear .soul was mistress of my choice, 
And could of men distinguish, her election 
Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been 
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; 
A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 
Has ta'en with equal thanks: and bless'd are those. 
Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mlngled. 
That the,v are not a pipe for fortime's finger 
To sound what stop she please: Give me that man 
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
As I do thee.— Something too much of this.— 
There is a play to-night before the king; 
One scene of it comes near the circumstance 
Which I have told thee of my father's death. 
I prithee, when thou see'st that act afoot, 
Even with the very comment of my soul 
Observe mine uncle: if his occulted guilt 
Do not Itselt unkennel in one speech. 
It is a damned ghost that we have seen; 
And my imaginations areas foul 
As Vulcan's stithe. Give him heedful note: 
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face; 
And, after, we will both our judgments join 
To censure of his seeming. 

Hor. Well, my lord: 

If he steal aught, the whilst this play is playing, 
And scape detecting, I will pay tne theft. 

Ham. They are coming to the play; I must be Idle: 
Get you a place. 
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, 

Guildenstern, and other Lords attendant, with his 

Guard, carrying torches. Danish March. Sound a 

flonrish. 

King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? 

Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the cameleon's dish: 
I eat the air, promise-crammed: You cannot feed 
capons so. 

King. I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; 
these words are not mine. 

Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord,- you played 
once in the university, you say? [To Polonius. 

Pol. That I did, my lord; and was accounted a 
good actor. 

Ham. And what did you enact? 

Pol. I did enact Julius Caesar; I was killed 1' the 
Capitol; Brutus killed me. 

Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capital 
a calf there.— Be the players ready? 

Ros. Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience. 

Queen. Come hither, my good Hamlet, sit by me. 

Ham. No, good mother, here 's metal more at- 
tractive. 

Pol. O ho! do you mark that? [To the King. 

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap? 

{Lying down at Ophelia's feet. 

Oph. No, my lord. 

Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Do you think I meant country matters? 

Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 

Ham. That 's a fair thought to lie between maids' 
legs. 

Oph. What Is, my lord? 

Ham. Nothing. 

Oph. You are merry, my lord. 

Ham. Who, I? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. O God! your only jig-maker. What should 
a man do, but be merry? for, look you, how cheer- 
fully my mother looks, and my father died within 
these two hours. 

Oph. Nay, 't Is twice two months, my lord. 

Ham. So long? Nay, then let the devil wear 
black, for I '11 have a suit of sables. O heavens! die 
two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Therx 
there 's hope a great man's memory may outlive his 
life half a year: But, by 'r-lad.y. he must build 
churches then: or else shall he suffer not thinking 
on, with the hobby-horse; whose epitaph is, For, 
O, for, O, the hobby horse is forgot. 

Hautboys play. The dumb show enters. 

Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly; the Queen 
embracing him. She kneels, and makes show of pro- 
testation unto him. He takes her up, and declines his 
head upon her neck: lays him dou'n upon a bank of 
flowers; she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon 
comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, and 
pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The Queen 
returns; finds the King dead, a>id makes passionate 
action. The poisoner, with some two or three mutes, 
comes in again, seeming to lament with her. The dead 
body is carried away. The poisoner woos the Queen 
with gift.'f; she seems loth and unwilling awhile^ut, in 
the end, accepts his love. [Exeunt. 

Oph. What means this, my lord? 

Ham. Marry, this is mlching mallecho; It means 
mischief. 

Oph. Belike, this show Imports the argument of 
the play. 

Enter Prologue. 

Ham. We shall know by this fellow; the players 
cannot keep counsel; they '11 tell all. 

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? 

Ham. Ay, or any show that you '11 show him: Be 
not you ashamed to show, he '11 not shame to tell 
you what it means. 

Oph. You are naught, you are naught; I '11 mark 
tlu play. 



Pro. For us, and for our tragedy 

Here stooping to your clemency, 
We beg your hearing patiently. 

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the poesy of a ring? 

Oph. 'T Is brief, my lord. 

Ham. As woman's love. 

Enter King anxl his Queen. 

P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone 
round 
Neptune's .salt wash, and Tellus' orbed ground; 
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd slieen, 
About the world have times twelve thirties been; 
Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands. 
Unite commutual In most sacred bands. 

P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and 
moon 
Make us again count o'er, ere love be done! 
But, woe is me, you are so sick of late. 
So far from cheer, and from your former state, 
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust. 
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must; 
For women's fear and love holds quantity; 
In neither aught, or in extremity. 
Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know; 
And as my love Is siz'd, my fear is so. 
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; 
Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. 

PKing. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly 
too; 
My operant powers my functions leave to do: 
And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
Honour'd, belov'd; and haply, one as kind 
For husband shalt thou, 

P. Queen. O, confound the rest! 

Such love must needs be treason in my breast: 
In second husband let me be accurst! 
None wed the second but who kill'd the first. 

Ham. Wormwood, wormwood. 

P. Queen. The Instances that second marriage 
move, 
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love; 
A second time I kill my husband dead. 
When second husband kisses me in bed. 

P. King. I do believe, you think what now you 
speak; 
But, what we do determine oft we break. 
Purpose is but the slave to memory; 
Of violent birth, but poor validity: 
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree; 
But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
Most necessary 't is, that we forget 
To pay ourselves what to ourselves Is debt: 
What to ourselves In passion we propose. 
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
The violence of either grief or joy 
Their own enactures with themselves destroy: 
Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament. 
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
This world is not for aye; nor 't Is not strange. 
That even our loves should with our fortunes 

change; 
For 't is a question left us yet to prove. 
Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. 
The great man down, you mark, his favourite flies; 
The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies. 
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend: 
For who not needs shall never lack a friend; 
And who in want a hollow friend doth try. 
Directly seasons him his enemy. 
But, orderly to end where I begun,— 
Our wills and f.-ites do so contrary run. 
That our devices still are overthrown; 
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own; 
So thin'k thou wilt no second husband wed; 
But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. 

P. Queen. Nor earth to give me food, nor heaven 
light! 
Sport and repose lock from me, day, and night! 
To desperation turn my trust and nope! 
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scopel 
Each opposite, that blanks the face of joy, 
Meet what I would have well, and it destroy! 
Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife. 
If, once a widow, ever I be wife! 

Ham. If she should break it now,— 

[To Ophelia. 

P. King. 'T is deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here 
awhile; 
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain. 

And never come mischance between us twain! 

[Exit. 

Ham. Madam, how like you this play? 

Queen. The lady protests too much, methlnks. 

Ham. O, but she '11 keep her word. 

King. Have you heard the argument? Is there no 
offence in 't? 

Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in' jest; no 
offence i' the world. 

King. What do you call the play? 

Ham. The mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. 
This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna: 
Gonzago is the Duke's name; his wife, Baptista: you 
shall see anon; 't is a knavish piece of work: But 
what of that? your majesty, and we that have free 
souls, it touches us not: Let the gaUed jade wince, 
our withers are unwrung. 

Enter Lucianus. 

This Is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 

Oph. You are a good chorus, my lord. 

Ham. I could interpret between you and your love, 
if I could see the puppets dallying. 

Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 

Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off my 
edge. 

Oph. Still better, and worse. 

Ham. So you must take husbands.— Begin, mur- 
derer; leave thy damnable faces, and begin. 

Come; 

The croaking raven 

Doth bellow for revenge. 

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and 
time agreeing; 
Confederate season, else no creature seeing; 
■Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected. 
With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected. 
Thy natural magic and dire property. 
On wholesome life usurp Immediately. 

[Pours the poison in his ears. 

Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. 
His name 's Gonzago; the story is extant, and writ 



262 



HAMLET. 



[Act III. 



Jn choice Italian: You shall see anon, how the mur- 
therer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
Oph. The king rises. 
Ham. What! frighted with false fire! 
Queen. How fares my lord? 
Pol. Give o'er the play. 
King. Give me some light:— away! 
All. Lights, lights, lights 

{Kecunt alt but Hamlet and Horatio. 
Ham. Why, let the strueken deer go weep, 
The hart uiigalled play: 
For some nmst watch, while some must sleep; 
So runs the world awav.— 
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the 
rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with two 
Provincial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellow- 
ship in a cry of players, sir? 
Hor. Half a share. 
Ham. A whole one I. 

For thou dost know, O Damon dear, 

This realm dismantled was 
Of Jove himself; and now reigns here 

A very, very Faiocke. 

Uor. You might have rhymed. 

Ham. O good Horatio. I '11 take the ghost's word for 
a thousand pound. Didst perceive? 
Hor. Very well, my lord. 
Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning,— 
Hor. I did very well note him. 
Ham. Ah, ha!— Come, some music; corae, the re- 
corders, — 
For If the king like not the comedy. 
Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Gulldenstern. 
Come, some music. 

Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with 
you. 

Ham. Sir, a whole history. 

Guil. The king, sir,— 

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him? 

Ouil. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered. 

Ham. With drink, sir? 

Guil. No, my lord, rather with choler. 

Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more richer, 
to signify this to his doctor; for, for me to put him 
to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him into 
far more choler. 

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some 
frame, and start not so wildly from my affair. 

Ham. I am tame, sir, pronounce. 

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great afflic- 
tion of spirit, hath sent me to you. 

Ham. You are welcome. 

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy Is not of 
the right breed. If it shall please you to make me 
a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's com- 
mandment: if not, your pardon, and my return, 
shall be the end of my business. 

Ham. Sir, I cannot. 

Guil. What, my lord? 

H<im. Make you a wholesome answer; my wit 's 
diseased: But, sir, such answers as I can make you 
shall command; or, rather, you say, my mother; 
therefore, no raore, but to the matter; My mother, 
you say,— 

Ros. Then thus she says: Your behaviour hath 
struck her into amazement and admiration. 

Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a mo- 
ther!— But is there no sequel at the heels of this 
mother's admiration? 

Bos. She desires to speak with you In her closet, 
ere you go to bed. 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mo- 
ther. Have you any further trade with us? 

Bos. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ham. So I do still, by these pickers and stealers. 

Bos. Good my lord, what is your cause of distem- 
per? you do freely bar the door of your own liberty, 
if you deny your griefs to your friend. 

Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 

Bos. How can that be, when you have the voice of 
the king himself for your succession in Denmark? 

Ham. Ay, but While the grass grows,— the proverb 
Is something musty. 

Enter one with a recorder. 

O, the recorder: let me see.— To withdraw with 
you:— Why do you go about to recover the wind of 
me, as if you would drive me Into a toil? 

Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is 
too unmannerly. 

Ham. 1 do not well understand that. Will you 
play upon this pipe? 

Guil. My lord, I cannot. 

Ham. I pray you. 

Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 

Ham. I do beseech you. 

Guil. I know no touch of It, my lord. 

Ham,."! is as easy as lying: govern these vent- 
ages with your fingers and thumb, give it breath 
with your mouth, and it will discourse most excel- 
lent music. Look you, these are the stops. 

Ouil. But these cannot I command to any utter- 
ance of harmony; I have not the skill. 

Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing 
you make of me. You would play upon me: you 
would seem to know my stops; you would pluck 
out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me 
from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and 
there is much music, excellent voice, in this little 
organ; yet cannot you malce it speak. Why, do you 
think that I am easier to be pla.ved on than a pipe? 
Call me what instrument you will, though you can 
fret me, you cannot play upon me. 

Enter Polonius. 
God bless you, sir! 

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, and 
presently. 

Ham. Do you see that cloud, that 's almost in 
shape like a camel? 

Pol. By the mass, and 't is like a camel, indeed. 

Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 

Pol. It Is backed like a weaseL 

Uam. Or, like a whale? 

Pol. Very like a whale. 

Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by. 
—They fool me to the top of my bent.— I will come 
by and by. 

Pol. I will say so. \Exit Polonius. 

Ham. By and by is easily said.— Leave me, friends. 
[Exeunt Ros., Gull., Hor., <&c. 
'T Is now the very witching time of night; 



When churchyards yawn, and hell Itself breathes 

out 
Contagion to this world: Now could I drink hot 

blood. 
And do such bitter business as the day 
Would quake to look on. Soft; now to my mother.— 
O, heart, lose not tliy nature; let not ever 
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom: 
Let me be cruel, not unnatural: 
I will speak daggers to her, but use none; 
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites: 
How in my words soever she be shent. 
To give them seals never, my soul, consent! \Exit. 

Scene III.— .4 Room in the same. 

Enter King, Rosencrantz. and Gulldenstern. 

King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with us. 
To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you; 
I your commission will forthwith despatch. 
And he to England shall along with you; 
The terms of our estate may not endure 
Hazard to dangerous, as doth hourly grow 
Out of his lunacies. 

Guil. We will oui-selves provide: 

Most holy and religious fear it is. 
To keep those many many bodies safe. 
That live and feed upon your majesty. 

Bos. The single and peculiar lite Is bound. 
With all the strength and armour of the mind. 
To keep itself from 'noyance; but much more 
That spirit, upon whose spirit depend and rest 
The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
Dies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
What 's near it with it: it is a massy wheel, 
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount. 
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, 
Each small annexment, petty consequence, 
Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone 
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 

King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; 
For we will fetters put upon this fear. 
Which now goes too free-footetl. 

Bos. Guil. We will haste us. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Gulldenstern. 
Enter Polonius. 

Pol. My lord, he 's going to his mother's closet: 
Behind the arras I '11 convey myself. 
To hear the process; I '11 warrant, she '11 tax him 

home. 
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 
'T is meet, that some more audience thah a mother, 
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege: 
I 'II call upon you ere you go to bed, 
And tell you what I know, 

King. Thanks, dear my lord. 

[Exit Polonius. 

0, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; 
It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, 

A brother's murther!— Pray can 1 not. 

Though inclination be as sharp as will; 

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; 

And, like a man to double business bound, 

I stand in pause where I shall first begin. 

And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 

Were thicker than Itself with brother's blood? 

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens. 

To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy, 

But to confront the visage of offence? 

And what 's in prayer, but this two-fold force,— 

To be forestalled, ere we come to fall. 

Or pardon'd, being down? Then I '11 look up; 

My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 

Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murther!— 

That cannot be; since I am still possess'd 

Of those effects for which I did the murther. 

My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 

May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence? 

In the corrupted currents of this world. 

Offence's gilded band may shove by justice; 

And oft 't is seen, the wicked prize itself 

Buys out the law: But, 't is not so above: 

There is no shuffling, there the action lies 

In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd, 

Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults. 

To give in evidence. What then? what rests? 

Try what repentance can: What can it not? 

Yet what can it, when one can not repent? 

wretched state! O bosom, black as death! 

O limed soul; that struggling to be free, 

Art more engag'd! Help, angels, make assay! 

Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart, with strings of 

steel. 
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe: 
All may be well! {Retires, and kneels. 

Enter Hamlet. 
Ham. Now might I do It, pat, now he is praying; 
And now I'll do 't;— and so he goes to heaven: 
And so am I reveng'd? That would be scann'd: 
A villain kills my father; and, for that, 

1, his sole son, do the same villain send 
To heaven. 

O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
He took my father grossly, full of bread; 
With all his crimes broad blown, as fresh as May; 
And, how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven? 
But, in our ciroumstance and course of thought, 
'T is heavy with him. And am I then reveng'd, 
To take him in the purging of his soul. 
When he is fit and season'd for his passage? 
No. 

Up, swords; and know thou a more horrid hent: 
When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage: 
Or In the incestuous pleasure of his bed; 
At gaming, sxvearing; or about some act 
That has no relish of salvation in 't: 
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven; 
And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black. 
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays: 
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit. 

The King rises aTid advances. 
King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: 
Words, without thouglits, never to heaven go. [^x-. 

Scene IV.— Another room in the same. 
Enter Queen and Polonius. 
Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home 
to him: 
Tell him, his pranks have been to broad to bear 
with; 



And that your grace hath screen'd and stood be- 
tween 
Much heat and him. I '11 silence me e'en here. 
Pray you, be round with him. 

Ham. { fVithin.] Mother! mother! mother! 

Queen. I '11 warrant you; 

Fear me not:— withdraw, I hear him coming. 

[Polonius hides himself. 
Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. Now, mother; what 's the matter? 

Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offend- 
ed. 

Ham. Mother, yon have my father much offended. 

Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 
tongue. 

Ham. Go, go, you question with an idle tongue. 

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? 

Ham. What's the matter now? 

Queen. Have you forgot me? 

Ham. No, by the rood, not so: 

You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife; 
But would you were not so! You are my mother. 

Queen. Nay, then, I '11 set those to you that can 
speak. 

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not 
budge; 
You go not, till X set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder 
me? 
Help, help, ho! 

Pol. [Behind.] What, ho! help! help! help! help! 

Ham. How now! a rat? [Draws. 

Dead, for a ducat, dead. 

[Hamlet makes a pass through the arras. 

Pol. [Behind.] O I am slain. [Falls and dies. 

Queen. O me, what hast thou done? 

Ham. Nay, I know not: 

Is it the king? 

[Lifts up the arras, and draws forth Polonius. 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed Is this! 

Ham. A bloody deed; — almost as bad, good 
mother. 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 

Queen. As kill a king! 

Ham. Ay, lady, 't was my word. — 

Thou wretched, rash, Intruding fool, farewell! 

[To Polonius. 
I took thee for thy betters; take thy fortune: 
Thouflnd'st, to be too busy is some danger.— 
Leave wringing of your hands: Peace, sit you down 
And let me wring your heart: for so I shall. 
If it be made of penetrable stuff: • 

If damned custom have not braz'd it so, 
Tliat it is proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy 
tongue 
In noise so rude against me? 

Ham. Such an act, 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; 
Calls virtue, hypocrite; takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love. 
And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows 
As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul; and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; 
Yea, this solidity and compound mass. 
With tristful visage, as against the doom. 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ah me, what act. 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? 

Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See what a grace was seated ou his brow: 
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten or command; 
A station like the herald Mercury, 
New-lighted on a heaven kissing hill; 
A combination, and a form. Indeed, 
Where every god did seem to set his seal. 
To give the world assurance of a man: 
This was your husband,— look you now, what 

follows: 
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? 
You cannot call it love: for, at your age. 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it 's humble, 
And waits upon the judgment: And what judgment 
Would step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have, 
Else, could you not have motion: But sure, that 

sense 
Is apoplex'd; for madness would noterr; 
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd, 
But it reserv d some quantity of choice. 
To serve in such a difference. What devil was 't. 
That thus hathcozen'd you at hoodman blind? 
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 
Ears without hands or eyes, .smelling sans all, , 
Or-but a sickly part of one true sense 
Could not so mope. 

O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, 
If thou canst mutlne in a matron's bones, . 
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax. 
And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame, 
When the compulsive ardour gives the charge; 
Since frost itself as actively doth burn. 
And reason panders will. 

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more 

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul; 
And there I see such black and grained spots. 
As will not leave their tinct. 

Ham. Nay, but to live 

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed; 
Stew'd in corruption; honeying, and making love 
Over the nasty stye;— 

Queen. O, speak to me no more. 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears; 
No more, sweet Hanuet. 

Ham. A murderer, and a villain: 

; A slave, that is not twentieth part the tythe 
Of your precedent lord:— a vice of kings: 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule; 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 
And put it in his pocket! 

Queen. No more. 

Enter Ghost. 

Ham. A king of shreds and patches:— 
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings. 
You heavenly guards!— What would you, gracious 
figure? 



Scene iv.l 



HAMLET. 



263 



Queen. Alas! he 's mad. 

Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide. 
That, laps'cl in time and passion, lets go by 
The Important acting of your dread command? 
O, say. 

Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
But, look! amazement on thy mother sits: 
O, step between her and her fighting soul; 
Conceit in wealcest bodies strongest works: 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Ham. How is it with you, lady? 

Qtieen. Alas, how is 't with you? 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy. 
And with the Incorporal air do hold discourse? 
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep; 
And as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, 
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son. 
Upon the heat and flame of thj' distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? 

Ham. On him! on him!— Look you, how pale he 
glares! 
His form and cause conjoln'd, preaching to stones. 
Would make them capable.— Do not look upon me; 
Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
My stern effects: then what I have to do 
will want true colour; tears, perchance, for blood. 

Queer... To whom do you speak this? 

Ham. Do you see nothing there? 

Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is 1 see. 

Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? 

Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 

Ham. Why, look you there! look how it steals 
away! 
My father, in his habit as he lived! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal! 

[Exit Ghost. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy! 

My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time. 
And makes as healthful music: It Is not madness 
That I have uttered: bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re word; which madness 
Would gamlx>l from. Mother, for love of grace. 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks: 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place; 
Whiles rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; 
Repent what 's past: avoid what Is to come; 
And do not spread the compost o'er the weeds. 
To make them rank. Forgive me this my virtue : 
For in the fatness of these pursy times, 
Virtue Itself of vice must pardon beg; 
Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. 

Queen. O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in 
twain. 

Ham. O thro w away the worser part of it, 
And live the purer with the other naif. 
Good night: but go not to mine uncle's bed; 
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat— 
Of habits devil,— is angel yet In this,— 
That to the use of actions fair and good 
He likewise gives a frock, or livery, ^ 

That aptly is put on: Refrain to-night: 
And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
To the next abstinence, the next more easy; 
For use almost can change the stamp of nature. 
And master the devil, or throw him out 
With wondrous potency. Once more, good night: 
And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I '11 blessing beg of you:— For this same lord, 

[Pointing to Polonius. 
I do repent. But heaven hath pleas'd it so,— 
To punish rae with this, and this with me. 
That I must be their scourge and minister. 
I will bestow him, and will answer well 
The death I gave him. So a^ain, good night! 
I must be cruel, only to be kind: 
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.— 
One word more, good lady. 

Queen. What shall I do? 

Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: 
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; 
Pinch wanton on .vour cheek; call you his mouse; 
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses. 
Or padllng in your neck with his damn'd fingers, 
Make you to ravel all this matter out. 
That I essentially am not in madness. 
But mad In craft. 'T were good you let him know: 
For who, that 's but a queen, fair, sober, wise. 
Would f roma paddock, from a bat, a gib. 
Such dear concernlngs hide? who would do so? 
No, in despite of sense, and secrecy, 
Unpeg the basket on the house's top. 
Let the birds fly; and, like the famous ape, 
To try conclusions, in the basket creep. 
And break your own neck down. 

Queen. Be thou assur'd, If words be made of 
breath. 
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
What thou hast said to me. 

Ham. I must to England; you know that? 

Queen. Alack, 

I had forgot; 't Is so concluded on. 

Ham. There 's letters seal'd: and my two school- 
fellows,— 
Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd,— 
They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way. 
And marshal me to knavery: Let It work. 
For 't is the sport, to have the engineer 
Hoist with his own petar: and 't shall go hard. 
But I will delve one yard below their mines. 
And blow them at the moon: O, 't is most sweet, 
When In one line two crafts directly meet. 
This man shall set me packing. 
I "11 lug the guts into the neighbour room:— 
Mother, good night.— Indeed, this counsellor 
Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, 
Who was In life a foolish prating knave. 
Come, sir, to draw toward an eud with you: 
Good night, mother. 

[Exeunt severally; Hamlet dragging in the 
body of Polonius. 
ACT IV. 
Scene l.—The same. 
Enter King and Queen. 

King. There 's matter lu these sighs: these pro- 
found heaves; 



You must translate: 't is fit we understand them: 
Where Is your son? 

Queen. Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to- 
night! 

King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? 

Queen. Mad as the seas, and wind, when both con- 
tend 
Which is the mightier: In his lawless fit. 
Behind the arras hearing something stir. 
He whips his rapier out, and cries, A rat! a rat! 
And, in his brainlsh apprehension, kills 
The unseen good old man. 

King. O heavy deed! 

It had been so with us had we been there: 
His liberty is full of threats to all; 
To you yourself, to us, to every one. 
Alas! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd? 
It will be laid to us, whose providence 
Should have kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt, 
This mad young man; but. so much was our love, 
We would not understand what was most fit; 
But, like the owner of a foul disease. 
To keep it from divulging, let it feed 
Evenon the pith of life. Where is he gone? 

Queen. To draw apart the body he has klll'd: 
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore, 
Among a mineral of metals base, 
Shows Itself pure; he weeps for what is done. 

King. O, Gertrude, come away! 
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch. 
But we will ship him hence: and this vile deed 
We must, with all our majesty and skill. 
Both countenance and excuse.— Ho! GuUdenstern! 

Enter Rosenerantz and GuUdenstern. 
Friends both, go .ioin you with some further aid: 
Hamlet In madness hath Polonius slain. 
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him: 
Go, seek him out; speak fair, and bring the body 
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 

[E.reiint Ros. and Gull. 
Come, Gertrude, we '11 call up our wisest friends; 
And let them know, both what we mean to do. 
And what 's untimely done: so, haply, slander, 
Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter. 
As level as the cannon to his blank, 
Transports his poison'd shot, may miss our name, 
And hit the woundless air. O come away! 
My soul is full discord and dismay. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — Another Room in the sam.e. 
£nter Hamlet. 

Ham. Safely stowed,— 

fRos., cfec, within. Hamlet! lord Hamlet!] 

Ham. What noise? who calls on Hamlet? O, here 
they come. 

Enter Rosenerantz and GuUdenstern. 

Sos. What have you done, my lord, with the dead 
body? 

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 't is kin. 

Ros. Tell us where 't is; that we may take it 
thence. 
And bear it to the chapel. 

Ham. Do not believe it. 

Ros. Believe what? 

Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine 
own. Besides, to be rfemanded of a sponge!— what 
replication should be made by the son of a king? 

Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? 

Ham. Ay, sir; that soaks up the king's counte- 
nance, his rewards, his authorities. But such ofB 
cers do the king best service in the end; He keeps 
them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first 
mouthed to be last swallowed: When he needs 
what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, 
and, sponge, you shall be dry again. 

Ros. I understand you not, my lord. 

Ham. I am glad of it: A knavish speech sleeps in 
a foolish ear. 

Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body is, 
and go with us to the king. 

Ham. The body is with the king, but the king Is 
not with the body. The king is a thing— 

Ouil. A thing, my lord? 

Ham. Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide fox, and 
all after. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. — Another Room, in the same. 
Enter King, attended. 

King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the 
body. 
How dangerous Is It that this man goes loose! 
Yet must not we put the strong law on him: 
He 's lov'd of the distracted multitude, 
Who like it not in their judgment, but their eyes; 
And, where 't is so, the offender's scourge is 

weigh 'd. 
But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even, 
This sudden sending him away must seem 
Deliberate pause: Diseases, desperate grown, 
By desperate appliance are reiiev'd. 
Enter Rosenerantz. 
Or not at all.— How now? what hath befallen? 

Ros. Where the dead body Is bestow'd, my lord, 
We cannot get from him. 

King. But where is he? 

Ros. Without, my lord; guarded, to know your 
pleasure. 

King. Bring him before us. 

Ros. Ho, GuUdenstern! bring in my lord. 
Enter Hamlet and GuUdenstern. 

King. Now, Hamlet, where 's Polonius? 

Ham. At supper. 

King. At supper? Where? 

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he Is eaten: 
a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at 
him. Your worm is j'our only emperor for diet: we 
fat all creatures else, to fat us: and we fat ourselves 
for maggots: Your fat king, and your lean beggar, 
is but variable service; two dishes, but to one table; 
That 's the end. 

King. Alas, alas! 

Hajn. A man may fish with the worm that hath 
eat of a king; and eat of the fish that hath fed of 
that worm. 

King. What dost thou mean by this? 

Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king may go 
a progress through the guts of a beggar. 

King. Where is Polonius? 

Ham. In heaven, send thither to see: if your mes- 
senger find him not there, seek him i' the other 
place yourself. But, indeed. If you find him not 



this month, you shall nose him as you go up the 
stairs into the lobby. 

King. Go seek him there. [To some Attendants. 

Ham. He will stay till you come. [E.ve. Attend. 

King. Hamlet, this deed of thine, for thine especial 
satetj'. 
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 
For that which thou hast done, must send thee 

hence 
With flery quickness: Therefore, prepare thyself; 
The bark Is ready, and the wind at help. 
The a.ssociates tend, and everything is bent 
For England. 

Hanu For England? 

King. Ay, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good. 

King. So Is It, If thou knew'st our purposes. 

Ham. I see a cherub, that sees him.— But, come; for 
England'— Farewell, dear mother. 

King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 

Ham. My mother: Father and mother Is man and 
wife; man and wife Is one flesh; and so, my mother. 
Come, for England. [Exit. 

King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed 
aboard: 
Delay it not, I 'II have him hence to-night: 
Away; for everything is seal'd and done 
That else leans on the affair: Pray you, make haste. 
[Exeunt Ros. and Gull. 
And, England, If my love thou hold'st at aught, 
(As my great power thereof may give thee sense; 
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
Pays homage to us.) thou may'st not coldly set 
Our sovereign process; which imports at full. 
By letters conjuring to that effect. 
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; 
For like the hectic in my blood he rages. 
And thou must cure me: Till I know 't is done, 
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. [Ex. 

Scene IV.— A Plain in Denmark. 
Enter Fortinbras, and Forces, marching. 

For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; 
Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras 
Claims the conveyance of a promis'd march 
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
If that his majesty would aught with us, 
We shall express our duty In his eye, 
And let him know so. 

Cap. I will do 't, my lord. 

For. Go safely on. [Exe. Fortinbras and Forces. 
Enter Hamlet, Rosenerantz, GuUdenstern, die. 

Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these? 

Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 

Ham. How proposed, sir, 

I pray you? 

Cap. Against some part of Poland. 

Ham. Who 

Commands them, sir. 

Cap. Tlie nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. 

Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir. 
Or for some frontier? 

Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition. 
We go to gain a little patch of ground. 
That hath in it no profit but the name. 
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; 
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole, 
A ranker rate, should It be sold in fee. 

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend It. 

Cap. Yes, 't is already garrison'd. 

Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand 
ducats, 
WUI not debate the que-stion of this straw: 
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace; 
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 
Why the man dies.— I humbly thank you, sir. 

Cap. God be wi' you, sir. [F..rit Captain. 

Ros. Will 't please you go, my lord? 

Ham. [will be with you straight. Go a little be- 
fore. [Exeunt Ros. and Gull. 
How all occasions do inform against me. 
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man. 
If his chief good, and market of his time. 
Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. 
Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse, 
Looking before, and after, gave us not 
That capability and godlike reason 
To rust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be 
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 
Of thinking too precisely on the event,— 
A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part wis- 
dom. 
And ever, three parts coward,— I do not know 
Why yet I live to say. This thing 's to do; 
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means. 
To do 't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me: 
Witness, this army of such mass and charge. 
Led by a delicate and tender prince; 
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd. 
Makes mouths at the Invisible event; 
Exposing what is mortal, and unsure. 
To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare, 
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great, 
Is, not to stir without great argument. 
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw. 
When honour 's at the stake. How stand I then 
That have, a father klU'd, a mother staln'd. 
Excitements of my reason, and my blood. 
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see 
The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame. 
Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot 
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, 
Which is not tomb enough, and continent. 
To hide the slain?- O, from this time forth. 
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! 

[Exit. 
Scene V.— Elslnore. A Room in the Castle. 
Enter Queen and Horatio. 

Queen. I will not speak with her. 

Hor. She is Importunate: indeed, distract; 
Her mood will needs be pitied. 

Queen. What would she have? 

Hor. She speaks much of her father: says she 
hears. 
There 's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her 

heart; 
Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt. 
That carry but half sense: her speech Is nothing. 
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 



264 



HAMLET. 



LACT IT. 



The hearers to collection; they aim at it. 

And botch the wonts up fit to their own thoughts; 

Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield 

them. 
Indeed would make one think there would be 

tho\ight. 
Though nothing sure, yet much tnihapplly. 
Queen. 'T were good she were spoken with; for she 

may strew 
Dangerous conjectures In ill breeding minds: 
Let her come in. IKxit Horatio. 

To my slok soul, as sin's true nature Is, 
Kach loy seems prologue to some great amiss: 
So full of artless jealousy is guilt. 
It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt. 

lie-enter Horatio tt'ith Ophelia. 
Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark? 
Queen. How now, Ophelia? 

Oph. (sings.) How should I your true love know 
From another one? 
By his cockle hat and staff, 
And his sandal shoon, 

gueen. Alas, sweet lady, what Imports this song? 
•ph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark. 

He is dead and gone, lady. 

He is dead and gone; 
At his heiul a grass-green turt, 

At his heels a stone. 

Otieen. Nay, but Ophelia,— 

Qph. Pray you, mark. 

White his shroud as the mountain snow. 
Enter King. 
Qveen. Alas, look here, my lord. 

Oph. Larded with sweet flowers; 

Which bewept to the grave did not go, 
With true-love showers. 

King. How do you, pretty lady? 

Oph. Well, God 'iela you! They say, the owl was 
a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, 
but, know not what we may be. God be at your ta- 
ble! 

Ki7ig. Conceit upon her father. 

Oph. Pray you, let us have no words of this; but 
when they ask you what It means, say you this: 

To-morrow Is Saint Valentine's day. 

All in the morning botlme. 
And I a maid at your window. 

To be your Valentine: 

Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes 

And dupp'd the chamber-door; 
Liet in the maid, that out a maid 

Never departed more. 

King. Pretty Ophelia! 

Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I '11 make an end 
on 't: 

By Gls, and by Saint Charity, 

Alack, and fye for shame! 
Young men will do 't, If they come to 't; 

By cock they are to blame. 
Quoth she, before you tumbled nie, 

You promis'd me to wed: 
So'wouid I ha' done, by yonder sun. 

An thou hadst not come to my bed. 

King. How lone has she been thus? 

Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be patient: 
but I cannot choose but weep, to think they should 
lay him i' the cold ground: My brother shall know 
of It, and so I thank you for your good counsel. 
Come, my coach! Good night, ladies; good night, 
sweet ladies; good night, good night. \Exit. 

King. Follow her close; give Tier good watch, I 
pray you. [ h'.n't Horatio. 

O! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
All from her father's death: Gertrude, Gertrude, 
When sorrows come, they come not single spies. 
But in battalions! First, her father slain; 
Next, your son gone; and he most violent author 
Of his own just remove: The people muddied. 
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whis- 
pers, 
For good Poionius' death; and we have done but 

greenly. 
In hugger-mugger to Inter him: Poor Ophelia, 
Divided from nerseif, and her fair judgment; 
Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts. 
Last, and as much containing as all these. 
Her brother Is in secret come from France; 
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, 
And wants not buzzers to Infect his ear 
With pestilent speeches of his father's death; 
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd. 
Will nothing stick our persons to arraign 
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this. 
Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
Gives me superfluous deafti. [A noise within. 

Queen. Alack! what uoise Is this? 

Enter a Gentleman. 

King. Where are my switzers? Let them guard the 
door: 
What is the matter? 

Oent. Save yourself, my lord; 

The ocean, overpeering of his list, 
Eats not the flats with more impitious haste. 
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
O'erbears your officers. The rabble call him, lord; 
And as the world were now but to begin. 
Antiquity forgot, custom not known. 
The ratmers and props of every word, 
They cry, ' Choose we; Laertes shall be King!' 
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, 
'Laertes shall be king, Laertes king!' 

Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! 
O, this Is counter, you false Danish dogs. 

King. The doors are broke. {Noise within. 

Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following. 

Laer. Where Is this king?— Sirs, stand you all 
without. 

Dan. No. let 's come in. 

Laer. I pray you, give me leave. 

Dan. We will, we will. 

[They retire without the door. 

iaer. I thank you:— keep the door.— O thou vil« 
king. 
Give me my father. 



Qiteen. Calmly, good Laertes. 

iMer, That drop of blood that 's calm, proclaims 
me bastard; 
Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot 
Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow 
Of my true mother. 

King. What Is the cause, Laertes, 
That thy rebellion looks so giant like? 
Let him go, Gertrude; do not fear our person; 
There 's such divinity doth hedge a king. 
That treason can hut peep to wliat it would, 
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, 
Why thou art thus incensed;— Let him go, Ger- 

trude;- 
Speak, man. 

Laer. Where is my father/ 

King. Dead. 

Queen. But not by him. 

King. Let him demand his fill. 

Laer. How came he dead? I '11 not be juggled 
with: 
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil! 
Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! 
1 dare damnation: To this point I stand,— 
That both the worlds I give to negligence. 
Let come what comes; only I 'II be revenged 
Most thoroughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay you? 

Laer. My will, not all the world: 
And, for my means, I '11 husband them so well. 
They shall go far with little. 

King. Good Laertes, 

If you desire to know the certainty 
Of your dear father's death, is 't writ in your re- 
venge. 
That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and 

foe. 
Winner and loser? 

Lear. None but his enemies. 

King. Will you know them then? 

Laer. To his good friends thus wide I 'U ope my 
arms; 
And, like the kind life rend'ring pelican, 
Repast them with my blood. 

King. Why, now you speak 

Like a good child, and a true gentleman. 
That I am guiltless of your father's death, 
And am most sensibly in grief for it. 
It shall as level to your judgment pierce. 
As day does to your eye. 

Danes, f Within. I Let her come In. 

Laer. How now! what noise is that? 

Enter Ophelia, fantistically dressed with.^straws and 

flowers. 
O heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt, 
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!— 
By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight. 
Till our scale turns the beam. O rose of May! 
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!— 

heavens! is 't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as mortal as an old man's life? 
Nature is fine in love: and, where 't is fine, 

It sends some precious instance of Itself 
After the thing it loves. 

Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier; 
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny; 
And on his gi-ave rains many a tear;-^ 
Fare you well, my dove! 

Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade re- 
venge, . .' ' 
It could not move thus. 

Oph. You must sing, Down a<lown, an you call 
him adown-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! It is 
the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. 

Laer. This nothing 's more than matter. 

Oph. There 's rosemary, that 's for remembrance; 
pray, love, rememljer: and there is pansies, that 's 
for thoughts. 

Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and re- 
membrance fitted. 

Oph. I'here 's fennel for you, and columbines:- 
there is rue for you; and here 's some for me:— we 
may call it, herb-grace o' Sundays:— oh, you must 
wear your rue with a difference.— There 's a daisy:— 

1 would give you some violets; but they withered 
all, when my father died: -They say, he made a good 
end, 

For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy,— 
Laer. Thought and afBlction, passion, hell Itself, 
She turns to favour, and to prettiness. 

Oph. And will he not come again? 
And will he not come again? 
No, no, he is dead. 
Go to thy death bed, 
He never will come again. 

His beard is white as snow, 
All flaxen was his poll: 

He is gone, he is gone. 

And we cast away moan; 
Gramercy on his soul! 

And of all christian souls! I pray God. God be wl' 
you! {Exit Ophelia. 

Laer. Do you see this, O God? 

King. Laertes, I must common with your grief. 
Or you deny me right. Go but apart. 
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will. 
And they shall hear and judge 'twlxt you and me: 
If by direct or by collateral hand 
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 
Our oro\vn, our life, and all that we call ours, 
To you in satisfaction: but, if not. 
Be you content to lend your patience to us. 
And ve shall jointly labour with your soul 
I'o give it due content. 

Laer. Let this be so: 

His means of death, his obscure burial — 
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones. 
No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,— 
Cry to be heard, as 't were, from heaven to earth. 
That I must call 't in question. 

King. So you shall; 

And, where the offence is, let the great axe fall. 
I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI.— Another Room in the same. 

Enter Horatio, and a Servant. 

Hor. What are they that would speak with me? 

Serv. Sailors, sir; 

They say they have letters for you. 

Hor. Let thent come In.— | Ex. Serv. 



I do not know from what part of the world 
I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet. 
Enter Sailors. 

1 Sail. God bless you, sir. 

Her. Let him bless thee too. 

1 Sail. He shall, sir, an 't plea.se him. There 's a 
letter for you, sir; It comes from the ambassador 
that was bound for England; if your name be Ho- 
ratio, as I am let to know it is. 

Hor. [reads.] Horatio, when thou shall have over 
looked this, give these fellows some means to the 
king; the.v have letters for him. Ere we were two 
days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment 
gave us chace: Finding ourselves too slow of sail, 
we put on a compelled valour; In the grapple I 
boarded them: on the instant they got clear or our 
ship; so I alone became their prisoner. They have 
dealt with me like thieves of mercy; but they knew 
what they did; I am to do a good turn for them. lA>t 
the king have the letters I have sent; and repair thou 
to me with as much haste as thou would'st fly death. 
I have words to speak in thine ear, will make thee 
dumb: yet are they much too light for the bore of the 
matter. These good fellows will bring thee where i 
am. RoKencrantz and Gnildenstern hold thelrcourse 
for England; of them I have much to tell thee. Fare- 
well. 

He that thou knowcst thine, Hamlet. 
Come, I will give you way for these your letters; 
And do it the speedier, that thou may direct me 
To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII.— .4>to(fter Room in the same. 
Enter King and Laertes. 

King. Now must your conscience my acquaintance 
seal. 
And you must put me in your heart for friend; 
Sith j'ou have heard, and with a knowing ear. 
That he which hath your noble father slain, 
Pursu'd my life. 

Laer. It well appears:— But tell me, 

Why you proceeded not against these feats, 
So crimeful and so capital in nature. 
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else. 
You mainly were stirr'd up. 

King. O, for two special reasons; 

Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd. 
And yet to me they are strong. The queen, his 

mother. 
Lives almost by his looks; and for myself, 
(My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,) 
She 's so conjunctive to my life and .soul. 
That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, 
I could not but by her. The other motive. 
Why to a public count I might not go. 
Is the great love the general gender bear him; 
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, 
Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone, 
Convert his g.yves to graces; so that my arrows, 
Too slightly tiraber'd for so loud a wind. 
Would have reverted to my bow again. 
And not where I had aim'd them. 

Laer. And so have I a noble father lost; 
A sister driven into desperate terms; 
Whose worth, if praises may go back again. 
Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
For her perfections:— But my revenge will come. 

King. Break not your sleeps for that: you must not 
think 
That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, 
■That we can let our beard be shook with danger. 
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more; 
I loved your father, and we love ourself; 
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine,— 
How now^what news? 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet: 

This to your majesty; this to the queen. 

King, From Hamlet! Who brought them? 

Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say: I saw them not. 
They were given to me by Claudio, he reeelv'd 
them. 

King. Laertes, you shall hear them:— Leave us. 

[Exit Messenger. 

[Heads.l High and mighty, you shall know, I am 
set naked on your kingdom. To-inori-ow shall I beg 
leave to see your kingly eyes: when I shall, first 
asking your pardon tliereunto, recount the occa- 
sions of my sudden and more strange return. 

Hamlet. 
What should this mean? Are all the rest come 

back? 
Or is it some abuse, or no such thing? 

Laer. Know you the hand? 

King, 'T is Hamlet's character. 'Naked,'— 
And, in a postscript here, he says, alone: 
Can you advise me? 

Laer. 1 am lost In it, my lord. But let him come: 
It warms the very sickness in my heart. 
That I shall live and tell him to his teeth. 
Thus diddest thou. 

King. If it be so, Laertes, 

As how should it be so? how otherwise? 
Will you be rul'd by me? 

Laer. If so you '11 not o'er-rule me to a peace. 

King. To thine own peace. If he be now rc- 
turn'd,— 
As checking at his voyage, and that he means 
No more to undertake It,— I will work him 
To an exploit, now ripe In my device. 
Under the which he shall not choose but fall; 
And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe; 
But even his mother shall uncharge the practice. 
And call it accident. 

Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd: 

The rather. If you could devise it so. 
That I might be the organ. 

King. It falls right. 

You have been talk'd of since your travel much 
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of parts 
Did not together pluck such envy from him. 
As did that one; and that. In my regard. 
Of the unworthiest siege. 

Laer. What part Is that, my lord? 

King. A very riband In the cap of youth. 
Yet needful too; for youth no less becomes 
The light and careless livery that it wears. 
Than settled age his sables, and his weeds, 
Importing health and graveness.— Some two months 

hence, 
Here was a gentleman of Normandy,— 



Scene vii.1 



HAMLET. 



365 



I have seen myself, and sei-v'd against the French, 
And they can well on horseback, but this gallant 
Had witchcraft in 't; he erew into his scat; 
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse, 
As he had been incorps'd, and demlnatur'd 
With tile brave beast: so far he pass'd my tliought, 
That I, in L'orgery of shapes and triolis, 
Coine sliort of what he aid. . „ 

Laer. A Norman, was 't? 

King. A Norman. 
Laer. Upon my lite, Lamound. 
King The very same. 

Laer. I know him well: he Is the brooch, Indeed, 
And gem of all the nation. 

King. He made confession of you; 
And gave you such a masterly report. 
For art and exercise In your defence. 
And for your rapier most especially. 
That he cried out, 't would be a. sight indeed. 
If one could nuitch vou; tliescriniersof theirnation, 
He swore, had neitlier motion, guaid, nor eye, 
If vou oppos'd thenc Sir, this reportof his 
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, 
That lie could notlung do, but wish and beg 
Your sudden coniiug o'er, to play with him. 

Now, out of this, 

iMcr Why out of this, my lord? 

King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? 
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
A face without a heart? . 

Laer. Why ask you this? 

King. Not that I think you did not love your father; 
But that I know love is begun by time: 
And that I see, in passages of proof 
Time qualifies the spark and fire of It. 
There lives within the very flame of love 
A kind of'wick, or snuff, that will abate it; 
And nothing is at a like goodness still; 
For goodness, growing to a plurisy, 
Dies in his own too-much: Tliat we would do. 
We should do when we would; for this would changes, 
And hath abatements and delays as many. 
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; 
And then this shoidd is like a spendthrift sigh, 
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the ulcer; 
Hamlet comes back; what w<?uld you undertake, 
To show yourself your father's Son iB deed 
Jlore than in words? 
Lati; To cut his throat i' the church. 

King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarizej 
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, 
Will you do this, keep close within your chamber? 
Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home: 
We '11 put on those shall praise your excellence, 
And set a double varnish on ihi- fame 
The Frenchman gave you; bring you. In fine, to- 
gether, 
And wager on your heads: he, being remiss. 
Most generous, and free from all contriving. 
Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease, 
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice. 
Requite him for your father. 

Laer. I will do 't: 

And, for that purpose, I 'II anoint m.v sword. 
I bouglit an unction of a mountebank. 
So mortal, that but dip a knife in it. 
Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare. 
Collected from all simples that have virtue 
Under the moon, can save the thing from death, 
■That is but scratch 'd withal: I '11 touch my point 
With this contagion; that, if I gall him slightly. 
It may be death. 

King. Let 's further think of this; 

\Veigh, what convenience, both of time and means. 
May fit us to our shape: if this should fail. 
And that our drift look through our bad perform- 
ance, 
"T were better not assay'd; therefore this project 
Should have a back, or second, that might hold, 
If this should blast in proof. Soft;— let me see:— 
We '11 make a solemn wager on your conimlngs,— 
1 ha 't. 

When in your motion you are hot and dry, 
(As make your bouts more violent to that end,) 
And that he calls for drink, I 'II have prepar'dhlra 
A chalice tor the nonce; whereon but sipping. 
If he by chance escape your veuom'd stuck, 
Our purpose may hold there. 

Enter Queen. 
How now, sweet queen? 

Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
So fast they follow:- Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. 
Laer. Drown'd!— O, where? 
Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook. 
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; 
There, with fantastic garlands did she come. 
Of crow flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples. 
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name. 
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: 
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; 
When down the weedy trophies, and herself. 
Fell iu the weeping brook. Her clothes spread 

wide: 
And, mermald-like, a while they bore her up: 
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes; 
As one incapable of her own distress, 
Or like a creature native and indued 
Unto that element: but long it could not be. 
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
To muddy death. 
Laer. Alas then, is she drown'd? 

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 

Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 
And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet 
It is our trick; nature her custom holds. 
Let shame say what it will: when these are gone. 
The woman will be out.— Adieu, my lord! 
I have a speech of fire that fain would blaze, 
But that this folly douts It. [Exit. 

King. Let 's follow, Gertrude; 

How much I had to do to calm his rage! 
Now tear I this will give it start again; 
Therefore let 's follow. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Scene l.—A Churchyard. 
' Enter two Clowns, with spades, d-c. 
1 Clo. Is she to be buried in christian burial, that 
wilfully seeks her own salvation? 



2 Clo. I tell thee, she Is; and therefore, make her 
grave straight: the crowner hath sate on her, and 
finds it a christian burial. , ^ ,, ,■ 

1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned herself 
In her own defence? 

2 Clo. Why, 't is found so. » v, , „ 

1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; It cannot be else. 
For here lies the point; If I drown myself wittingly, 
it argues an act: and an act hath three branches; it 
is, to act, to do, and to perform: argal, she drowned 
herself wittingly. , , 

2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 

1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: 
here stands the man; good: It the man go to this wa- 
ter, and drown himself, it Is, will he, mil he, he goes; 
mark you that? but it the water come to him, and 
drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he, that is 
not guilty of his own death, shortens not his own 
life. 

3 Clo. But is this law? 

1 Clo. Ay, marry is 't; crowner's-quest law. 

2 Clo. Will you ha" the truth on 't1 It this had not 
been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried 
out of christian burial. 

1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st: And the moi;e pity, 
that great folk should have countenance in this 
world to drown or hang themselves more than their 
even christian. Come, my spade. There is no an- 
cient gentleman but gardeners, ditchers, and grave- 
makers; they hold up Adam's profession. 

2 Clo. Was he a gentleman? 

1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 

2 Clo. Why, he had none. 

1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou under- 
stand the scripture? The scripture sa.vs, Adam 
disced: Could he dig without arms? I '11 put an- 
other question to thee: If thou answerest me not 
to the purpgse, confess thyself- 

2 Clo. Go to. ... 

1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either 
the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 

2 Clo. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives 
a thousand tenants. 

1 Clo. I like thy wit well. In good faith; the gallows 
does well: but how does it well? It does well to 
those that do 111: now thou dost ill to say, the gal- 
lows is built stronger than the church; argal, the 
gallows ihay do well to thee. To 't again; come. 

'i do. Who Ibutt^; ;fronger than a mason, a ship- 
wright, or a carpenter? 

1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke, 

2 Clo. Marry, now I can teU. 

1 Clo. To 't. 

2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 

Enter Hamlet and Horatio at a distance. 

1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; for 
your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; 
and when you are asked this question next, say a 
grave-maker; the houses that he makes last till 
doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a 
stoup of liquor. [E.vit 2 Clown. 

1 Clown digs, and sings. 
In youth, when I did love, did love, 

Methought, it was very sweet, 
To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove 

O, methought, there was nothing meet. 

Ham. Hath this fellow no feeling of his business, 
that he sings at grave-making? 

Hor. Custom hath made It in him a property of 
easiness. 

Ham. 'T is e'en so: the hand of little employment 
hath the daintier sense. 

1 Clo. But age with his stealing steps. 
Hath daught me in his clutch. 
And hath shipped me intlll the land, 
As if I had never been such. 

[Throws up a scull. 

Ham. That scull had a tongue in it, and could sing 
once; How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if 
it were Cain's Jaw-bone, that did the first murther! 
It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass 
o'er-offices; one that could circumvent God, might 
it not? 

Hor. It might, my lord. 

Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say, ' Good- 
morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?' 
This might be my lord Such-a-one, that praised my 
lord Such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; 
might it not? 

Hor. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Why, e'en so; and now my lady Worm's; 
chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a 
sexton's spade: Here 's fine revolution, if we had 
the trick to see 't. Did these bones cost no more 
the breeding, but to play at loggats with them? mine 
ache to think on 't. 

1 Clo. A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade. 
For— and a shrouding sheet: 
O, a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 

[Throws itp a scull. 

Ham. There 's another! Why might not that be 
the scull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, 
his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? 
Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock 
him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will 
not tell him of his action of battery? Humph! This 
fellow might be in 's time a great buyer of land, 
with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his 
double vouchers, his recoveries: Is this the fine of 
his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have 
his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch 
him no more of Iiis purchases, and double ones too, 
than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? 
The very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in 
this box; and must the inheritor himself have no 
more? ha! 

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 

Ham. Is not parchment made of sheepskins? 

Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calves'-skins, too. 

Ham. They are sheep, and calves, that seek out 
assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow:— 
Whose grave 's this, sir? 

1 Cio. Mine, sir.— 

O, a pit of clay for to be made 
For such a guest is meet. 
Ham. I think it be thine, Indeed; for thou liest 

in 't. 
1 Clo. You lie out on 't, sir, and therefore it is not 



yours: for my part, I do not He In 't, and yet It Is 

Ham. Thou dost lie In 't, to be In 't, and say It Is 
thine: 't is for the dead, not for the quick; therefore 
thou liest. 

1 Clo. 'T is a quick lie, sir; 't will away again, 
from me to you. j. ,^ ^ , 

Ham. What man dost thou dig It for? 

1 Clo. For no man, sir. 

Ham. What woman then? 

1 Clo. For none neither. 

Horn. Who is to be buried in 't? 

1 Clo. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her 
soul, she 's dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave Is! we must speak 
by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the 
lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of 
it; the age is grown so picked, that the toe of the 
peasant comes .so near the heel of the courtier, lie 
galls his kibe.— How long hast thou been a grave- 
maker? , ., .. ,. .1, . 

1 do. Of all the days 1' the year, I came to t that 
day that our last king Hamlet o'ercame Fortlnbras. 

Ham. How long is that since-' 

1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell 
that: It was the very day that young Hamlet was 
born: he that was mad, and sent Into England. 

Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England? 

1 e(o. Why, because he was mad: he shall recover 
his wits there; or, if he do not, it 's no great matter 
there. 

Ham Why? 

Clo. 'T will not be seen in him; there the men are 
as mad as he. 

Ham. How came he mad? 

1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. 



Ham. How s* 



.rgeiy? 



1 Clo. 'Palth, e'en with losing his wits;- 

Ham. Upon what ground? 

I Clo. Why, here in Denmark. I have been sextofi" 
here, man and boy, thirty years. 

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he 
rot? 

1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as 

I we have many pock.y corses nowadays, that will - 

scarce hold the laying in,) he will last you some 

I eight yefli'i or nine yeai'i a tanner will last you nine- 

I year. 

Ham. Why he more than another? . . 

1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned With his 
trade, that he will keep out water a great while; 
and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson 
dead body. Here 's a. scull now; this scull has lain 
in the earth three and-twenty years. 

Ham. Whose was it? 

1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's It was; Whose do 
you think it was? 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 

1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a 
poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This 
same scull, sir; this same scull, sir, was Yoiitck'Si 
scull, the king's jester. 

Ham. This? 

1 c;o. E'en that. 

Ham. Let me see. Alas poor Yorick!— I knew 
him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most ex- 
cellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thou- 
sand times; and now, how abhorred my imagination 
is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that 
I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your 
gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes 
of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a 
roar? Not one now, to mock your own jeering? 
quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady's 
chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to 
this favour she must come; make her laugh at that 
—Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 

Hor. What 's that, my lord? 

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' thl* 
fashion V the earth? 

Hor. E'en so. 

Ham. And smelt so? puh! 

[ Throws down the scull. 

Hor. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! 
Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of 
Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole? 

Hor. 'T were to consider too curiously, to consider 
so. 

Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither 
with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it. As 
thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alex- 
ander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth 
we make loam: And why of that loam, whereto he 
was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel? 

Imperial Caesar, dead, and turn'd to clay. 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: 
O, that that earth, which kept the world in awe, 
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw! 

But soft! but soft! aside:— Here comes the king. 

Enter Priests, <fec. in procession; the corpse o/Ophella, 

Laertes, and Mourners following; King, Queen, their 

Trains, &c. 
The queen, the courtiers: Who is that they follow? 
And with such maimed rites! This doth betoken, 
The corse they follow did with desperate hand 
Fordo its own life. 'T was of some estate: 
Couch we a while, and mark. 

[Retiring with Horatio. 

Laer. What ceremony else? 

Ham. This is Laertes, 

A very noble youth; Mark. 

Laer. What ceremony else? 

1 Pi-iest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd 
As we have warrantise: Her death was doubtful; 
And, but that great command o'ersways the order, 
She .should in ground unsanctifled have lodg'd 
Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers. 
Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her, 
Yet here she is allowed her virgin rites, 
Her maiden sti'ewments, and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial. 

Laer. Must there no more be done? 

1 Priest. No more be done. 

We should profane the service of the dead. 
To sing sage requiem, and such rest to her. 
As to peace-parted souls. 

Laer. Lay her i' the earth; 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 

Part. 33. 



266 



HAMLET. 



[Act v. 



May violets spring! 1 tell thee, churlish priest, 
A mlnist'rliiR niiKel shall my sister be. 
When thou Uest howling. 

Hnm. What, the fair Ophelia! 

Queen. Sweets to the sweet: Farewell! 

{Seattering Jlowers. 
I hop'd thou should'st have been my Hamlet's wife; 
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid. 
And not t' have strew'd thy grave. 

Laer. O, treble woe 

Full ten times treble on that cursed head, 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Deprived thee of !— Hold off the earth a while. 
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms: 

[Leaps into the grave. 
Now pile your dust \ipon the (lUlck and dead; 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of blue Olympus. 

Ham. [Advancing.^ What is he. whose grief 
Bears such an emphasis':' whose phrase of sorrow 
Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand 
Like wonder-wounded hearers? this is I, 
Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave. 

Laer. The devil take thy soul! 

[Grappling with him. 

Bam. Thou pray'st not well. 
1 prithee, take thy Angers from my throat; 
Sir, though I am not splenetive and rash, 
Yet have I something in me dangerous. 
Which let thy wlseness fear: Away thy hand. 

King. Pluck them asunder. 

Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet! 

6e7itlemen. Good my lord, be quiet. 

[The Attendants part them, and they come out 
of the grave. 

Ham. Why, I will light with him upon this theme, 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 

Queen. O my son! what theme? 

Ham. I lov'd Opheliat forty thousand brothers 
Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
Make up my sum.— What wilt thou do for her? 

King. O, he is mad, Laertes. 

Qtteen. For love of God, foibear him. 

Ham. Come, show me what thou 'It do: 
Woul 't weep? woul 't fight;-' woul 't fast? woul 't 

tear thyself? 
Woul 't drink up Esil? eat a crocodile? 
I '11 do 't.— Dost thou come here to whine? 
To outface me with leaping in her grave? 
Be buried quick with her, and so will I; 
And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
Millions of acres on us; till our ground. 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone. 
Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou 'It mouth, 
I '11 rant as well as thou. 

Queen. This is mere madness: 

And thus a while the fit will work on him; 
Anon, as patient as the female dove. 
When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, 
His silence will sit drooping. 

Ham. Hear you, sir; 

What is the reason that you use me thus? 
I lov'd you ever: But it is no matter; 
Let Hercules himself do what he may. 
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. [Exit. 

King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon him.— 

[Lmt Horatio. 
Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech; 

[To Laertes. 
We 'U put the matter to the present push.— 
Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.— 
This grave shall have a living monument: 
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see: 
Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— .4. Hall in the Castle. 
Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 

Ham. So much for this, sir: now let me see the 
other; 
You do remember all the circumstance? 

Hor. Remember it, my lord? 

Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting. 
That would not let me sleep; methought, I lay 
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. -Kashly, 
And praise be rashness for it,— Let us know. 
Our Indiscretion sometimes serves us well. 
When our dear plots do pall; and that should teach 

us. 
There 's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough-hew them how we will. 

jHor. That is most certain. 

Ham. Up from my cabin. 
My sea-gown scarf 'd about me, in the dark 
Grop'd I to find out them: had my desire; 
Finger'd their packet; and, in fine, ^vlthdrew 
To mine own room again; making so bold. 
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio, 

royal knavery, an exact command. 
Larded with many several sorts of reason. 
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, 
With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life. 
That, on the supervise, no leisure bated. 

No, not to staj' the grinding of the axe. 
My head should be struck off. 

Hor. It 's possible? 

Ham. Here 's the commission; read it at more 
leisure. 
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed? 

Hor. Ay, 'beseech you. 

Ham. Being thus benetted round w^lth villains, 
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains. 
They had begun the play: I sat me down; 
Devls'd a new commission; wrote it fair: 

1 once did hold it, as our statists do, 

A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much 
How to forget that learning; but, sir, now 
It did me yeoman's service: Wilt thou know 
The effects of what I wrote? 

Hor. Ay, good my lord. 

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king,— 
As England was his faithful tributary; 
As love between them as the palm should fiourish; 
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear. 
And stand a comma 'tween their amities; 
And many such like as 's of great charge,— 
That on the view and know of these contents, 
Without debatement further, more, or less. 
He should the bearers put to sudden death. 
Not shriving-time allow'd. 

Hor. How was this seal'd? 

Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinate; 



I had my father's signet in my purse. 
Which was the model of that Danish seal; 
Folded the writ up in form of the other; 
Subscrlb'd it; gave 't the impression; plac'd it safe- 
ly. 
The changeling never known; Now, the next day 
Was our sea-flght: and what to this was sequent 
Thou know'st already. 

Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to "t. 

Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this em- 
i ployment; 

They are not near my conscience; their defeat 
I Does by their own insinuation grow: 
'T is dangerous, when the baser nature comes 
Between the pass and fell Incensed points 
Of mighty opposites. 

Hor. Why, what a king is this! 

Ham. Does it not, think'st thee, stand me now 
upon— 
He that hath kiU'd my king, and whor'd my mother; 
Popp'd in between the election and my hopes; 
Thro\vn out his angle for my proper life. 
And with such cozenage; is 't not perfect conscience. 
To quit him with this arm? and is 't not to be damn'd. 
To let this canker of our nature come 
In further evil? 

Hor. It must be shortly known to him from Eng- 
land, 
What is the issue of the business there. 

Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine; 
And a man's life 's no more than to say, one. 
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
That to Laertes I forgot myself; 
For by the image of my cause, I see 
The portraiture of his: I '11 count his favours: 
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
Into a towering passion. 

Hor. Peace; who comes here? 

Enter Osric. 

Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Den' 
mark. 

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir.— Dost know this 
water-fly? 

Hor. No, my good lord. 

Ham. Thy state is the more gracious; for 't is a 
vice to know him: He hath much land, and fertile: 
let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand 
at the king's mess: 'T is a chough; but, as I say, 
spacious in the possession of dirt. 

Osr. Sweet lord, if your friendship were at leisure, 
I should impart a thing to you from his majesty. 

Ham. I will receive it with all diligence of spirit: 
Put your bonnet to his right use; 't Is for the head. 

Osr. I thank your lordship, 't is very hot. 

Ham. No, believe me, 't is very cold; the wind is 
northerly. 

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 

Ham. Methinks it is very sultry and hot, for my 
complexion. 

Osr. Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry, — as 't 
were,— I cannot tell how.— But, my lord, his majesty 
bade me signify to you, that he has laid a great 
wager on your head: Sir, this is the matter. 

Ham. I beseech you, remember — - 

[Hamlet moves him to put on his hat. 

Osr. Nay, in good faith; for mine ease, in good 
faith. Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes: 
believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most ex- 
cellent differences, of very soft society, and great 
showing: Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, lie is 
the card or calendar of gentry, for you shall iind in 
him the continent of what part a gentleman would 
see. 

Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in 
you;— though, I know, to divide him liiventorially, 
would dizzy the arithmetic of memory; and yet but 
raw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the 
verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great 
article; and his infusion of such dearth and rareness, 
as, to make true diction of him, his semblable is his 
mirror; and, who else would trace him, his umbrage, 
nothing more. 

Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. 

Ham. "The concernancy, sir? why do we wrap the 
gentleman in our more rawer breath? 

Osr. Sir? 

Hor. Is 't not possible to understand in another 
tongue? You will do 't, sir, really. 

Ham. What imports the nomination of this gentle- 
man? 

Osr. Of Laertes? 

Hor. His purse is empty already; all his golden 
words are spent. 

Ham. Of him, sir. 

Osr. I know, you are ignorant— 

Ham. I would, you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did, 
it would not much approve me. — Well, sir. 

Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence La- 
ertes is at his weapon. 

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should com- 
pare with him in excellence; but, to know a man 
well, were to know himself. 

Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the impu- 
tation laid on him by them, in his meed he 's unfel- 
lowed. 

Ham. What 's his weapon? 

Osr. Rapier and dagger. 

Ham. Tnat 's two of his weapons: but, well. 

Osr. The king, sir, hath waged with him six Bar- 
bary horses: against the which he has imponed, as I 
take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with their 
assigns, as girdle, hangers, or so: Three of the car- 
riages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very respons- 
ive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very 
liberal conceit. 

Ham. What call you the carriages? 

Hor. I knew you must be edified by the margent, 
ere you had done. 

Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 

Ham. The phrase would be more german to the 
matter, if we could carry cannon by our sides: I 
would it might be hangers till then. But, on: Six 
Barbary horses against six French swords, their as- 
signs, and three liberal conceited carriages; that 's 
the French bet against the Danish: Why is this im- 
poned, as you call it? 

Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passei 
between you and him, he shall not exceed you three 
hits; he hath laid on twelve for nine; and tliat would 
come to immediate trial, if your lordship would 
vouchsafe the answer. 

Ham. How, if I answer no? 



Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your per- 
son in trial. 

Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall. If it please 
his majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me: 
let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and 
the king hold his purpose, I will win for him it I can; 
if not, Iwill gain nothing but my shame, and the odd 
hits. 

Osr. Shall I re-deliver you e'en so? 

Ham. To this effect, sir; after what flourish your 
nature will. 

Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. [Exit. 

Ham. Yours, yours. He does well to commend it 
himself: there are no tongues else for 's turn. 

Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his 
head. 

Ham. He did comply with his dug, before he 
sucked it. Thus has he (and many more of the same 
bevy, that, I know, the drossy age dotes on,) only 
got the tune of the time, and outward habit of en- 
counter; a kind of yesty collection, which carries 
them through and through the most fond and win- 
nowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trials, 
the bubbles are out. 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. My lord, his majesty commended himto.vou 
by young Osric, who brings back to him, that yoii at- 
.tend him in the hall: He sends to know, if your 
pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will 
take longer time. 

Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they follow 
the king's pleasure: if his fitness speaks, mine is 
ready; now, or whensoever, provided I be so able as 
now. 

Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming 
down. 

Ham. In happy time. 

lA)rd. The queen desires you to use some gentle en- 
tertainment to Laertes, before you go to play. 

Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord. 

Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 

Ham. I do not think so; since he went into France, 
I have been in continual practice; I shall win at the 
odds. But thou would'st not think, how ill all 's 
here about my heart: but it is no matter. 

Hor. Nay, good my lord, — 

Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gain- 
giving, as would, perhaps, trouble a woman. 

Hor. If your mind dislike anything, obey; I will 
forestal their repair hither, and say you are not fit. 

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury; there 's aspecial 
providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 't 
is not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if 
it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all: 
Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is 't 
to leave betimes? 

Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, and 
Attendants with foils, <&c. 

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand 
from me. 

[The King puts the hand of Laertes into 
</iai o/ Hamlet. 

Ham. Give me your pardon, sir: I have done you 
wrong; 
But pardon 't, as you are a gentleman. 
This presence knows, and you must needs have 

heard. 
How I am punish 'd with a sore distraction. 
What I have done, 

That might your nature, and exception, 
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
Was 't Hamlet wroug'd Laertes? Never, Hamlet: 
If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away. 
And, when he 's not himself, does wrong Laertes, 
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
Who does it then? His madness: If 't be so, 
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; 
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
Sir, in this audience. 
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts. 
That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house, 
And hurt my brother. 

Laer. lam satisfied in nature. 

Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
To my revenge: but in my terms of honour, 
I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement, 
Till by some elder masters, of known honour, 
I have a voice and precedent of peace. 
To keep my name ungor'd: But till that time, 
I do receive your offer'd love like love, 
And will not wrong it. 

Ham. I embrace it freely; 

And will this brother's wager frankly play. 
Give us the foils; come on. 

Laer. Come, one for me. 

Ham. I '11 be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance 
Your skill shall, like a star 1' the darkest night, 
Stick fiery off indeed. 

Laer. You mock me, sir. , 

Ham. No, by this hand. 

King. Give them the foils, young Osrle. Cousin 
Hamlet, 
You know the wager? 

Ham. Very well, my lord; 

Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side. 

King. I do not fear it: I have seen you both. 
But since he 's better'd, we have therefore odds. 

Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 

Ham. This likes me well: These foils have all a 
length? [They prepare to play. 

Osr. Ay, my good lord. 

King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table: 
If Hamlet give the first or second hit. 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange. 
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire; 
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath; 
And in the cup an union shall he throw. 
Richer than that which four successive kings 
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups; 
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak. 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without. 
The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth. 
Now the king drinks to Hamlet.— Come, begin; — 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 

Ham. Come on, sir. 

Laer. Come on, sir. [They play. 

Ham. One. 

Laer. No. 

Ham. Judgment. 

Osr. A. hit, a very palpable hit. 

Laer, Well,— again. 



Scene u.l 



TliOILUS AND CRESSWA. 



267 



King. Stay, give me drink; Hamlet, this pearl is 
thine: 
Here 's to thy health. Give him the cup. 

{Trumpets sound; and cannon shot off within. 

Ham. I '11 play this bout first, set it by awhile. 
Jome.— Another hit; What say you? [They play. 

Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 

King. Our son shall win. 

Queen. He 's fat, and scant of breath. 

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows: 
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 

Ham. Good, madam. 

King. Gertrude, do not drink. 

Qt(een. I will, my lord;— I pray you, pardon me. 

King. It is the poison 'd cup: it is too late. [Aside. 

Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by and by. 

£iieen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 
aer. My lord, I 'II hit him now. 
King. I do not think it. 

Laer. And yet it is almost against my conscience. 

[Aside. 
Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes: You but dally; 
I pray you, pass with your best violence: 



- , . . u, pai 

1 am afeartl you make a wanton of me. 



f IVtew play. 



Laer. Sav you so? come on. 

Osr. Nothing neitlier way. 

Laer. Have at you now. 
[Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they 
change rapiers, ind Hamlet ivounds Laertes. 

King. Part them, they are incens'd. 

Ham. Nay, come again. [The queen falls. 

Osr. Look to the queen there, ho! 

Hor. They bleed on both sides:— How is it, my lord? 

Osr. How is 't, Laertes? 

Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, 
Osrlc; 
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. 

Ham. How does the queen? 

King. she swoons to see them bleed. 

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink,— O my dear 
Hamlet!- 
The drink, the drink;— I am poison'dl [Dies. 

Ham. O villainy! Ho! let the door be lock'd: 
Treachery! seek it out. fLaertes/aiis. 

Laer. It is hei'e, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain; 
No medicine in the world can do thee good. 
In thee there is not half an hour of life; 
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
Unbated, and envenom 'd: the foul practice 
Hath turn'd itself on me; lo, here I lie. 
Never to rise again. Thy mother 's poison"d; 
I can no more; tlie king, the king 's to blame. 



Ham. The point 
En\'enom'd too!— Then, venom, to thy work. 

[Stalls the King. 

Osr. it Lords. Treason! treason! 

King. O, yet defend me, friends; I am but hurt. 

Ham. Here, thou Incestuous, murd'rous, damned 
Dane, 
Drink of this potion;— is thy union here? 
Follow my mother. [King dies. 

Laer. He Is justly served; 

It is a poison temper'd by himself. 
Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: 
Jline and my father's death come not upon thee. 
Nor thine on me! [Dies. 

Hani. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee, 
lam dead, Horatio:— Wretahed queen, adieu! 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance, 
■That are but mutes or audience to this act. 
Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, death. 
Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you,— 
But let it be:— Horatio, I am dead; 
■Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright 
To the unsatisfled. 

Hor. Never believe it. 

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane, 
Here's yet some liquor left. 

Ham. As thou 'rt a man, 

Give me the cup; let go; by heaven I '11 have It. 
O, good Horatio, what a wounded name, 
Thingsstandingthus unknown, shall live behind me? 
It thou didst ever hold me in thy heart. 
Absent thee from felicity awhile. 
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain. 
To tell my story. [March afar off, and shot within. 
What warlike noise is this? 

Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from 
Poland, 
To the ambassadors of England gives 
This warlike volley. 

Ham. O, I die, Horatio; 

The potent poiSon quite o'er-crows my spirit; 
I cannot live to hear the news from England; 
But I do prophesy the election lights 
On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice; 
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less. 
Which have solicited.— The rest Is silence. [Dies, 

Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet 
prince; 
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! 
Why does the drum come hither? [March within. 



Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, and 
others. 

Fort. Where is this sight? 

Hor. What is It ye would see? 

If aught of woe, or wonder, cease your search. 

Fort. This quarry cries on havoc— O proud death! 
What feast Is toward In thine eternal cell, 
That thou so many princes, at a shoot, 
So bloodily hast struck? 

1 Amb. The sight is dismal; 

And our affairs from England come too late: 
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing. 
To tell him, his commandment is fulfill'd, 
That Roseucrantz and Guildenstern are dead: 
Where should we have our thanks? 

Hor, Not from his mouth. 

Had It the ability of life to thank you; 
He never gave commandment for their death. 
But since, so jump upon this bloody question. 
You from the Polack wars, and you from England 
Are here arriv'd, give order, that these bodies 
High on a stage be placed to the view; 
And let me .speak, to the yet unknowing world. 
How these things came about: So shall you hear 
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatuial acts; 
Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters; 
Of deaths put on by cunning, and forc'd cause; 
And, in this upshot, purposes mistook 
Fall'n on the inventors' heads; all this can I 
Truly deliver. 

Fort. Let us haste to hear it. 

And call the noblest to the audience. 
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune; 
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom. 
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 

Hor. Of that I shall have always cause to speak. 
And from his mouth whose voice will draw (m more: 
But let this same be presently performed, 
E'en while men's minds are wild: lest more mis- 
chance. 
On plots, and errors, happen. 

Fort. Let four captains 

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage: 
For he was likely, bad he been put on, 
To have prov'd most royally: and, for his passage. 
The soldier's music, and the rights of war. 
Speak loudly for him. 
Take up the body :— Such a sight as this 
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. 
Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead March. 

[Exeunt, marching; after which a peal of 
ordnance is shot off. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



PRI.VM, King of Ti-oy. 

Hectok, 

Troilus, 

Paris, 
■ Deiphobus, 
. Helenus, 

M}l EAS, 

Antenor, 



his sons. 



Trojan commanders. 



Calchas, a Trojan 2^riest taking part 
with the Greeks. 



PANDARtJS, itncle to Cressida, 
Margarelon, a liastaid son of Priam. 
Agamemnon, the Grecian general. 
Menelaus, his brother. 
Achilles, 



Grecian commanders. 



Ajax, 

Ulysses, 
Nestor, ( 
Diomedes, I 
Patroclus, J 



Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous 

Grecian. 
Alexander, servant to Cressida. 

Servant to Troilus. 
Servant to Paris. 
Servant to Diomedes. 

Helen, wife to Menelaus. 
Andromache, icife to Hector. * 



Cassandra, daughter to Priam; a 

prophetess. 
Cressida, daughter to Calchas. 

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and At- 
tendants. 

SCENE.— TROy, and the Grecian Camp 
before it. 



PROLOGUE. 

In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of Greece 
The princes orgulous, their high blood chaf'd. 
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships. 
Fraught with the ministers and instruments 
Of cruel war; Sixty and nine that wore 
Their crowneis regal, from the Athenian bay 
Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made 
To ransack Troj', within whose strong immures 
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen. 
With wanton Paris sleeps,— and that 's the quarrel. 
To Tenedos they come; 

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
Their warlike fraughtage: Now on Dardan plains 
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city, 
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, 
And Antenorides, with massy staples, 

-And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 

' Sperr up the sons of Troy. 
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 
Sets all on hazard;— And hither am I come 
A prologue arm'd,— but not in confidence 
Of author's pen. or actor's voice; but suited 
In like conditions as our argument,— 
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings or those broils. 
Beginning in the middle; starting thence away 
To what may be digested in a play. 
Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; 
Now good, or bad, 't Ls but the chance of war. 

ACT I. 
Scene I.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace 
Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. 
Tro. Call here my varlet, I '11 unarm again: 
Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
That find such cruel battle here within? 
Each Trojan that is master of his heart. 
Let him to field: Troilus, alas! hath none. 
Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended? 
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their 
strength. 
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant; 
But I am weaker than a woman's tear. 
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance. 
Less valiant than the virgin in the night. 
And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy. 

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my 
part, I '11 not meddle nor make no farther. He that 



will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry 
the grinding. 

Tro. Have I not tarried? 

Pan. Ay, the grinding: but you must tarry the 
bolting. 

Tro. Have I not tarried? 

Pan. Ay, the bolting: but you must tarry the leav- 
ening. 

Tro. Still have I tarried. 

Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the 
word hereafter, tlie kneading, the making of the 
cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking: nay, 
you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to 
burn your lips. 

Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be. 
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. 
At Priam's royal table do I sit; 
And when fair Cressld comes into my thoughts,— 
So, traitor! when she comes!— When is she thence? 

Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever 
I saw her look, or any woman else. 

Tro. I was about to tell thee,— When my heart, 
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain; 
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, 
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm) 
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: 
But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness 
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 

Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than 
Helen's (well, go to,) there were no more compari- 
son between the women.— But, for my part, she is my 
kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her, 
—But I would somebody had heai'd her talk yester- 
day, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassan- 
dra's wit; but— 

Tro. O, Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,— 
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd. 
Reply not in how many fathoms deep 
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad 
In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, she is fair; 
Pour'st in the open ulcer of ray heart 
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice; 
Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand. 
In whose comparison all whites are ink. 
Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure 
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense 
Hard as the palm of ploughman;— this thou teU'st 

me. 
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her; 
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, 
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me 
The knife that made it. 

Pan. I speak no more than truth. 



Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 

Pan. 'Faith, I '11 not meddle in 't. Let her be as 
she is: if she be fair 't is the better for her; an she be 
not, she has the mends in her own hands. 

Tro. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus? 

Pan. 1 have had my labour for ray travail; ill 
thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you; gone 
between and between, but small thanks for my 
labour. 

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with 
me? 

Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she 's not 
so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she 
would be as fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. 
But what care I? I care not an she were a black- 
amoor; 't is all one to me. 

Tro. Say I she is not fair? 

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She 's 
a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the 
Greeks; and so I '11 tell her the next time I see her- 
for my part, I '11 meddle nor make no more in the 
matter. 

Tro. Pandarus,— 

Pan. Not I. 

Tro. Sweet Pandarus,— 

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I will leave 
all as I found it, and there an end. 

[Exit Pandarus. An alarum. 

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude 
soimc'is. 
Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair. 
When with your blood you dally paint her thus. 
I cannot fight upon this argument; 
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. 
But Pandarus— O gods, how do you plague me! 
I cannot come to Cressid but by Panda r; 
And he 's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo. 
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. 
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love. 
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? 
Her bed islndia; there she lies, a pearl: 
Betweeii our Ilium and where she resides. 
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering fiood. 
Ourself, the merchant; and this sailing Pandar, 
Our doubtful hope, our eonvoj-, and our bark. 

Alarum. Enter iEneas. 
jEne. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not 

afield? 
Tro. Because not there; This woman's answer 
sorts. 
For womanish it is to be from thence. 
What news, .ffineas, from the field to-day? 



TRUILVS AND CRESSIDA. 



lAcT L 



^ne. Tliat Paris Is returned home, and hurt. 

Tro. By wliom, jEneas? 

^Ene. Trollus, by Menelaus. 

Tro. Let Paris bleed: 't is but a sear to scorn: 
Paris Is Kor'd witli Menelaus' liorn. [Alartim. 

jKne. HarkI wliat good sport is out of town today! 

Tm. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 
■ may.'— 
But to the s|)ort aliroad;— Are you bound thither? 

^A'lif. In all swift haste. 

Tro. Come, go we then together. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— The same. A Street. 

Enter Cressida and Alexander. 

Cres. Who were those went by? 

Alex. Queen Hecufca, and Helen. 

Cre.^. And whither go tliey? 

Ale.v. Up to the eastern towei-. 

Whose height commands as snbjeet all tlie vale, 
To.see the oattle. Hector, wliose patience 
Is, as a virtue, flx'd, today was mov'd: 
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; 
And, like as there were husbandry in war. 
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light. 
And to the field goes he; where every flower 
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
In Hector's wratli. 

Cres. What was his cause of anger? 

Alex. The noise goes, this: There Is among the 
Greeks 
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector; 
They call him Ajax. 

Cres. Good; and what of him? 

Alex. They say he is a very man per se. 
And stands alone. 

Cres. So do all men; unless they are drunk, sick, or 
have no legs. 

Ale.v. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts 
of their particular additions; he is as valiant as the 
lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a 
man into whom nature hath so crowded humours, 
that his valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced 
with discretion; there is no man hath a virtue that 
he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint 
but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy 
without cause, and merry against the hair: He 
hath the joints of everything; but everytliing so out 
of joint, that he is a gouty IBriareus, many hands 
and no use; or purblinded Argus, all eyes and no 
sight. 

Cres. But how should this man, that makes me 
smile, make Hector angry? 

Alex. They say he yesterday coped Hector in the 
battle, and struck him dosvn; the disdain and shame 
whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and 
waking. 

Enter Pandarus. 

Cres. Who comes here? 

Ale.r. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 

Cres. Hector 's a gallant man. 

Ale.v. As may be in the world, lady. 

Pan. What 's that? what 's that? 

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 

Pan. Good niorrow, cousin Cressid' What do you 
talk of ^— Good morrow, Alexander.— How do you, 
cousin? When were you at Ilium? 

Cres. This moi'ning, uncle. 

Pan. What were you talking of when I came? Was 
Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? Helen 
was not up, was she? 

Cres. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up. 

Pan. E'en so; Hector was stirring early. 

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger. 

Pan. Was he angry? 

Cres. So he says here. 

Pan. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he '11 
lay about him to day, I can tell them that: and there 
*s Troilus will not come far behind him; let them 
take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too. 

Cres. What, is he angry too? 

Pan. Who, Troilus? Trollusis the better man of the 
two. 

Cres. O, Jupiter! there 's no comparison. 

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do 
you know a man if you see him? 

Cres. .Ay; if I ever saw him before, and knew him. 

Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. 

Cres. Then you say as I say; for I am sure he is not 
Hector. 

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some de- 
grees. 

Cres. 'T is just to each of them; he is himself. 

Pan, Himself? Alas, poor Troilus! I would he 
were. 

Cres. So he is. 

Pan. 'Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. 

Cres. He is not Hector. 

Pan. Himself? no, he 's not himself. — 'Would 'a 
were himself! Well, the gods are above. Time must 
friend, or end; Well, Troilus, well,— I would my 
heart were In her body!— No, Hector is not a better 
man than Troilus. 

Cres. Excuse me. 

Pan. He is elder. 

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 

Pan. The other 's not come to 't; you shall tell me 
another tale when the other 's come to 't. Hector 
shall not have his wit this year. 

Crc.s. He shall not need it, if he have his own. 

Pan. Nor his qualities;— 

Cres. No matter. 

Pan. Nor his beauty. 

Cres. 'T would not become him, his own 's better. 

Pan. You have no judgment, niece: Helen her- 
self swore the other day, that 'Troilus, for a brown 
favour, (for so 't is, f must confess,)— Not brown 
neither. 

Crea. No, but brown. 

Pan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. 

Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 

Pan. She prais'd his comple-xion above Paris. 

Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. 

Pan. So he has. 

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much: if she 
praised him above, his complexion is higher than 
his; he having colour enough, and the other higher. 
Is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I 
had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended 
Troilus for a copper nose. 

Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves hira better 
than Paris. 

Crea. Then she 's a merry Greek, indeed. 



Pan. Nay, I am sure she docs. She came to him 
the other day into the compassed window,— and, you 
know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin. 

Cres. indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring 
his particulars therein to a total. 

Pan. W hy, he is very young; and yet will he, with- 
in three pound, lift as nuich as his brother Hector. 

Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter? 

Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him; 
—she came, and puts me her white hand to his 
cloven chin,— 

Cres. Juno have mercy!- How came it cloven? 

Pail. Why, you know, 't Is dimpled: I think his 
smiling becomes him better than any man in all 
Phrygla. 

Cres. O, he smiles valiantly. 

Pan, Does he not? 

Cres. O yes, an 't were a cloud in autumn. 

Pan. Why, go to then.— But to prove to you that 
Helen loves Troilus,— 

Cits. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you '11 prove 
It so. 

Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than I 
esteem an addle egg. 

Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love 
an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell. 

Pan, I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she 
tickled his chin!— Indeed, she has a marvellous white 
hand, I must needs confess. 

Cres. Without the rack. 

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair 
on his chin. 

Cres. Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer. 

Pan. But there was such laughing;— Queen Hecuba 
laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. 

Cres. With mill-stones. 

Pan. And Cassandra laughed. 

Cres. But there was more temperate flre under the 
pot of her eyes:— Did her eyes run o'er too? 

Pan. And Hector laughed. 

Cres. At what was all this laughing? 

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on 
Troilus' chin. 

Cres. An 't had been a green hair, I should have 
laughed too. 

Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at 
his pretty answer. 

Cres. What was his answer? 

Pan. Quoth she, ' Here 's but two and fifty hairs on 
your chin, and one of them is white.' 

Cres. This is her question. 

Pan. That 's true; make no question of that. ' Two 
and fifty hairs,' quoth he, 'and one white: That 
white hair is my father, and all the rest are his 
sons.' 'Jupiter!' quoth she, 'which of these hairs 
is Paris my husband?' 'The forked one,' quoth he, 
' pluck it out, and give it him.' But, there was such 
laughing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, 
and all the rest so laughed, that it passed. 

Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great while 
going by. 

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; 
think on 't. 

Cres. So I do. 

Pan. I '11 be sworn 't is true; he will weep you, 
an 't were a man born in April. 

Cres. And I '11 spring up in his tears, an 't were a 
nettle against May. \A retreat sounded. 

Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field: Shall 
we stand up here, and see them, as they pass to- 
ward Ilium? good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida. 

Cres. At yoin' pleasure. 

Pan. Here, here, here 's an excellent place; here 
we may see most bravely: I '11 tell you them all by 
their names, as they pass by; but mark Troilus 
above the rest. 

.ffineas passes over the Stage. 

Cres. Speak not so loud. 

Pan. That's vEneas: Is not that a brave man? he 's 
one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you. But mark 
Troilus; you shall see anon. 

Cres. Who 's that? 

Antenor passes over. 

Pan, That 's Antenor; he has a shrewd wit, I can 
tell you; and he 's a man good enough: he 's one o' 
the soundest judgment in Troy, wliosoever, and a 
proper man of person:— When comes Troilus?— I '11 
show you Troilus anon; if he see me, you shall see 
him nod at me. 

Cres. Will he give you the nod? 

Pan. You shall see. 

Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more 
Hector passes over. 

Pan. That 's Hector, that, that, look you, that: 
thei'e 's a fellow!- Go thy way. Hector!- There 's a 
brave man, niece.— O brave Hector!— Look, how 
he looks! there's a countenance! Is 't not a brave 
man? 

Cres. O, a brave man! 

Pan. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good- 
Look you what hacks are on his helmet! look 
you yonder, do you see? look you there! there's no 
jesting: there 's laying on; tak 't off who will, as 
the say: there be hacks! 

Cres. Be those with swords? 

Paris passes over. 

Pan. Swords? anything, he cares not: an the devil 
come to him, it 's all one: By god's lid, it does one's 
heart good:— Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes 
Paris: look ye yonder, niece. Is 't not a gallant 
man too, is 't not?— Why, this Is brave now.— Who 
said he came hurt home to-day? he 's not hurt; why, 
this win do Helen's heart good now. Ha! would I 
could see Troilus now!- you shall see Troilus anon. 

Cres. Who 's that? 

Helenus passes over. 

Pon. That 's Helenus,— I marvel where Troilus Is: 
—That 's Helenus;— I think lie went not forth to- 
day:— That 's Helenus. 

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle? 

Pan. Helenus? no;— yes, he '11 fight indifferent 
well:— I marvel where Trollus is!— Hark; do you not 
hear the people cry, Troilus?— Helenus is a priest. 

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder? 

Trollus passes over. 

Pan. Where? yonder? that 's Deiphobus: 'T Is 
Trollus! there 's a man, niece!— Hem!— Brave Troilus! 
the prince of chivalry. 

Cres. Peace, for shame, peace! 

Pan. Mark him; note him;— O brave Trollus!— look 



well upon him, niece; look you, how his sword is 
bloodied, and his helm more hacked than Hector's: 
And how he looks, and how he goes!— O admirable 
youth! he ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy way, 
Troilus, go thy way; had I a sister were a grace, or a 
daughter a godde.ss, he should take his choice. O 
admirable man! Pari.'*?- Paris is dirt to him; and, I 
warrant, Helen, to change, would give money to 
boot. 

Forces pass over the stage. 

Cres. Here comes more. 

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts' chaff and bran, chaff ana 
bran! porridge after meat! I could live and die i' 
the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look; the eagles 
are gone; crows and daws, crows and daws! I had 
rather be such a man as Troilus, than Agamemnon 
and all Greece. 

Cres. There is among the Greeks, Achilles; a better 
man than Trollus. 

Pan. Achilles? a drayman, a porter, a vei-y camel. 

Cres. Well, well. 

Pan. Well, well?— Why, have you any discretion? 
have you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? 
Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, man- 
hood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, 
and so forth, the spice and salt that season a man? 

Cres. Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked 
with no date in the pie,- for then the man's date 's 
out. 

Pan. You are such another woman! one knows not 
at what ward you lie. 

Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my 
wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to de- 
fend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; 
and you, to defend all these: and at all these wards 
I lie, at a thousand watches. 

Pan. Say one of your watches. 

Cres. Nay, I '11 watch you for that; and that 's one 
of the chiefest of them too; if 1 cannot ward what I 
would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how 
I took the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then 
it 's past watching. 

Pan. You are such another! 

Enter Troilus' Boy. 

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. 

Pan. Where? 

Boy. .\t your own house; there he unarms him. 

Fun. Good boy, tell him I come: [Exit Boy. 

I doubt, he be hurt.— Fare ye well, good niece. 

Cres. Adieu, uncle. 

Pan. I '11 be with you, niece, by and by. 

Cres. To bring, uncle,— 

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 

Cres. By the same token— you are a bawd. 

[K.Tit Pandarus. 
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice. 
He offers in another's enterprise: 
But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see 
Than in the glass of Bandar's praise may be; 
Y'et hold I off. Women are angels, wooing. 
Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing: 
That she belov'd knows nought that knows not 

this,— 
Men prize the thing ungaln'cVmore than it is: 
That she was never yet that ever knew 
Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue: 
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach. — 
Achievement is command; ungain'd. beseech: 
Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear. 
Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Ex. 

Scene lU.—The Grecian Camp. Before 
Agamemnon's Tent. 

Senet. Enter .\gamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses, 
Menelaus, and others. 
Agam. Princes, 
What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? 
The ample proposition that hope makes 
In all designs begun on earth below. 
Fails in the promis'd largeness: checks and disas- 
ters 
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd; 
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain , 
Tortlve and errant from his course of growth. 
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us. 
That we come short of our suppose so far, 
That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand; 
SIth every action that hath gone before. 
Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim. 
And that unbodied figure of the thought 
That gave 't surmised shape. Why then, you princes. 
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works; 
And call them shames, which are, indeed, nought 

else 
But the protractlve trials of great Jove, 
To find persistive constancy in men? 
The fineness of which metal Is not found 
In fortune's love: for then, the bold and coward, ' 
The t^'Ise and fool, the artist and unread. 
The hard and soft, seem all aflfin'd and kin: 
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown. 
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan. 
Puffing at all, winnows the light away; 
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself 
Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled. 

Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat, 
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
■Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance 
Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth. 
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
Upon her patient breast, making their way 
Wifh 'hose of nobler bulk! 
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
"The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold 
The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains 

cut. 
Bounding between the two moist elements. 
Like Perseus' horse: Where 's then the saucy boat. 
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
Co-rivall'd greatness? either to harbour fled, 
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
Doth valour's shoW, and valour's worth, divide. 
In storms of fortunes: For, in her ray and bright- 
ness. 
The herd hath more annoyance by the brize 
Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind 
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, 
And flies fled under shade, why, then, the thing of 

courage. 
As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize. 



Scene iii. 



THUILUS AA'D VRKSHWA. 



269 



And, with an accent tun'd in selfsame Icey, 
Returns to cliiding fortune. 

Ulyss. Agamemnon, — 

Thou great commanrler, nerve ami l)i>ne of Greece, 
Heart of our munbers, soul and only spirit. 
In whom the tempers, and the minds of all 
Should be shut up,— hear wliat Ul.vsses speaks. 
Besides the applause and appi-obatiou 
The which,— most miglity lor thy place an<l sway,— 
[To Agamemnon. 
And thou most reverend for thy stretch'rtout life, — 

[ To Nestor. 
I give to both your speeches,— wliich were such 
As ARnmemnon and the hand of Greece 
Should hold up hiKli in brass; and such again, 
As venerable Nestor, hateli'd in silver. 
Should with a bond of air, stnmg .as the axletree 
On which heaven ildes, knit all tlie Greekish ears 
To liis experienced tongue,— yet let it please both,— 
Th<m great,— and wise,— to hear Ulysses speak. 
Agaiu. Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be 't of less ex- 
pect 
That matter needless, of importless burden, 
Divide thy lips, than we arc confident. 
When rank Thei'sites opes his niastick Jaws, 
We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. 

Uli/ss. Ti'oy, yet upon liis basis, had been down, 
And the grea't Hector's sword had lack'd a master, 
But for these instances. 
The specialty of rule hath lieen neglected: 
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. 
When that the general is not like the hive 
To whom the foragers shall all repair. 
What lioney is expected? Degree "^eing vizarded, 
The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. 
The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre, 
Observe degi'ee, priority, and place, 
Insistui'e, course, proportion, season, form, 
Oltlce, and custom, in all line of order: 
And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol, 
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
Amidst the other; whose med'cinableeye 
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil. 
And posts, like the commandments of a king. 
Sans clieck, to good and bad: But when the planets. 
In evil mixture, to disorder wander. 
What plagues, and what portents! what mutiny! 
What raging of the sea! shaking of earth! 
Commotion in the winds! frights, changes, horrors. 
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
The unity and married calm of states 
Quite from their fixttire! O, when degree is shak'd. 
Which is the ladder to all high designs. 
The enterprise is sick! How could communities. 
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, 
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, 
The priniogenitive and due of birth. 
Prerogative of age, cro^vns, sceptres, laurels, 
But by degree, stand in authentic place? 
Take but degree away, untune that string. 
And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets 
In mere oppugnancy: The bounded waters 
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, 
And make a sop of all this solid globe: 
Strength should be lord of imbecility. 
And tne rude son should strike his father dead: 
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong 
(Between whose endless jar Justice resides) 
Should lose their names, and so should Justice too. 
Then everything includes itself in power, 
Power into will, will into appetite; 
And appetite, an universal wolf. 
So doubly seconded with will and power, 
JIust make, perforce, an universal prey. 
And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 
This chaos, when degree is suffocate. 
Follows the choking. 
And this neglection of degree is it. 
That by a pace goes backward, in a purpose 
It hath to climb. The general 's disdain'd 
By him one stej) below; he, by the next; 
That next, by him beneath: so every step, 
Exampled by the first pace that is sick 
of his superior, grows to an envious fever 
Of pale and bloodless emulation: 
And 't is this fever that keeps Troy on foot. 
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 
Troy in our weakness lives, not m her strength. 

Kest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd 
The fever whereof all our power is sick. 

Agnm. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, 
What is tlie remedy? 

Ulyss. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns 
The sinew and the forehand of our host. 
Having his ear full of his airy- fame, 
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent 
Lies mocking our designs: Witli him, Patroclus, 
Upon a lazy bed, the livelong day 
Breaks scurriil Jests; 

And with ridiculous and awkward action 
(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,) 
He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon 
Thy topless deputation he puts on; 
And like a strutting player, whose conceit 
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage. 
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming 
He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks, 
'T is like a chime a mending; with terms unsquar'd 
Which from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd 
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff. 
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, 
Fi-om his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; 
Cries—' Excellent!— 'T is Agamemnon Just.— 
Now play me Nestor;— hem, and stroke thy beard. 
As he, being dress'd to some oration.' — 
That 's done;— as near as fhe extremest ends 
Of parallels,— as like as Vulcan and his wife; 
■yet god Achilles still cries, ' Excellent: 
'T is Nestor right! Now play him me, Patroclus, 
Arming to answer in a night alarm.' 
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
Must be the scene of mirth; to cough, and spit. 
And with a palsy, fumbling on his gorget. 
Shake in and out tl-e rivet:— and at this sport. 
Sir Valour dies; cries, ' O!— enough, Patroclus; 
Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all 
In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion. 
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
Severals and generals of grace exact. 
Achievements- olo-vo, orders, preventions. 



Excitements to the field, or speech for truce. 
Success, or loss, what Is, or is not, serves 
As stuff for these two to make par.'idoxes. 

Neift. And in the inulation of these t^vaiii 
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion ci'owns 
With an imperial voice,) many are infect. 
AJax is gi-own self will'd; and bears his head 
In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
,\s broad Aelulles: keeps his tent like him: 
jMakes laelious feasts; rails on our state of war. 
Bold as an oracle; .■lud sets Thersites 
(.\ slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint) 
"To match us in comparisons with dirt; 
To weaken and discredit our exposure. 
How rank soever rounded in with danger. 

fz/j/.x-s. They tax our poliry, iiud call it cowardice; 
Count wistU^ni as no member of the war; 
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 
But that of hand: the still and mental parts,— 
That do contrive how many hands shall strike. 
When fitness calls them on; and know, by measure 
Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight,— 
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity: 
The.v call this bed-work, mappei'y, closet-war; 
So that the ram that batters down the wall. 
For the great spring and rudeness of his poise. 
They place before his hand that made the engine; 
Or those that with the fineness of their souls 
By reason guide his execution. 

Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse 
Makes many Thetis' sons. [Tucket sounds. 

Agam. What trumpet? look, Menelaus. 

Enter .ffineas. 
Men. From Troy. 

Agam. What would you 'fore our tent? 

^■Ene. Is this 

Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you? 
Agam. Even this. 

Aine. May one that is a herald, and a prince. 
Do a fair message to his kingly ears? 

Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 
'Fore all the Greekish heads, which, with one voice. 
Call Agamemnon head and eneral. 

^Sne. Fair leave, and large security. How may 
A stranger to those most imperial looks 
Know them from eyes of other mortals? 
Agam. How? 

yf.'ne. Ay; 
I ask, that I might wakfen reverence. 
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes 
The youthful Phoebus: 
Which is that god in office, guiding men? 
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon? 

Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy 
Are ceremonious courtiers. 

^ne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd. 
As bending angels; that 's their fame in peace: 
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls. 
Good arms, strong Joints, true swords; and, Jove's 

accord. 
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, .Silneas, 
Peace, 'Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips! 
The worthiness of praise distains his worth. 
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth: 
But what the repining enemy commends, 
■That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, 
transcends. 
Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call yoti yourself .Eneas? 
uEne. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 
Agam. What 's your affair, I pray you? 

^ne. Sir, pardon; 't is for Agamemnon's ears. 
Agam. He hears nought privately that comes from 

Troy. 
JEne. Nor I fronx Troy come not to whisper nim: 
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear; 
To set his sense on the attentive bent. 
And then to speak. 

Agavi. Speak frankly as the wind; 

It Is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: 
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake. 
He tells thee so himself. 

jEne. Trumpet, blow loud. 

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; 
And every Greek of mettle, let him know. 
What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud. 

f T^mmpet sounds. 
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 
A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father,) 
Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
Is rusty grown; he bade me take a trumpet. 
And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords! 
If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece, 
That holds his honour higher than his ease; 
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril; 
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear. 
That loves his mistress more than in confession, 
(With truant vows to her own lips he loves,) 
And dare avow her beauty and her worth. 
In other arms than hei-s- to him this challenge. 
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
Shall make it good, or do his best to do It, 
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer. 
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms; 
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call. 
Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy, 
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love: 
If any come. Hector shall honour him; ' 

If none, he '11 say in Troy, when he retires. 
The Grecian dames are sunburnt, and not worth 
The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 

Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord .Eneas; 
If none of them have soul in such a kind. 
We left them all at home: But we are soldiers; 
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove. 
That means not, hath not, or is not in love! 
If then one is, or hath, or means to be. 
That one meets Hector; if none else, I '11 be he. 
Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man 
When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now; 
But, if there be not in our Grecian mould 
One noble man, that hath one park of fire 
To answer for his love, tell him from me,— 
I 'II hide my silver beard in a gold beaver. 
And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn; 
And meeting him, will tell him, that my lady 
Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste 
As may be in the world; his youth in flood, 
I '11 pawn this truth with my three drops of blood. 
jEne. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth! 
Ulyss. Amen. 

Agam. Fair lord .ffineas, let me touch your hand; 
To our pavilion shall I lead you first. 



Aohilles shall have word of this Intent; 
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent: 
Yourself sliall least with us before you go. 
And find the welcoirie of a noble foe. 

lExeunt all Out Ulysses and Nestor. 

Vlyss. Nestor! 

Nest. What says Ulysses? 

Ulyss. 1 have a young conception in m.y brain. 
Be you mv time to bring it to some shape. 

Nest. What is 't? 

Ulyss. This 't is: 
Blunt wedges rive hard knots: The seeded pride 
Tliat hath to this maturity blown up 
In rank Achilles, must or now be ci'opp'd. 
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 
•ro overbulk us all. 

Nest. Well, and how? 

Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector 
sends. 
However it is spread In general name. 
Relates in purpose only to Achilles. 

Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub- 
stance. 
Whose grossness little characters sum up: 
And, in the publication, make no strain. 
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
As banks of Libya,— though, Apollo knows, 
'T is dry enough,— will, with great speed of Judg- 
ment, 
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 
Pointing on liim. 

Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you ? 

Nest. Yea, 

It is most meet. Whom may you else oppose, 
That can fi'om Hector bring his honour off. 
If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat. 
Yet in this trial much opinion dwells; 
For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute 
With their fin'st palate: And trust to me, Ulysses, 
Our imputation shall be oddl.v pois'd 
In this wild action: for the success. 
Although particular, shall give a scantling 
Of good or bad unto the genei-al; 
And in such indexes, although small pricks 
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
The baby figure of the giant mass 
Of things to come at large. Itis suppos'd, 
He that meets Hector issues from our choice: 
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, 
Makes merit her election; and both boil. 
As 't were from forth us all, a man distill'd 
Out of our virtues; who, miscarrying. 
What heart from hence receives the conquering 

part. 
To steel a strong opinion to themselves? 
Which entertain'd, limbs ai'e his instruments, 
In no less working, than are swords and bows 
Directive by the limbs. 

Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech;— 
Therefore 't is meet, Achilles meet not Hector. 
Let us like merchants show our foulest wares. 
And think, perchance, they '11 sell; if not. 
The lustre of the better yet to show 
Shall show the better. Do not consent 
That ever Hector and Achilles meet; 
For both our honour and our shame, in this, 
Are dogg'd witli two strange followers. 

Nest. I see them not with my old eyes; what are 
they? 

Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, 
Were lie not proud, we all should wear with him; 
But he already is too insolent; 
And we were better parch in Afric sun. 
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his ej'es. 
Should he 'scape Hector fair: If he were foil'd. 
Why, then we did our main opinion crush 
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery; 
And, by device, let blockish AJax draw 
The sort to fight with Hector: Among ourselves, 
Give him allowance as the worthier man, 
For that will physic the great Myrmidon, 
Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall 
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. 
If the dull brainless AJax come safe off. 
We 'II dress him up in voices: If he fail. 
Yet go we under our opinion still 
That we have better men. But, hit or miss. 
Our project's life this shape of sense assumed, — 
AJax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes. 

Nest. Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice; 
And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
To Agamemnon: go we to him straight. 
Two curs shall tame each other: Pride alone 
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 't were their bone. 

lE.veunt. 

ACT IL 

ScESE I.— Another part of the Grecian Camp. Enter 
AJax and Thersites. 

A,jax. Thersites,— 

Ther. Agamemnon— how if he had boils? full, all 
over, generally? 

A,jax. Thersites,— 

Ther. And those boils did run?— Say so,— did not 
the general run? were not that a botchy core? 

Ajax: Dog,— 

Ther. Then would come some matter from him; I 
see none now. 

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? 
Feel then. [Strikes him. 

Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mon 
grel beef-witted lord! 

Ajax. Speak then, thou vinew'dest leaven, speak: 
I will beat thee into handsomeness. 

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness, 
but I think thy horse will sooner con an oration, 
than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst 
strike, canst thou? a red murrain o' thy Jade's 
tricks! 

Ajax. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation. 

Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strik'si 
me thus? 

Ajax. The proclamation,— 

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. 

AJax. Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch. 

Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to foot, 
and I had the scratching of thee; I would make thee 
the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art 
forth in the Incursions, thou strikest as slow as an- 
other. 

Ajax. I say, the proclamation,— 

Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on 
Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his great 



270 



TROILVS AND CRESSWA. 



[Act ir. 



npss, as Cerberus Is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that 
thou bark'st at lilrn. 

AJaj:. Mistress Thersitesl 

Thtr. Thou shouldst strike him. 

AJiix, Ctjbloaf! 

TluT. Hi- would pun thee Into shivers with his fist, 
as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 

AJa.v. You whoreson cur; [Beating him. 

Tl„r. Do, do. 

AJa.v. Thon stool for a wltchl 

Thci: Ay, do, do; thou sodden-wUted lord! thou 
hast no more brain than I have in mine-elbows; an 
asslnego may tutor thee: Thou sinirvy valiant assi 
thou art here but to thrash Trojans; and thou art 
bouRht and sold among those of any wit, like a Bar- 
barian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at 
th.v heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou 
thing of no bowels, thou! 

AJa.v. You dog! 

Ther. You scurvy lord! 

AJax. You cur! [Beating him. 

Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness: do, camel; do, 
do. 

Enter Achilles and Patroehis. 

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax? wlierefore do you 
this? 
How now, Thersites? what 's the matter, man? 

Ther. You see him there, do you? 

Achil. Ay; what 's the matter? 

Ther. Nay, look upon him. 

Achit. So I do; what 's the matter? 

Titer. Nay, but regard him well. 

Achil. Well, why I do so. 

Titer. But yet you look not well upon him: for, 
whosoever you take him to be, he is Aiax. 

Aeltil. 1 know that, fool. 

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo. what modicums of wit he ut- 
ters! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bob- 
bed his brain more than he has beat my bones: I will 
buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is 
not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, 
Achilles, Ajax,— who wears his wit in his bell.v, and 
his guts in his head,— I '11 tell you what I say of him. 

Aehil. What? 

Ther. I say, this Ajax— 

Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 

[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes. 

Titer. Has not so much wit— 

Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 

Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for 
whom he comes to fight. 

Achil. Peace, fool! 

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the 
fool will not: he there; that he; look you there. 

AJa:c. O thou damned cur! I shall— 

Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's? 

Titer. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will shame it. 

Batr. Good words, Thersites. 

Achil. What 's the quarrel? 

Ajax. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenor of 
the proclamation, and he rails upon me. 

Ther. I serve thee not. 

.ijax. Well, go to, go to. 

Ther. I serve here voluntary. 

Achil. Your last service was sufferance, "t was not 
voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary; Ajax was 
here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. 

Ther. E'en so;— a (?reat deal of your wit too lies in 
your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall 
have a great catch if he knock out either of your 
brains; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with no 
kernel. 

Achit. What, with me too, Thersites? 

Ther. There 's Ulysses, and old Nestor,— whose wit 
was mouldy ere your grandsires had nails on their 
toes,— yoke you like draught oxen, and make you 
plough up the war. 

Achil. What, what? 

Titer. Y'es, good sooth. To, Achilles! to, Ajax! to! 

Ajax. 1 shall cut out your tongue. 

Ther. 'T is no matter; I shall speak as much as 
thou, afterwards. 

Pair. No more words, Thersites; peace. 

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach 
bids me, shall I? 

.ichtl. There 's for you, Patroclus. 

Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I 
come any more to your tents; I will keep where 
there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. 

[Exit. 

Patr. A good riddance. 

Achil. Marry this, sir. Is proclaimed through all our 
host: 
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun. 
Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, 
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms. 
That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare 
Maintain— I know not what; 't is trash: Farewell. 

Aja.r. Farewell. Wlio shall answer him? 

-ichil. I know not, it is put to lottery; otherwise, 
He knew his man. 

Ajax. O, meaning you:— I '11 go learn more of it. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Troy. A Room in Pi'iam's Palace. 
Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and Helenus. 

Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent, 
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks: 
* Deliver Helen, and all damage else — 
As honour, loss of time, travel, expense. 
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con- 
sumed 
In hot digestion of this cormorant war, — 
Shall be struck oft:'— Hector, what say you to 't? 

Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, 
As far as toucheth my particular, yet, dread Priam, 
There is no lady of more softer bowels, 
More sjjoiigy to suck in the sense of fear. 
More ready to cry out—' Who knows what follows?' 
Than Hector Is: The wound of peace is surety. 
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd 
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go: 
Since the first sword was drawn about this question, 
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand disraes. 
Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean of ours: 
If we have lost so many tenths of ours. 
To guard a thing not ours; nor worth to us, 
Had it our name, the value of one ten; 
What merit 's in that reason which denies 
The yielding of her up? 

Tro. Fie, fie, my brother! 



Weigh you the worth and honour of a king 

So great as our dread father, in a scale 

Of common ounces? will you with counters sum 

The past proportion of his infinite? 

And buckle-in a waist most fathomless 

With spans and inches so diminutive 

As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame! 

Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at 
reasons. 
You are so empty of them. Should not our father 
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons. 
Because your speech hath none, that tells him so? 

Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother 
priest. 
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your 

reasons: 
You know an enemy intends you harm; 
You know a sword employ'd is perilous, 
And reason flies the object of all harm: 
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds 
A Grecian and his sword, it he do set 
The very wings of reason to his heels: 
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, 
Or like a star dis-orb'd?— Nay, if we talk of reason. 
Let 's shut our gates, and sleep: Manhood and 

honour 
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their 

thoughts 
With this cramm'd reason ; reason and respect 
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject. 

Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost 
The holding. 

Tro. What 's aught but as 't is valued? 

Hect. But value dwells not in particular will; 
It holds his estimate and dignity 
As well wherein 't is precious of itself 
As in the prizer; 't is mad idolatry 
To make the service greater than the god; 
And the will dotes that is inclinable 
To what infectiously itself effects. 
Without some image of the affected merit. 

Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
Is led on in the conduct of my will; 
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears. 
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
Of will and judgment: How may I avoid. 
Although my will distaste what it elected. 
The wife I choose? there can be no evasion 
To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour: 
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant. 
When we have spoil'd them; nor the remainder 

viands "■ 

We do not throw in unrespeetive sieve. 
Because we now are full. It was thought meet, 
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks: 
Y'our breath of full consent bellied his sails; 
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce 
And did him service: he touch'd the ports desir'd; 
And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive. 
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and fresh- 
ness 
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning. 
Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt: 
Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl. 
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
If you '11 avouch 't wisdom Paris went, 
(As you must needs, for you all cried—' Go, go,') 
If you "II confess he brought home noble prize, 
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands. 
And cried—' Inestimable!') why do you now 
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate; 
And do a deed that fortune never did. 
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd 
Richer than sea and land? O theft most base; 
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep! 
But thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen. 
That in their country did them that disgrace. 
We fear to warrant in our native place! 

Cos. [Within.\ Cr.v, Trojans, cr.v! 

Pri. What noise? what shriek is this? 

Tro. 'T is our mad sister, I do know her voice. 

Cas. [Within.'i Cry, Trojans! 

Hect. It is Cassandra. 

Enter Cassandra, raving. 

Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes, 
And I will flU them with prophetic tears. 

Hect. Peace, sister, peace. 

Cas. Virgins and boys, mid age, and wrinkled eld, 
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
Add ro mj' clamours! let us pay betimes 
A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tearsi 
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand; 
Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all. 
Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen, and a woe: 
Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit. 

Hect. Now, youthful TroUus, do not these high 
strains 
Of divination in our sister work 
Some touches of remoi-se? or is your blood 
So madly hot, that no discourse of reason. 
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause. 
Can qualify the same! 

Tro. Why, brother Hector, 

We may not think the justice of each act 
Such and no other than event doth form it; 
Nor once deject the courage of our minds 
Because Cassandra's mad; her brain-sick raptures 
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel 
Which hath our several honours all engag'd 
To make it gracious. For my private part, 
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's son's: 
And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us 
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
To fight for and maintain! 

Par. Else might the world convince of levity 
As well my undertakings as your counsels: 
But I attest the gods, your full consent 
Gave wings to my propension, and cut off 
All fears attending on so dire a project. 
For what, alas, can these my single arms? 
Whatpropugnation is in one man's valour. 
To stand the push and enmlt.v of those 
This quarrel would e.xcite? Yet, I protest. 
Were I alone to pass the difficulties, 
And had as ample power as I have will, 
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, 
Nor faint in the pursuit. 

Pri. Paris, you speak 

Like one besotted on your sweet delights: 
You have the hone.v still, but these the gall; 
So to be valiant is no praise at all. 

Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself 



The pleasures such a beaut.v brings with it; 

But I would have the soil of her fair rape 

Wip'd off, in honourable keeping her. 

What treason were it to the ransaek'd queen. 

Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me. 

Now to deliver her possession up. 

On terms of base compulsion! Can it be 

That so degenerate a .stain as this 

Should once set footing In your generous bosoms? 

There 's not the meanest spirit on our party 

Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw. 

When Helen is defended; nor none so noble. 

Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd, 

Where Helen is the subject: then, I sav. 

Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well. 

The world's large spaces cannot parallel. 

Hect. Paris, and 'Troilus, you have both said well; 
And on the cause and question now in hand 
Have gloz'd,— but superficially; not much 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought 
Unfit to hear moral philosophy: 
The reasons you allege do more conduce 
To the hot passion of distemper'd blood. 
Than to make up a free determination 
'Twixt right and wroncr: for pleasure, and revenge,. 
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
Of any true decision. Nature craves 
All dues be render'd to their owners: Now 
What nearer debt in all humanity 
Than wife is to the husband? if this law 
Of nature be corrupted through affection. 
And that great minds, of partial Indulgence 
To their benumbed wills, resist the same. 
There is a law in each well-order'd nation. 
To curb those raging appetites that are 
Most disobedient and refractory. 
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king,— 
As it is known she is,— these moral laws 
Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud 
To have her back return'd: Thus to persist 
In doing wrong exterminates not wrong, 
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion 
Is this, in way of truth: yet, ne'ertheless. 
My spritely brethren, I propend to you 
In resolution to keep Helen still; 
For 't is a cause that hath no mean dependance 
Upon our joint and several dignities. 

Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our de- 
sign: 
Were It not gloi-y that we more affected 
Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, 
she is a theme of honour and renown; 
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds; 
Whose present courage may beat down our foes. 
And fame, in time to come, canonize us: 
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory, 
As smiles upon the forehead of this action. 
For the wide world's revenue. 

Hect. I am yours. 

You valiant offspring of great Priamus. 
I have a roisting challenge sent amongst 
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, 
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits: 
I was advertls'd their great general slept. 
Whilst emulation in the army crept; 
This, I presume, will wake him. \Exeicnl. 

Scene 111.— The Grecian Camp. Before 
Achilles' Tejif. 
Enter Thersites. 

Ther. How now, Thersites? what, lost in the 
labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax 
carry it thus? he beats me, and I rail at him: O 
worth.v satisfaction! would it were otherwise; that 
I could beat him, whilst he railed at me: 'Sfoot, 
I 'U learn to conjure and raise devils, but I '11 see 
some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then 
there 's Achilles,- a rare engineer. K Troy be not 
taken till these two undermine it, the walls will 
stand tin they fall of themselves. O thou great 
thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art 
Jove the king of gods; and. Mercury, lose all the 
serpentine craft of thy Caduceus; if ye take not 
that little little less-than-Uttle wit from them that 
they have! which short-armed ignorance itself 
knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in circum- 
vention deliver a fly from a spider, without drawing 
the massy irons, and cutting the web. After this, 
the vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the 
bone-ache! for that, methlnks, is the curse depend- 
ant on those that war for a placket. I have said my 
prayers; and devil envy, say Amen. What ho! my 
lord Achilles! 

Enter Patroclus. 

Patr. Who 's there? Thersites? good Thersites, 
come in and rail. 

Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt counter- 
feit,-thou would'st not have slipped out of my con- 
templation: but it is no matter: Thyself upon thy- 
self! The common curse of mankind, folly and ig- 
norance, be thine in great revenue! heaven bless 
thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near 
thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death! 
then if she that lays thee out says thou art a fair 
corse, I '11 be sworn and sworn upon 't, she never 
shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where 's Achilles? 

Patr. What, are thou devout? wast thou in a 
prayer? 

Titer. Ay: the heavens hear me! 
Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Who 's there? 

Patr. Thersites, my lord. 

.iiltil. Where, where?— Art thou come? Why, m.y 
cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served thy- 
self in to my table so many meals?— Come; what 's 
Agamemnon? 

Ther. Thy commander, Achilles:— Then tell ine, 
Patroclus, what 's Achilles? 

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites: Then tell me, I pray 
thee, what 's thyself? 

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus; Then tell me, Pa- 
troclus, what art thou? 

Patr. Thou may'.st tell that knowest. 

Achil. O, tell, tell. 

Ther. I '11 decline the whole question. Agamem- 
non commands Achilles; Achilles Is my lord; I am 
Patroclus' knower: and Patroclus is a fool. 

Patr. Y^ou rascal! 

Ther. Peace, fool; I have not done. 

Achil. He is a privileged man.— Proceed, Ther- 
sites. 



SCBNK III.] 



TROTLUS AXD CliESSIDA. 



271 



Ther. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; 
Thersites is a fool; anil, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a 
fool. 

Achil. Derive this; come. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command 
Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of 
Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool; 
«and Patroclus is a fool positive. 

Patr. Whv am I a fool? 

Ther. Make that demand of the prover.— It suffices 
me thou art. Look you, who comes here? 

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, 
and AJax. 

Achit. Patroclus, I '11 speak with nobody;— Come in 
■with me, Thersites. [E.vit. 

Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and 
such knavery! all the argument is, a cuckold and a 
whore: A good quarrel, to draw emulous factions, 
and bleed to death upon. Now the dry seplgo on the 
subjeetl and war, and lechery, confound all! fEx. 

Agnni. Where is Achilles? 

Patr. Withm [lis tent; but ill-disposed, my lord. 

Again. Let it be known to him that we are here. 
He silent our messengers, and we lay by 
Our appertainments, visiting of him: 
Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think 
AVe dare not move the question of our place, 
Or know not what we are. 

Patr. I shall so say to him. [Exit. 

Vlyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent; 
He is not sick. 

Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you may 
call it melanchol.v, if .vou will favour the man; but, 
by my head, it is pride: But why, why? let him 
show us the cause.— A word, my lord. 

[Takes A.g!\n\fm\\on aside. 

Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? 

Vtjiss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. 

Ke.-it. Who? Thersites? 

Ulyss. He. 

Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost 
his argument. 

Dlyss. No; you see, he is his argument that has his 
argument,— Achilles. 

Nest. All the better: their fraction is more our 
wish than their faction: But it was a strong counsel 
a fool could disunite. 

Vlyss. The amity that wisdom knits not, foU.v may 
easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. 

Reenter Patroclus. 

Nest. No Achilles with him. 

Vlyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for 
courtesy: 
His legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure. 

Patr. Achilles bids me say— he is much sorry 
If anything more than your sport and pleasure 
Did move your greatness, and this noble state. 
To call upon him; he hopes it is no other. 
But, for your health and your digestion sake, 
An after-dinner's breath. 

Agam. Hear you, Patroclus:— 

We are too well acquainted with these answers: 
But his evasion, wing'd thus with scorn, 
Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
Much attribute he hath; and much the reason 
Why we ascribe it to him: yet all his virtues, 
Not virtuously of his own part beheld. 
Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss; 
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, 
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him 
We come to speak with him: And you shall not sin. 
If you do say— we think him over-proud. 
And under-honest; in self-assumption greater 
Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than 

himself. 
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on; 
Disguise the holy strength of their command. 
And underwrite in an observing kind 
His humorous predominance; yea, watch 
His pettish lines, his ebbs, his flows, as it 
The passage and whole carriage of this action 
Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this; and add. 
That if he overbold his price so much. 
We '11 none of him; but let him, like an engine 
Not portable, lie under this report- 
Bring action hither, this cannot go to war: 
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
Before a sleeping giant:-Tell him so. 

Patr. I shall; and bring his answer presently. [Ex. 

Agam, In second voice we '11 not be satisfied. 
We come to speak with him.— Ulysses, enter you. 

[Exit Ulysses. 

Ajax. What is he more than another? 

Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. 

Ajax. Is he so much? Do ybu not think he thinks 
himself a better man than I am? 

Agam. No question. 

Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say he 
is? 

Agam. No, noble Ajax; you areas strong, as val- 
iant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and 
altogether more tractable. 

Ajax. Why should a man be protid? How doth 
pride grow? I know not what pride is. 

Agam. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your 
virtue the fairer. He that is proud eats up himself: 
pride is his own glass, his o»vn trumpet, his own 
chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in the 
deed, devours the deed in the praise. 

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, £is I hate the engen- 
dering of toads. 

Nest. Yet he loves himself: Is 't not strange? 

[Aside. 
Re-enter Ulysses. 

Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. 

Agam. What 's his excuse? 

Uly.ts. He doth rely on none: 

But carries on the stream of his dispose. 
Without observance or respect of any. 
In will peculiar and in self-admission. 

Agam. Why, will he not, upon our fair request, 
Untent his person, and share the air with us? 

Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake 
only. 
He makes important: Possess'd he is with greatness; 
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride 
That quarrels at self-breath: imagin'd worth 
Holds in his blood such swol'n and hot discourse, 
That, twixt his mental and his active parts, 
Kiugdom'd Achilles in commotion rages. 
And batters 'gainst itself. What should I say? 



He Is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it 
Cry—' No recovery.' 

Agam. Let Ajax go to him.— 

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent: 
'T is said, he holds you well; and will be led. 
At your request, a little from himself. 

Vlyss. O .\gamemnon, let it not be so! 
We '11 consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
When they go from Achilles: Shall the proud lord. 
That bates his arrogance with his own seam. 
And never suffers matter of the world 
Enter his thoughts,— save such as do revolve 
And ruminate himself,— shall he be worship'd 
Of that we hold an idol more than he? 
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord 
Must no' so stale his palm, nobl.v acquir'd; 
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, 
As amply titled as Achilles is. 
By going to Achilles; 

That were to enlard his fat-already pride; 
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns 
With entertaining great Hyperion. 
This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid; 
And say in thunder- 'Achilles go to him.' 

Nest. O, this is well; he rubs the vein of him. 

[Aside. 

Dio. And how his silence drinks up this applause! 

[Aside. 

Ajax. It I go to him, with my arm'd fist I 'U pash 
him 
Over the face. 

Agam. O, no, you shall not go. 

Ajax. An a' be proud with me, I '11 pheeze his 
pride: 
Let me go to him. 

Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our 
quarrel. 

Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow! 

Nest. How he describes himself! [Aside. 

Ajax. Can he not be sociable? 

Ulyss. The raven chides blackness. [Aside. 

Ajax. I '11 let his humours blood. 

Agam. He will be the physician, that should be the 
patient. [Aside. 

Aja,v. An all men were o' my mind! 

Vlyss. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside. 

Ajax. A' should not bear it so, a* should eat swords 
first: Shall pride carry it? 

Nest. An 't would, you 'd carr.v half. [Aside. 

Vlyss. He would have ten shares. [Aside. 

Ajax. 1 will knead him, I '11 make him supple. 

Nest. He 's not yet through warm: force him with 
praises: Pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. 

[Aside. 

Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. 
[To Agamemnon. 

Nest. Our noble general, do not do so. 

Bio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 

Ulyss. Why, 't is this naming of him does him 
harm. 
Here is a man— But 't is before his face; 
I will be silent. 

Nest. Wherefore should you so? 

He IS not emulous, as Achilles is. 

Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. 

AJa.v. A whoreson dog, that shall palter thus with 
us! Would he were a Trojan! 

Nest. What a vice were it in Ajax now — 

Vlyss. If he were proud— 

Uio. Or covetous of praise— 

Vlyss. Ay, or surly borne— 

Dio. Or strange, or self -affected! 

Vlyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet 
composure; 
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck: 
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
Thrlce-tam'd, beyond all erudition: 
But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight. 
Let Mais divide eternity in twain. 
And give him half: and, for thy vigour, 
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield 
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, 
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines 
Thy spacious and dilated parts: Here 's Nestor,— 
Instructed by the antiquary times. 
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; — 
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
As green as Ajax, and your brain so temper'd. 
You should not have the eminence of him. 
But be as Ajax. 

Ajax. Shall I call you father? 

Ulyss. Ay, ray good son. 

Dio. Be rul'd by him^ lord Ajax. 

Vlyss. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles 
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 
To call together all his state of war; 
Fresh kings are come to Troy: To-morrow, 
We must with all our main of power stand fast: 
And here 's a lord,— come knights from east to west. 
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. 

Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep: 
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw 
deep. [Exeunt. 

ACT III, 

SCENK L— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 

Enter Pandarus and a Servant. 

Pan. Friend! you! pray you, a word: Do not you 
follow the young lord Paris? 

Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 

Pan. You depend upon him, I mean. 

Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. 

Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman; I must 
needs praise him. 

Serv. The lord be praised! 

Pan. You know me, do you not? 

Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially. 

Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the lord Pan- 
darus. 

Serv. I hope I shall know your honour better. 

Pan. I do desire it. 

Serv. You are in the state of grace. [Music within. 

Pan. Grace! not so, friend; honour and lordship 
are my titles:— What music is this? 

Serv. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts. 

Pan. Know you the musicians? 

Serv. Wholly, sir. 

Pan. Who play they to? 

Serv. To the hearers, sir. 

Pan. At whose pleasure, friend? 

Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 

Pan. Command, I mean, friend. 

Serv. Who shall I command, sir? 



Pan. Friend, we understand not one another; I 
am too courtly, and thou art too cunning: At whose 
request do those men play? 

Serv. That 's to 't. indeed, sir: Marry, sir, at the 
request of l^aris my lord, who 's there in person; with 
him, the mortal Venus, the heart blood of beauty, 
love's invisible soul,— 

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida? 

Serv. No, sir, Helen; could you not find out that by 
her attributes? 

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not 
seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris 
from the prince Troilus: I will make a complimental 
assault upon him, for my business seeths. 

Serv. Sodden business! there 's a stewed phrase. 
Indeed! 

Enter Paris and Helen, attended. 

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair 
company! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly 
guide them! especially to you, fair queen! fair 
thoughts be your fair pillow! 

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. 
Fair prince, here is good broken music. 

Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, 
you shall make it whole again; you shall piece it 
out with a piece of your performance:— Nell, he is 
full of harmony. 

Pan. Truly, lady, no. 

Helen. O, sir,— 

Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude. 

Par. Well said, my lord! well, you .say so in fits. 

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen:— My 
lord, will you vouchsafe me a word? 

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we 'II hear 
you sing, certainly. 

Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. 
—But, marry, thus, my lord,— My dear lord, and 
most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus — 

Helen. My lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,— 

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to: — commends him- 
self most affectionately to you. 

Helen. You shall not bob iis out of our melody: If 
you do, our melancholy upon your head! 

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that 's a sweet 
queen, i' faith. 

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour 
offence. 

Pom. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall 
it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words: 
no, no.— And, my lord, he desires you, that if the 
king call for him at supper you will make his excuse. 

Helen. My lord Pandarus, — 

Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very very 
sweet queen? 

Par. What exploit 's in hand? where sups he to- 
night? 

Helen. Nay, but my lord,— 

Pan. What says my sweet queen? — My cousin will 
fall out with you. Youmustnot know whorehesups. 

Par. I 'U lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. 

Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide; come, 
your disposer is sick. 

Par. Well, I 'U make excuse. 

Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say 
Cressida? no, your poor disposer 's sick. 

Par. I spy. 

Pan. You spy! what do you spy?— Come, give me 
an instrument.— Now, sweet queen. 

Helen. Why, this is kindly done. 

Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a tiling you 
have, sweet queen. 

Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my 
lord Paris. 

Pan. He! no, she '11 none of him; they two are 
tw^ain. 

Helen. Falling In, after falling out, may make them 
three. 

Pan. Come, come, I '11 hear no more of this; I '11 
sing you a song now. 

Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet 
lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 

Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 

Helen. Let thy song be love: this love will undo us 
all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid! 

Pan. Love! ay, that it shall, 1' faith. 

Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. 

Pan. In good troth, it begins so; 

Love, love, nothing but love, still more! 

For, oh, love's bow 

shoots buck and doe: 

The shaft confounds. 

Not that it wounds. 
But tickles still the sore. 

These lovers cry— Oh! oh! they die! 

Yet that which seems the wound to kill, 
Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he! 

So dying love lives still: 
Oh! oh! awhile, but ha! ha! ha! 
Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha! 

Hey ho! 

Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose. 

Par. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that 
breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, 
and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is 
love. 

Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot 
thoughts, and hot deeds?— Why, they are vipers: 
Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who 's 
afield to-day? 

Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and 
all the gallantry of Troy: I would fain have armed 
to-day, but my Nell would not have it so. How 
chance my lirother Troilus went not? 

Helen. He hangs the lip at something;— you know 
all, lord Pandarus. 

Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen.— I long to hear 
how they spend to-day.— You 'U remember your 
brother's excuse? 

Par. To a hair. 

Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 

Helen. Commend me to your niece. 

Pan. I will, sweet queen. [Exit. 

[A retreat sounded. 

Par. They are come from field: let us to Priam's 
hall. 
To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you 
To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buck/es. 
With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd. 
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel. 
Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more 
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector. 



27;^ 



TROILVS AX I) VRESSIDA. 



Laox in. 



IJelen. 'T will make us proud to be his servant, 
Paris; 
Yen, what he shall receive of us in duty 
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have; 
Yea, oversliines ourself. 

Par. Sweet, above lliougJjl I love thee. \_Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Troy. PMidarus' Orchard. 
Enter Pandarus and a Servant, marling. 

Pan. How now? where 's thy master? at my cousin 
Cressida's? 

Sen: No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him 
thither. 

Enter Trollus. 

Pan. O, here he comes.— How now, how now? 

Tro. Sirrah, wail< off. [Exit Servant. 

Pan. Have you seen my cousin? 

jTro. No, Pandarus: I stallc about her door, 
Lilse a stranRC soul iipon the Stygian banks 
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, 
And give me swift transportance to those fields 
Where I may wallow in the lily beds 
Propos'd for the deserverl O gentle Pandarus, 
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings. 
And fly with me to Cressid! 

Pan, Walk here i" the orchard, I '11 bring her 
straight. [Exit Pandarus. 

Tro. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. 
The imaginary relisii is so sweet 
That it enchants my sense. What will it be, 
When that the wat'ry palate tastes Indeed 
Love's thrice repured nectar? death, I fear me; 
Swooning destruction; or some Joy too tine, 
Too subtle-potent, and too sharp in sweetness, 
For the capacity of my ruder powers: 
I fear it much; and I do fear besides, 
That I shall lose distinction In my joys; 
As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
The enemy flying. 

lie-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. She 's making her ready, she '11 come straight: 
you must be witty now. She does so blush, and 
letches her wind so short, as if she were frayed with 
a sprite: I '11 fetch her. It is the prettiest villain:— 
she fetches her breath so short as a new-ta'en spar- 
row. [Eji-it Pandarus. 

Tro. F.ven such a passion doth embrace my bosom: 
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse; 
And all my powers do their bestowing lose. 
Like vassalage at unawares encount'rlng 
The eye of majesty. r^ 

Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 

Pan. Come, come, what need you blush? shame 's 
a baby. — Here she is now: swear the oaths now to 
her tliat you have sworn to me. — What, are you 
gone again? you must be watched ere you be made 
tame, must you? Come your ways, come your 
ways; an you draw backward, we '11 put you i' the 
fills.— Why do you not speak to her?— Come, draw 
this curtain, and let 's see your picture. Alas the 
day, how loth you are to offend daylightl an 't were 
darlc you 'd close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss 
tlie mistress. How now, a kiss in fee-farm! build 
there, carpenter; the air is sweet. Nay, you shall 
light your hearts out ere I part you. The falcon 
as the tercel, for all the ducks 1' the river: go to, go 
to. 

Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 

Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but she 
'11 bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your ac- 
tivity in question. What, billing again? Here 's— 
' In witness whereof the parties interchangeably '— 
Come in, come in; 1 '11 go get a fire. [Exit Pan. 

Cres. Will yoii walk in, my lord? 

Tro. O Cressida. how often have I wish'd me thus? 

Cres. Wish'd, my lord.'— Ihe gods grant!— O my 
lord! 

Tro, What should they grant? what makes this 
pretty abruption? What too curious dreg espies my 
sweet lady in the fountain of our love? 

Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears have 
eyes. 

Tro. Fears make devils of cherubins; they never 
see truly. 

Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds 
safer footing than blind i-eason stumbling without 
fear: To fear the worst oft cures the worse. 

Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear: in all Cu- 
pid's pageant there is presented no monster. 

Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither? 

Tru. Nothing, but our undertakings; when we vow 
to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers; 
thinking it harder for our mistress to devise impo- 
sition enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty 
Imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady,— 
that the will is infinite, and the execution confined; 
that the desire is boundless, and the. act a slave to 
limit. 

Cres. They say, all lovers swear more performance 
than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that 
they never perform; vowing more than the perfec- 
tion of ten, and di.scharging less than the tenth part 
of one. They that have the voice of lions, and the 
act of hares, are they not monsters? 

Tro. Are there such? such are not we: Praise us as 
we are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall 
go bare till merit crown it: no perfection in rever- 
sion shall have a praise In present: we will not 
name de.sert before his birth; and, being born, his 
addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: 
■Troilus shall be such to Cressid, as what envy can 
say worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what 
truth can speak truest, not truer than Troilus. 

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord? 
Reenter Pandarus. 

Pan. What, blushing still? have you not done talk- 
ing yet? 

Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit I dedicate 
to you. 

Pan. I thank you for that; If my lord get a boy of 
you, you '11 give him me: Be true to my lerd: if he 
flinch, chide me for it. 

Tro. You know now your hostages; your uncle's 
word, and my firm faith. 

Pan. Nay, I '11 give my word for her too; our 
kindred, though tney be long ere they are wooed, 
they are constant, being won: they are burs, I can 
tell you; they '11 stick where they are thrown. 

Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me 
heart: 
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day, 
For many weary mouths. 



Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win? 

Cres. H.Vrd to seem won; but 1 was won, ray lord, 
With the first glance that over— Pardon me;— 
If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
I love you now; but not, till now, so much 
But 1 mlglit master it:— in faith, I lie; 
My thoughts were like unin-idled children, growm 
Too headstrong for their mother: See, we fools! 
Why have I biabb'd? Who shall be true to us, 
When we are so unsecret to ourselves? 
But, thoiigh I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not; 
An vet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man; 
Or that wo women had men's privilege 
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue; 
For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak 
The thing I shall repent. See. see, your silence. 
Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
My soul of counsel from me: Stop my mouth. 

Ti-o. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. 

Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 

Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me: 
'T was not my purpose thus to beg a kiss: 
1 am asham'ci;- O heavens! what have I done?— 
For this time will I take my leave, my lord. 

Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid? 

Pan. Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow morn- 
ing,— 

Cres. Pray you, content you. 

Tro. What offends you, lady? 

Cres. Sir, mine own company. 

Tro. You cannot shun 

Yourself. 

Cres, Let me go and try: 
I have a kind of self resides with you: 
But an unkind self, that itself will leave. 
To be another's fool. Where is my wit? 
I would be gone:— I speak I know not what. 

Tro, Well know they what they speak that speak 
so wisely. 

Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than 
love: 
And fell so roundly to a large confession, 
To angle for your thoughts: But you are wkse; 
Or else you love not: For to be wise, and love. 
Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above. 

Tro. O, that I thoufiUt it could be In a woman, 
(.\s, if it can, I will presume in you,) 
■To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love; 
To keep her constancy In plight and youth, 
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
That doth renew swifter than blood decays! 
Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, 
That my integrity and truth to you 
Might be affronted with the match and weight 
Of such a winnowed purity in love; 
How were I then uplifted! but, alas, 
I am as true as truth's simplicity. 
And simpler than the infancy of truth. 

Cres. In that I '11 war with you. 

Tro. O virtuous fight. 

When right with right wars who shall be most right! 
True swains in love shall, in the world to come. 
Approve their truths by Troilus: when their rhymes, 
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, 
Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration, — 
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon. 
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate. 
As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre,— 
Yet, after all comparisons of truth. 
As truth's authentic author to be cited. 
As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse, 
And sanctify the numbers. 

Cres. Prophet may you be! 

If I be false, or swerve a hair from trutli. 
When time is old and hath forgot itself. 
When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up. 
And mighty states characterless are grated 
To dusty nothing; yet let memory 
From false to false, among false maids in love. 
Upbraid my falsehood! when they have said, as false 
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, 
As fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer's calf, 
Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son; 
Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, 
As false as Cressid. 

Pan. Goto, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; I '11 be 
the witness.— Here I hold your hand: here, my cou- 
sin's. If ever you prove false one to another, since I 
have taken such pains to bring you together, let all 
pitiful goers-between be called to the world's end af- 
ter my name, call them all— Pandars; let all constant 
men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, and all 
brokers-between Pandars! say, amen. 

Tro. Amen. 

Cres. Amen. 

Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a cham- 
ber, which bed, because it sliall not speak of your 
pretty encounters, press it to death, away. 
And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidenshere. 
Bed, chamber, and Pandar to provide this gear! 

[Exeunt. 
Scene III.— The Grecian Camp. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, 
AJax, Menelaus, and Calchas. 

Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you, 
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind. 
That, through the sight I bear in things to love, 
I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
Incurr'd a traitor's name; exposed myself. 
From certain and possess'd conveniences. 
To doubtful fortunes; sequest'ring from me all 
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition. 
Made tame and most familiar to my nature; 
And here, to do you service, am become 
As new into the world, strange, unacquainted: 
I do beseech you, as in way of taste, 
To give me now a little benefit. 
Out of those many register'd in promise, 
Which you say live to come in my behalf. 

Agam. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? make 
demand. 

Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor, 
Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear. 
Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore) 
Deslr'd my Cressid in right great exchange. 
Whom Troy hath still denied: But this Antenor, 
I know, is such a wrest in their affairs, 
That their negotiations all must slack, 
Wanting his manage; and they will almost 
Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
In change of him: let him be sent, great princes. 



And he shall buy niy daughter; and her presence 
Shall quite strike ott all service I have done. 
In most accepted pain. 

Agam. Let Diomedes bear him. 

And bring us Cressid hither; Calchas shall have 
What he requests of us.— Good Diomed, 
Furnish you fairly for this interchange: 
Withal, bring word, if Hector will to-morrow 
Be answer'd in his challenge: AJax is ready. 

Dio. This shall I undertake; and 't is a V)urthen 
Which I am proud to bear. [Exe. Diom. ond Cal. 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their Tent. 

Vlyss. Achilles .stands 1' the entrance of his tent;— 
Please it our general to pass strangely by him. 
As if he were forgot; and, princes ail, 
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him: 
I will come last: 'T is like, he '11 question me. 
Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on 

him: 
If so, I have derision medicinable, 
To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
Which his own will .shall have desire to drink; 
It may do gOod; pride hath no other glass 
To show itself, but pride; for supple knees 
Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees. 

Agam. We '11 execute your purpose, and put on 
A form of strangeness as we pass along;— 
So do each lord; and either greet him not. 
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more 
"Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. 

Aehil. What, comes the general to speak with me? 
You know my mind, I '11 fight no more 'gainst Troy. 

Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught with 
us? 

Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general? 

Achil. No. 

Nest. Nothing, my lord. 

Agam. The better. [ Exextnt Agam. and Hest. 

Achil. Good day, good day. 

Men. How do you? how do you? [Ex. Menelaus.. 

Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me? 

Aja.v. How now, Patroclus? 

Achil. Good mori'ow, AJax. 

AJax. Ha?— 

Aehil, Good morrow. 

AJax. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit AJax. 

Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not 
Achilles? 

Patr. They pass by strangely; they were us'd to 
bend. 
To send their smiles before them to Achilles; 
To come as humbly as they us'd to creep 
To holy altars. 

Achil. What, am I poor of late? 

'T is certain, greatness, once fallen out with for- 
tune. 
Must fall out with men too: What the declin'd is. 
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others. 
As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies-. 
Show not their mea'iy wings but to the summer; 
And hot a man, for being simply man, 
Hath any honour; but honour for those honours 
That are without him, as place, riches, and favour. 
Prizes of accident as oft as merit: 
Which, when they fall, as being slippery slanders. 
The love that iean'd on them as slippery too. 
Do one pluck down another, and together 
Die in the fall. But 't is not so with me: 
Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy 
At ample point all that I did possess. 
Save these men's looks: who do, methinks, flnd out 
Something not worth in me such rich beholding 
As they have often given. Here Is Ulysses; 
I '11 interrupt his reading.— 
How now, Ulysses? 

Uliiss. Now, great Thetis' son! 

Achil. What are you reading? 

Ulyss. A strange teilow here 

Writes me, That man, how dearly ever parted. 
How much in having, or without, or in. 
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath. 
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; 
As when his virtues shining upon others 
Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
To the ttrst giver. 

Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 

The beauty that is borne here in the face 
The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
To others' eyes: nor doth the eye itself 
(That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself. 
Not going from itself: but eye to eye oppos'd 
Salutes each other with each other's form. 
For speculation turns not lo itself. 
Tin it hath travell'd, and is married there 
Where it may see itself; this is not strange at all. 

Ulyss. I do not strain at the position. 
It is familiar; but at the author's drift: 
Who, In his circumstance, expressly proves. 
That no man is the loid of anything, , 

(Though in and of him there is much consisting,) 
Till he communicate his parts to others: 
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught 
Till he behold them form'd in the applause 
Where they are extended; who. like an arch, re- 
verberates 
The voice again; or, like a gate of steel 
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; 
And apprehended here immediately 
The unknown AJax. 

Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse; 
That has he knows not what. Nature, what things 

there are. 
Most abject in regard, and dear in use! 
What things again most dear in the esteem. 
And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow. 
And act that very chance doth throw upon him, 
AJax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do. 
While some men leave to do! 
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hail. 
While others play the idiots in her eyes! 
How one man eats into another's pride. 
While pride is feasting in his wantonness! 
To see these Grecian lords!— why, even already 
They clap the lubber AJax on the shoulder; 
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast. 
And great Troy slirlnking. 

Achil. I do believe it: for they pass'd by me 
As misers do by beggars; neither gave to me 
Good word, nor look; What, are my deeds forgot? 

Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
A great sized monster of Ingratitudes; 



Scene hi. 



TROILUS AND CKESSWA. 



273 



Those scraps aie good deeds past: which are de- 

vour'd 
As fast as thej' are made, forgot as soon 
As done; Perstneraiice, dear my lord. 
Keeps honour bi-iRlit: To have done, is to hang 
Quite out of fashion, lilie a rusty mail 
In monumental mockery. TalJe the instant way; 
For honour travels in a strait so narrow. 
Where one but goes abreast; keep then the path; 
For emulation liath a thousand sons, 
That one by one inn-sue: If you give way. 
Or hedge aside from tlie direct forthright, 
Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by. 
And leave you hindmost;— 
Or, like a gallant iiorse fallen in first rank. 
Lie there for pavement to theab.iect rear, 
O'errun and trampled on; Then what they do in 

present. 
Though less than yoni-s in past, must o'ertop yours: 
For time is like a fashionalile host, 
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand; 
And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly, 



All the commerce that you have had with Troy, 

As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord; 

And belter would it (It Achilles much. 

To throw down Hector, than I'olyxena: 

But it must grieve young Pyrrluis now at home 



But 
VVh: 



When fame shall in oiu' islands sound her trump; 

And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,— 

'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win; 

But our great AJax bravely beat down him.' 

Farewell, my lord; I as your lover speak; 

Thefoo) slides o'er the ice that you siiould break. ri?.r. 

Fati: To this effect, Achijles, have I mov'd you; 
A woman impudent and manuisli grown 
Is not more loath'd than an ett'emiuate man 
In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this: 
Tliey think, my little stomaeli to the war. 
And .your great love to me, restrains you thus; 
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid 
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold. 
And, like a dew drop from the lion's mane. 
Be shook to aii-y air. 

Achil. ShuIIAjax fight witn Hectoi'? 



me for the general? He Is grown a very land flsh, 
langtiagele.ss, a monster. A plague of opinion! a man 
may wear it on both sides, like a leather Jeikin. 

Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, 
Thersites. 

Ther. Who, I? why, he '11 answer nobody; he 
professes not answering; speaking Is for beggars; he 
wears his tongue in his arms. 1 will put on his 
presence; let Patroclus make his demands to me, you 
shall see the pageant of AJax. 

Achil. To him, Patroclus: tell him, I humbly desire 
the valiant AJax to invite the most valorous Hector 
to come unarmed to my tent; and to prociu'e safe 
conduct for his person, of the magnanimou.s, and 
most illustrious, six-orseven-times honoured cap- 
tain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon, &c. 
Do this. 

Pah: Jove bless great Ajax. 

Ther. Humph! 

Pair. I come from the worthy Achilles,— 

Ther. Ha! 




[act m.— scene u."| 



What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? 



Grasps-in the comer: Welcome ever smiles. 

And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue 

seek 
Remuneration for the thing it was; 
For beauty, wit. 

High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service. 
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
To envious and calumniating time. 
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,— 
That all, with one consent, praise newborn gawds, 
Though they are made and moulded of things past; 
And give to dust, that is a little gilt, 
More laud than gilt o'er dusted. 
The present eye praises the present object: 
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man. 
That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax; 
Since thmgs in motion sooner catch the eye. 
Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee. 
And still it miglit; and yet it may again. 
If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive, 
And case thy reputation in thy tent; 
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, 
Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves, 
And drave great Mars to faction. 

Achil. Of this my privacy 

I have strong reasons. 

Vlyss. But 'gainst your privacy 

The reasons are more potent and heroical: 
'T is known, Achilles, that you are in love 
With one of Priam's daughters, 

Achil. Ha! known? 

Uli/s.1. Is that a wonder? 
The providence that 's in a watchful state 
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold; 
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps; 
Keeps place with thought, and alniost, like the gods. 
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
There is a mystery (with whom relation 
Durst never meddle) in the soul of state; 
Which hath an operation more divine 
Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to- 



Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour by 
him. 

Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake; 
M.y fame is shrewdly gor'd. 

Patr. O, then beware; 

Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves: 
Omission to do what is necessary 
Seals a commission to a blank of danger; 
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
Even then when we sit idly In the sun. 

Achil. Go call Thersites liither, sweet Patroclus* 
I '11 send the fool to Ajax, and desire him 
To invite the Trojan lords after the combat. 
To see us here unarm'd: I have a woman's longing. 
An appetite that I am sick withal, 
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace; 
To talk with him, and to behold his visage, 
Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd! 

Enter Thersites. 

Tlier. A wonder! 

Achil What? 

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for 
himself. 

Achil. How so? 

Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector; 
and is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgel- 
ling, that he raves in saying nothing. 

Achil. How can that be? 

Tlier. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock 
—a stride and a stand: ruminates like an hostess that 
hath Ko arithmetic b>it her brain tn set down her 
reckoning: l")ites his lip with a politic regnrd, as who 
should say, there were wit in this head, an 't would 
out; and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as 
fire in a flint, which will not show without knock- 
ing. The man 's undone for ever; for if Hector 
break not his neck i' the combat, he '11 break it 
himself in vainglory. He knows not me: I said, 
'Good-morrow. Ajax;' and he replies, 'Thanks, Aga- 
memnon. What think you of this man, that takes 



Patr. Who most humbly desires you to Invite 
Hector to his tent,— 

Ther. Humph! 

Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga- 
memnon. 

Ther. Agamemnon? 

Patr. Ay, my lord. 

Ther. Ha! 

Patr. What say you to 't? 

Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock 
it will go one way or another; howsoever, he shall 
pay for me ere he has me. 

Patr. Your answer, sir, 

Ther: Fare you well, with all ray heart. 

Achil. Why, but lie is not in this tune, is he? 

Ther. No, but lie's out o' tune thus. What music 
will be in him when Hector has knocked out his 
brains, I know not: But, I am sure, none: unless the 
fiddler Apollo gets his sinews to make catlings on. 

Achil. Come, thou sbalt bear a letter to him 
straight. 

Ther. Let me cai;ry another to his horse; for that 
's the more capable creature. 

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; 
And I myself see not the bottom of it. 

[E.reiint Acliilles and Patroclus. 

Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were 
clear again, that I might water an ass at it! 1 had 
rather be a tick in a sheep than such a valiant igno- 
rance. [Exit. 
ACT IV. 

Scene I.— Troy. A Street. 

Enter, at one side, .^neas, and Servant, with a torch; 
at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor, Dlomedes, 
and others, with torches. 
Par. See, ho! who 's that there? 

Part »1 



874 



TliOJLVS A^'D CRESSIDA. 



lAcT IV. 



Dei. 'T is the lord ^neas. 

^ne. Is the prince there In person?— 
Had I 60 good occasion to lie long, 
As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business 
Should rob my bed mate of my company. 

Dio. That 's my mind too.— Good morrow, lord 
./Eneas. 

Par. A. valiant Greek, jEneas; take his hand: 
Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
You told how Diomed, in a whole week by days, 
Did liaunt you lu the tleld. 

^f:ne. Health to you, valiant sir, 

During all question of the gentle truce: 
But when I meet you arm'u, as black deflance, 
As heart can think or courage execute. 

Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health: 
But, when contention and occasion meet. 
By Jove, I '11 play the hunter for thy life 
with all my force, pursuit, and policy. 

.iSne. And thou snalt hunt a lion, that will fly 
With his face backward.— In humane gentleness. 
Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchlses' life. 
Welcome, indeed! B.v Venus' hand I swear. 
No man alive can love, in such a sort. 
The thing he means to kill, more excellently. 

Dio. We sympathize: -Jove, let .lEneas live, 
If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
A thousand complete courses of the sun! 
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die. 
With every Joint a wound; and that tomorrow\ 

JEne. We know each other well. 

Dio. We do; and long to know each other worse. 

Par. This is the most despitefuU'st gentle greet- 
ing. 
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. 
What business, lord, so early? 

-^ne. I was sent for to the king; but why, I know 
not. 

Par. His purpose meets you: 'T was to bring this 
Greek 
To Calchas' house; and there to render him. 
For the enfreed Auteuor, the fair Cressirt: 
I-et 's have your company; or. If you please. 
Haste there before us: I constantly do think, 
(Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,) 
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night; 
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach, 
With the whole quality whereof; I fear. 
We shall be much unwelcome. 

j£ne. That I assure you; 

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, 
Than Cressld borne from Troy. 

Par. There Is no help; 

The bitter disposition of the time 
Will have it so. On, lord; we '11 follow you. 

^ne. Good morrow, all. [Exit. 

Par. And tell me, noble Diomed; faith, tell me 
true 
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,— 
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen most. 
Myself, or Menelaus? 

Dio. Both alike: 

He merits well to have her that doth seek her 
(Not making any scruple of her soilure) 
With such a hell of pain, and world of charge; 
And you as well to keep her, that defend her 
(Not palating the taste of her dishonour) 
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends; 
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
The lees and dregs of a flat lamed piece; 
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors; 
Both merits pois'd, each weighs no less nor more; 
But he as he; which heavier for a whore? 

Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. 

Dio. She 's bitter to her country: Hear me, 
Paris.— 
For every false drop In her bawdy veins 
A Grecian's lite hath sunk; for every scruple 
Of her contaminated carrion weight, 
A Trojan hath been slain; since she could speak, 
She hath not given so many good words breath, 
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death. 

Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do. 
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy: 
But we in silence hold this virtue well,— 
We '11 not commend what we intend to sell. 
Here lies our way. lExeunt. 

Scene II. — The same. Court be/ore the House of 
Paudarus. 

Enter Troilus and Cresslda. 

Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn Is cold. 

Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I '11 call mine uncle 
down; 
He shall unbolt the gates. 

Tro. Trouble him not; 

To bed, to bed: Sleep kill those pretty eyes. 
And give as soft attachment to thy senses, 
As infants empty of all thought! 

Cres. Good morrow, then. 

Tro. Prithee now, to bed. 

Cres. Are you aweary of me? 

Tro. O Cresslda! but that the busy day, 
Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows. 
And dreaming night will hide our Joys no longer, 
I would not from thee. 

Cres. Night hath been too brief. 

Tro. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights 
she stays. 
As tediously as hell; but flies the graspS of love. 
With wings more momentary -swift than thought. 
You will catch cold, and curse me. 

Cres. Prithee, tarry;— you men will never tarry.— 

foolish Cressid!— I might have stlU held off. 

And then you would have tarried. Hark! there 's 
one up. 
Pan. [Within.'] What, are all the doors open here? 
Tro. It is your uncle. 

Enter Pandarus. 
Cres. A pestilence on him! now will he be mock- 
ing: 

1 shall have such a life,— 

Pan. How now, how now? how go maidenheads? 
Here, you maid! where 's my cousin Cressld? 
Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking 
uncle! 
You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. 

Pan. To do what? to do what?— let her say what: 
what have I brought you to do? 
Crea. Come, come; beshrew your heart: you '11 
ne'er be good, 



Nor suffer others. ^ 

Pan. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor capoc- 
chia! hast not slept tonight? would he not, a 
naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him! 

[Knocking. 

Cres. Did not I tell you?— 'would he were knock'd 
o' the head! 
Who 's that at door? good uncle, go and see.— 
My lord, come you again into my chamber: 
You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. 

Tro. Ha, ha! 

Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such 
thing.- [Knocking. 

How earnestly they knock! pray you, come in; 
I would not for half Troy liave you seen here. 

[Kareunt Troilus and Cresslda. 

Pan. [Going to the door.\ Who 's there? what 's 
the matter? will you beat down the door? Hownow? 
what 's the matter? 

Enter JEneas. 

uEne. Good-morrow, lord, good-morrow. 

Pan. Who 's there? my lord JEneas^ By my troth, 
I knew you not: what news with you so earlyt? 

.^'ne. Is not prince Troilus here? 

Pan. Here! what should he do here? 

uEne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him; 
It doth import him much to speak with me. 

Pan. Is he here, say you? 't is more than I know, 
I 'U be sworn:— For my own part, I came in late: 
What should he do here? 

JEne. Who!— nay, then:--Come, come, you '11 do him 
wrong ere y' are 'ware: You 'II be so true to him, to 
be false to him: Do not you know of him, but yet go 
fetch hira hither: go. 

As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. 

Tro. How now? what 's the matter? 

jEne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you. 
My matter Is so rash: There is at hand 
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, 
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith. 
Ere the flrst sacrifice, within this hour, 
We must give up to Dlomedes' hand 
The lady Cresslda. 

Tro. Is it concluded so? 

JEne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy: 
They are at hand, and ready to effect it. 

Tro. How my achievements mock me! 
I will go meet them: an'd, my lord Mneas, 
We met by chance; you did not find me here. 

.^ne. Good, good, my lord; the secrets of nature 
Have not more gift in taciturnity. 

[ Exeunt Troilus and ^ueas. 

Pan. Is 't possible? no sooner got but lost? The 
devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad. 
A plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke 's 
neck. 

Enter Cresslda. 

Cres. How now? what 's the matter? Who was 
here? 

Pan. Ah, ah! 

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? vi'here 's my 
lord gone? Tell me, sweet uncle, what 's the matter? 

Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as I 
am above! 

Cre^. O the gods!— what 's the matter? 

Pan. Prithee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne'er 
been born! J knew thou would'st be his death:— O 
poor gentleman!- A. plague upon Antenor! 

Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, I 
beseech you, what 's the matter? 

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be 
gone; thou are changed for Antenor: thou must to 
thy father, and be gone from Troilus; 't will be his 
death! 't will be his bane; he cannot bear it. 

Cres. O you immortal gods!— I will not go. 

Pan. Thou must. 

Cres. I will not, uncle; I have forgot my father; 
I know no touch of consanguinity; 
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me, 
As the sweet Troilus.— O you gods divine! 
Make Cressid's name the very crown of fasehood 
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, 
Do to this body what extremity you can; 
But the strong base and building of my love 
Is as the very centre of the earth. 
Drawing all things to it.— I will go In, and weep; — 

Pan. Do, do. 

Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised 
cheeks; 
Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart 
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene 111.— The same. Before Fandarus' Souse. 

Enter Paris, Troilus, .^neas, Deiphobus, Antenor, 
and Dlomedes. 

Par. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd 
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 
Comes fast upon;— Good my brother Troilus, 
Tell you the lady what she is to do, 
And haste her to the purpose. 

Tro. Walk in to her house; 

I '11 bring her to the Grecian presently; 
And to his hand when I deliver her. 
Think it an altar; and thy brother Troilus 
A priest, there offering to It his own heart. [Exit. 

Par. I know what 'tis to love; 
And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help!- 
Please you walk In, my lords. [Exeunt. 

Scene TV.— The same. A Moom in Pandarus' 
House. 
Enter Pandarus and Cresslda. 
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. ^ 

Cres. Why tell you nie of moderation? 
The grief Is fine, full, perfect, that I taste. 
And no less in a sense as strong as that 
Which causeth it: How can I moderate It? 
If I could temporize with my affection. 
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate. 
The like allayment could I give my grief: 
My love admits no qualifying cross: 
No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 
Enter Troilus. 
Pan. Here, here, here he comes, a sweet duck! 
Cres. O Troilus! Troilus! 

Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me 
embrace too; O heart,— as the goodly saying is,— 
O heart, heavy heart. 
Why sigh'st thou without breaking? 



where he answers again. 

Because thou cunst not case thy smart, 
By friendship, nor by speaking. 

There was never a truer rliynie. Let us cast away 
nothing, for we may live to have need of such a 
verse; we see it, we see it.— How now, lambs? 

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity, 
That the blest gods— as angry with my fancy. 
More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
Cold lips blow to their deities,— take thee from me. 

Cres. Have the gods envy? 

Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay; 't is too plain a case. 

Cres. And is it true that I must go from Troy? 

Tro. A hateful tnith. 

Cres. What, and from Troilus too? 

Tro. From Troy, and Troilus. 

Cres. Is 't possible? 

Tro. And suddenly; where Injury of ciiance 
Puts back leave-taking, Justles roughly by 
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 
Even in the birth of our own lalMurlng breath: 
We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste. 
Crams his r'ch thievery up, he knows not how: 
As many farewells as be stars in heaven. 
With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them, 
He fumbles up into a loose adieu; 
And scants us with a single famish'd ki.ss. 
Distasting with the salt of broken tears. 

^ne. [Within.'] My lord! is the lady ready? 

Tro. Hark! you are call'd: Some say, the Genius so 
Cries, ' Come!' to hira that instantly must die.— 
Bid them have patience; she shall come anon. 

Pan. Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, 
or my heart will be blown up by the root. 

[Exit Pandarus. 

Cres. I must then to the Grecians? 

Tro. No remedy. 

Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks! 
When shall we see again? 

Tro. Hear me, my love: Be thou but true of 
heart,— 

Cres. I true! how now? what wicked deem is this? 

Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly. 
For it is parting from us: 
I speak not, 'be thou true,' as fearing thee; 
Fori will throw my glove to Death himself. 
That there 's no maculation In thy heart: 
But ' be thou true,' say I, to fashion In 
My sequent protestation; be thou true. 
And I will see thee. 

Cies. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers 
As Infinite as imminent! but, I '11 be true. 

Tro. And I '11 grow friend with danger. Wear this 
sleeve. 

Cres. And you this glove. When shall Isee you? 

Tro, I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels. 
To give thee nightly visitation. 
But yet, be true. 

Cres. heavens!— be true, again? 

Tro. Hear why I speak It, love; 
The Grecian youths are full of quality; 
Their loving well compos'd with gift of nature, 
Flowing and swelling o'er with ai'ts and exercise; 
How novelties may move, and parts with person, 
Alas, a kind of godly Jealousy 
(Which, I be.seech you, call a virtuous sin,) 
Makes me afraid. 

Cres. O heavens! you love me not. 

Tro. Die I a villain then! 
In this I do not call your faith'in question. 
So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing. 
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk. 
Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all. 
To which the Grecians are most prompt and preg- 
nant: 
But I can tell, that in each grace of these 
There lurks a still and dumb-dlscoursive devil. 
That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted. 

Cres. Do you think I will? 

Tro. No. 
But something may be done that Tve will not: 
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves. 
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers. 
Presuming on their changeful potency. 

JEne. [Within.] Nay, good my lord, — 

ri-o. Come, kiss, and let us part. 

Par. [Within.] Brother Troilus! 

Tro. Good brother, come you hither; 

And bring jEneas and the Grecian witli you. 

Cres. My lord, will you be true? 

Tro. Who, I? alas, it Is my vice, my fault: 
While others flsh with craft for great opinion, 
I with great truth catch mere simplicity; 
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns. 
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. , 
Fear not my truth; the moral of my wit 
Is— plain, and true,— there 's all the reach of it. 

Enter Mneas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus, 
and Dlomedes. 
Welcome, sir Diomed! here is the lady. 
Which for Antenor we deliver you: 
At the port, lord, I '11 give her to thy hand; 
And, by the way, possess thee what she is. 
Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword. 
Name Cressld, and thy lite shall be as safe 
As Priam is in Illon. 

Dio. Fair lady Cressid, 

So please you, save the thanks this prince expects: 
■The lustre In your eye, heaven in your cheek, 
Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed 
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. 

Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously. 
To shame the seal of my petition to thee. 
In praising her: I lell thee, lord of Greece, 
She Is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises. 
As thou unworthy to be called her servant. 
I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge; 
For, by the dreadful Pluto, If thou dost not. 
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, 
I 'II cut thy throat. 

Dio. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus: 

Let me be privlleg'd by my place and message. 
To be a speaker free; when I am hence, 
I '11 answer to my lust: And know you, lord, 
I '11 nothing do on charge: To her own worth 
She shall be prlz'd; but that you say— be 't so. 



SOSME IT.l 



TROILUS AXD CRESSIDA. 



are 



I '11 speak It In my spirit and honour,— no. 

Tro. Come, to the port.— I '11 tell thee, Dlomed, 
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.— 
Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk. 
To our own selves bend we our needful talk. 

'\Exeunt Troilns, Cresslda, and domed. 
\Trinnpet heard. 

Par. Hark! Hector's trumpet. 

^ne. How have we spent this morning? 

The prince must think me tardy and remiss. 
That swore to ride bt-fore him in the Held. 

Par. 'T is Troilus' fault: Come, come, to fleld with 
him. 

Dei. Let us make ready straiRht. 

j^Me. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, 
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels: 
The glory of our Troy dotli this day He 
On his fair worth, and single chivalry. [Exeunt. 

Scene v.— The Grecian Camp. Lists set out. 

Enter Ajax, artned; Agamemnon, Achilles, Patro- 
clus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, .and others. 

Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh and 
fair. 
Anticipating time. With starting courage. 
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
Thou dreadful Ajax; that the appalled air 
May pler?e the head of the great combatant, 
And hale him hither. 

Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there 's my purse. 

Now crack thy lungs, and split tliy brazen pipe: 
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
Out-swell the colic of puff'd Aquilon: 
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout 

blood; 
Thoti blow'st for Hector. ITritmpet sounds. 

Ulyss. No trumpet answers. 

Achil. 'T is but early days. 

Again. Is not yon Dlomed, with Calchas' daughter? 

Ulyss. 'T is he, I ken the manner of his gait; 
He rises on the toe: that spirit of his 
In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 

Enter domed, with Cresslda. 

Agam. Is this the lady Cressid? 

Dio. Even she. 

Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet 
lady. 

Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. 

Vlyss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 
T were better she were kiss'd in general. 

Nest. And very courtly counsel: I '11 begin.— So 
much for Nestor. 

Achil. I '11 take that winter from your lips, fair 
lady: 
Achilles bids you welcome. 

Men. I had good argument for kissing once. 

Patr. But that 's no argument for kissing now: 
For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment; 
And parted thus you and your argument. 

ZTiyss. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns! 
For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. 

Fiitr. The first was Menelaus kiss;— this, mine: 
Patroclus kisses you. 

Men. O, this is trim! 

Patr. Paris and I, kiss ever more for him. 

Men. I '11 have my kiss, sir:— Lady, by your leave. 

Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive? 

Patr. Both take and give. 

Cres. I '11 make my match to live. 

The kiss you take is better than you give; 
Therefore no kiss. 

Men. I '11 give you boot, I '11 give you three for one. 

Cres. You 're an odd man; give even, or give none. 

Men. An odd man, lady? every man is odd. 

Cres. No, Paris is not; for you know 't is true 
That you are odd, and he is even with you. 

Men. You flUlp me o' the head. 

Cres. No, I 'U be sworn. 

T/lyss. It were no match, your nail against his 
horn. — 
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you? 

Cres. You may. 

Ulyss. I do desire It. 

Cres. Why, beg then. 

TTlyss. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss. 
When Helen is a maid again, and his. 

Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 't is due. 

Vlyss. Never 's my day, and then a kiss of you. 

Dio. Lady, a word:— I '11 bring you to your father. 
[Dlomed leads out Cresslda. 

Nest. A woman of qulCK sense. 

Ulyss. Fie, fie upon her! 

There 's language in her eye, her cSieek, her lip. 
Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out 
At every joint and motive of her body. 
O, these encounterers, so glib-of tongue. 
That give a coasting welcome ere it comes. 
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
To every tickling reader! set them down 
For sluttish spoils of opportunity, 
And daughteis of the game. [Trumpet within. 

All. The Trojans' trumpet. 

Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 

Enter Hector, armed; JEaeas, Troilus, and other 
Trojans, with Attendants. 

yEne. Hail, all you state of Greece! what shall be 
done 
To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose 
A victor shall be known? will you, the knights 
Shall to the edge of all extremity 
Pursue each other, or shall be divided 
By any voice or order of the fleld? 
Hector bade ask. 

Agam, Which way would Hector have it? 

JEne. He cares not, he '11 obey conditions. 

Achil. 'T is done like Hector; but securely done, 
A little proudly, and great deal disprlzing 
The knight opiws'd. 

^ne. If not Achilles, sir. 

What is your name? 

AchiL If not Achilles, nothing. 

^Ene Therefore Achilles: But, whate'cr, know 
this;— 
In the extremity of great and little, 
Valour and pride excel themselves In Hector; 
The one almost as infinite as all. 
The other Wank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
And that which looks like pride is courtesy. 
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood: 
In love whereof half Hector stays at home; 
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek 
This blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek. 



Achil. A maiden battle then?— O, I perceive you. 
Re-enter Diomedes. 

Agam. Here is sir Dlomed:— Go, gentle knight. 
Stand by our Ajax: as you and lord jEneas 
Consent upon the order of their fight. 
So be it; either to the uttermost. 
Or else a breath: the combatants being kin. 
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. 

fAjax and Hector enter the lists. 

Vlyss. They are oppos'd already. 

Agam. What Trojari is that same that looks so 
heavy? 

Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam; a true knight; 
Not yet mature, yet matchless: firm of word; 
Speaking In deeds, and deadless in his tongue; 
Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, sooncalm'd; 
His heart and hand both open, and both free; 
For what he has he gives; what thinks he shows; 
Yet gives he not till judgment guides his bounty, 
Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath: 
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; 
For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 
To tender objects; but he, in heat of action, 
Is more vindicative than jealous love: 
They call him Troilus; and on him erect 
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
Thus says .S-neas; one that knows the youth 
Even to his inches, and, with private soul. 
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me. 

[Alarun,.. Hector and Aj&Ti fight. 

Agam. They are in action. 

liest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own! 

Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st; 

Awake thee! 

Agam. His blows are well dispos'd :— there, Ajax! 

Dio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease. 

.^ne. Princes, enough, so please you. 

Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. 

Dio. As Hector pleases. 

Hect. Why then, will I no more:— 

Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, 
A cousingerjnan to great Priam's seed; 
The obligation of our blood forbids 
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain: 
Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so 
That thou could'st say—' This hand is Grecian all. 
And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg 
All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood 
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister 
Bounds in my father's;' by Jove multipotent. 
Thou should 'st not bear from me a Greekish mem- 
ber 
Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
Of our i-ank feud: But the Just gods gainsay. 
That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother. 
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
Be drain'd! Let me embrace thee, Ajax: 
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms; 
Hector would have them fall upon him thus: 
Cousin, all honour to thee! 

Ajax. I thank thee. Hector: 

Thou art too gentle, and too free a man: 
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 
A great addition earned in thy death. 

Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable 
(On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'stO yes 
Cries, ' This is he,') could promise to himself 
A thought of added honour torn from Hector. 

^ne. There is expectance here from both the 
sides. 
What further you will do. 

Hect. We Ml answer It; 

The issue is embracement:— Ajax, farewell. 

Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, 
(As seld' I have the chance,) I would desire 
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 

Dio. 'T is Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles 
Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. 

Hect. JE-neas, call my brother Troilus to me: 
And signify this loving interview 
To the expecters of our Trojan part; 
Desire them home.— Give me thy hand, my cousin; 
I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. 

Ajax. Great Agamemnon conies to meet us here. 

Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name by 
name; 
But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes 
Shall find him by his large and portly size. 

Agam. Worthy of arms! as welcome as to one 
That would be rid of such an enemy; 
But that 's no welcome: Understand more clear 
What 's past, and what 's to come, Is strew'd with 

husks 
And formless ruin of oblivion; 
But in this extant moment, faith and troth, 
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing. 
Bids thee, with most divine integrity. 
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 

Hect. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. 

Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. 

„ X . ^ [To Troilus. 

Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's greet- 
ing;— 
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. 

Hect. Whom must we answer? 

■^'ne. The noble Menelaus. 

Hect. O you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, 
thanks! 
Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath; 
Your Quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove. 
She 's well, but bade me not commend her to you. 

Men, Name her not now, sir; she 's a deadly 
theme. 

Hect. O, pardon; I offend. 

Nest, I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft. 
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way 
Through ranks of Greekish youth: and I have seen 

thee. 
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed. 
And seen thee scorning forfeits and subduements. 
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air. 
Not letting it decline on the declin'd; 
That I have said unto my standersby, 
' Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!' ,, 

And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath. 
When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in. 
Like an Olympian wrestling: This have I seen; 
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire. 
And once fought with him: he was a soldier good; 
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all. 
Never like thee: Let an old man embrace thee; 
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. 



^ne. "T is the old Nestor. 

Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle. 
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time:— 
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 

Nest. I would my arms could match thee in con- 
tention. 
As they contend with thee in courtesy. 

Hect. 1 would they could. 

Nest. Ha! 
By this white beard, I 'd fight with thee tomorrow. 
Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time. 
Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands. 
When we have here her base and pillar by us. 

Hect. 1 know your favour, lord Uly.sses, well. 
Ah, sir, there 's many a Greek and Trojan dead. 
Since first I saw yourself and Dlomed 
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. 

Ulyss. Sir, 1 foretold you then w hat would ensue: 
My prophecy is but half his Journey yet; 
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town. 
Yon towers, w hose wanton tops do buss the cloudB, 
Must kiss their own feet. 

Hect. I must not believe you: 

There they stand yet; and modestly I think. 
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost 
A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all; 
And that old common arbitrator, time. 
Will one day end it. 

Ulyss. So to him we leave It. 

Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome: 
After the general, I beseech you next 
To feast w ith me, and see jne at my tent. 

Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou!— 
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee: 
1 have with exact view perus'd thee. Hector, 
And quoted joint by Joint. 

Hect. Is this Achilles? 

Achil. I am Achilles. 

Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee. 

Achil. Behold thy fill. 

Hect. Nay, I have done already. 

Achil. Thou art too brief; 1 will the second time. 
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 

Hect. O, like a book of .sport thou'lt read me o'er; 
But there 's more in me than thou understand'st. 
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? 

Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his 
body 
Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there, or 

there? 
That I may give the local wound a name; 
And make distinct the very breach where 
Hector's great spirit flew: Answer me, heavens! 

Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud 
man. 
To answer such a question: Stand again: 
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly. 
As to prenominate in nice conjecture 
Where thou wilt hit me dead? 

Achil. I tell thee, yea. 

Hect. Wert thou the oracle to tell me so, 
I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; 
For I '11 not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; 
But, by the forge that stitliied Mars his helm, 
I '11 kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er. — 
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag, 
His in*>lence draws folly from my lips; 
But I '11 endeavour deeds to match these words. 
Or may I never— 

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin;— 

And jiou, Achilles, let these threats alone. 
Till accident, or purpose, bring you to 't: 
You may have every day enough of Hector, 
If you have stomach; the general state, I fear. 
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 

Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field; 
We have had pelting wars, since you refus'd 
The Grecians' cause. 

Achil. Dost thou entreat me. Hector? 

To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death; 
To-night, all friends. 

Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 

Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my 
tent; 
There in the full convive you: afterwards. 
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
Concur together, severally entreat him. 
Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow, 
That this great soldier may his welcome know. 

[Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses. 

Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you. 
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? 

Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely 'Troilus: 
There Dlomed doth feast with him to-night; 
Who neither looks on heaven, nor on earth. 
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
On the fair Cressid. 

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to thee so much. 
After we part from Agamemnon's tent. 
To bring me thither? 

Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. 

As gentle tell me, of what honour was 
This Cresslda in Troy? Had she no lover there. 
That wails her absence? 

Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars, 
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord? 
She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth: 
But, still, sweet love is food tor fortune's tooth. 

[£xeU7it. 
ACT V. 

Scene I.— The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' 
Tent. 

Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 

Achil. I 'II heat his blood with Greekish wine to- 
night. 
Which with my scimitar I '11 cool to-morrow.- 
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 

Patr. Here comes Thersites. 

Enter Ther^tes. 

Achil. How now, thod core of envy? 

Thou crusty batch of nature, what 's the news? 

Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, 
and idol of idiot- worshippers, here's a letter for thee. 

Achil. From whence, fragment? 

27ier. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Tro.r. 

Patr. Who keeps the tent now? 

Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. 

Patr. Well said. Adversity! and what need these 
tricks? 

Ther. Prithee be silent, boy; I profit not by thy 
talk: thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet. 



276 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



LACT V. 



Patr. Male varlet, you roi^e! what "s that? 

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten 
diseases of the south, guts-KripinR, ruptures, ca- 
tarrh, loads o' gravel 1' the back, lethargies, cold pal- 
sies, raw eyes, dirt rotten livers, wheezing lungs, 
bladders full of Iniposthume, sciaticas, lime kilns i' 
the palm, incurable bone-aohe, and the rlvelled fee- 
simple of the tetter, take and take again such pre- 
posterous discoveries! 

Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, 
what meanest thou to curse thus? 

Thi:r. Do I curse thee? 

Patr. M"hy, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson In- 
distinguishable cur, no. 

Thcr. No? why art thou then exasperate, thou idle 
immaterial skein of sley'd silk, thou green sarcenet 
flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, 
thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such 
water-flies: diminutives of nature! 

J%ifr. Out, gall! 

Ther. Finch egg! 

Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite 
From my great purpose in tomorrow's battle. 
Here is a letter from queen Hecuba; 
A token from her daughter, my fair love; 
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep 
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it: 
Fall, Greeks; fail, fame; honour, or go, or stay; 
My major vow lies here, this I '11 obe.y. 
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent; 
This night in banqueting must all be spent. 
Awa.v, Patroclus. [Kxexint Achilles and Patroclus. 

Ther. With too much blood and too little brain, 
these two may run mad; but if with too much brain, 
and too little blood they do, I '11 be a curer of mad- 
men. (Here 's'Agamenmon,— an honest fellow enough, 
and one that loves quails; Init he has not so much 
brain as ear-wax: And the goodly transformation 
of Jupiter there, his brotlier, the bull,— the primi- 
tive statue and oblique memorial of cuckolds; a 
thrifty shoeinghorn in a chain, hanging at his bro- 
ther's leg,— to what form, but that he is, should wit 
larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn 
him to? To an ass were nothing; he is both ass and 
ox: to an ox were nothing; he is both ox and ass. 
To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a liz- 
ard, an owl, a putt«ck, or a herring without a roe, I 
would not care: but to be Menelaus, I would con- 
spire against destiny. Ask me not what I would be 
if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the 
louse of alizar, so I were not Menelaus.— Heyday! 
spirits and flres! 

Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulysses, 
Nestor, Menelaus, and Diomed, with lights. 

Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong. 

Ajax. No, yonder 't Is; 

There, where we see the lights. 

Hect. I trouble you. 

' Aja.r. No, not a whit. 

Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes 
all. 

Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good 
night. 
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. 

Hect. Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' gen- 
eral. 

Men. Good night, my lord. 

Hect. Good night, sweet lord Menelaus. 

Ther. Sweet draught: Sweet, quoth 'a! sweet sink, 
sweet sewer. 

Achil. Good night, and welcome, both at once, to 
those 
That go, or tarry. 

Agam. Good night. 

[Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus. 

Achil. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, 
Keep Hector company an hour or two. 

Dio. I cannot, lord; I have important business. 
The tide whereof is now.— Good night, great Hector. 

Hect. Give me your hand. 

Ulyss, Follow his torch, he goes 

To Calchas' tent; I '11 keep you company. 

lAside to Troilus. 

Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. 

Hect. And so good night. 

[Exit Diomed; Ulysses and Troilus following. 

Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 

{Exeunt Achilles, Hector, Ajax, and Nestor. 

Ther. That same Diomed 's a false-hearted rogue, 
a most unjust knave; I will no more trust him wnen 
he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses: he 
will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the 
hound; but when he perfoms, astronomers foretell 
it that it is prodigious, there will come some change; 
the sun borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps 
his word. I will rather leave to see Hector than not 
to dog him: they say he keeps a Trojan drab, and 
uses the traitor Calchas' tent: I 'II after.— Nothing 
but lechery! all incontinent varlets! [Exit. 

Scene II.— The same. Before Calchas' Tent. 
Enter Dlomedes. 
Dio. What, are you up here, ho? speak. 
Cal. [Within.] Who calls? 
Dio. Diomed.— Calchas, I think.— Where 's your 

daughter? 
Cal. [Within.] She comes to you. 
Enter 'Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance; after them 
Thersites. 
Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us. 

Enter Cresslda. 
Tro. Cressid comes forth to him. 
Dio. How now, my charge? 

Cres. Now, my sweet guardian!— Hark! a word with 
you. [Whispers. 

Tro. Yea, so familiar! 
Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 
Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take 
her cliff; she 's noted. 
Dio. Will you remember? 
Cres. Remember? yes. 

Dio. Nay, but do then; 

And let your mind be coupled with your words. 
Tro. What should she remember? 
Ulyss. List! 
Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to 

folly. 
Ther. Roguery! 
Dio. Nay, then,— 



Cres. I '11 tell you what: 

Dio. Phol pho! come, tell a pin: You are a for- 
sworn- 

Cres. In faith, I cannot: What would you have me 
do? 

Ther. A juggling trick, to be secretly open. 

Dio. What did you swear you would bestow on me? 

Cres. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath; 
Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek. 

Dio. Good night. 

Tro. Hold, patience! 

Uiy.^s. How now, Trojan? 

Cres. Diomed,— 

Dio. No, no, good night: I '11 be your fool no more. 

T)-o. Thy better must. 

Cres. Hark! one word in your ear. 

Tro. O plague and madness! 

Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince; let us depart, I pray 
you. 
Lest your displeasure should enlarge Itself 
To wrathful terms; this place is dangerous; 
The time right deadly; I beseech you, go. 

Tro. Behold, I pray you! 

Uly.is. Nay, good my lord, go off: 

You fiow to great distraction, come, my lord. 

Tro. I pray thee, stay. 

Ulyss. You have not patience; come. 

Tro. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell tor- 
ments, 
I will not speak a word. 

Dio. And so, good night. 

Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 

Tro. Doth that grieve thee? 

wither'd truth! 

Ulyss. Why, how now, lord? 

Tro. By Jove, 

1 will be patient. 

Cres. Guardian!— why, Greek! 

Dio. Pho, phol adieu; you palter. 

Cres. In faith, I do not; come hither once again. 

Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something; will you 
go? 
You win break out. 

Tro. She strokes his cheek! 

Ulyss. Come, come. 

Tro. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word: 
There is between my will and all offences 
A guard of patience:— stay a little while. 

Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump, 
and potato finger, tickles these together! Fry, 
lechery, fry! 

Dio. But will you then? 

Cres. In faith, I will, la: never trust me else. 

Dio. Give me some token for the surety of It. 

Cres. I '11 fetch you one. [Exit. 

Ulyss, You have sworn patience. 

Tro, Fear me not, sweet lord; 

I will not be myself, nor have cognition 
Of what I feel; I am all patience. 

Re-enter Cressida. 

TJier. Now the pledge; now, now, now! 

Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 

Tro. O beauty! where 's thy faith? 

Ulyss. My lord,— 

Ti-o. I will be patient; outwardly I will. 

Cres. You look upon that sleeve: Behold it well.— 
He lov'd me— O false wench!— Give *t me again. 

Dio, Whose was 't? 

Cres. It is no matter, now I have 't again. 

I will not meet with you to-morrow night: 
I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more. 

Ther. Now she sharpens:— Well said, whetstone. 

Dio, I shall have it. 

Cres, What, this? 

Dio. Ay, that. 

Cres. O all you gods!— O pretty pretty pledge! 
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
Of thee, and me; and sighs, and takes my glove. 
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it. 
As I kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me; 
He that takes that doth take my heart withal. 

Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 

Tro. I did swear patience. 

Cres. You shall not have It, Diomed; 'faith, you 
shall not; 
I 'II give you something else. 

Dio. I win have this: whose was It? 

Cres. 'T Is no matter. 

Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 

Cres. 'T was one's that lov'd me better than you 
will. 
But, now you have it, take it. 

Dio, Whose was it? 

Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women, yond. 
And by herself, I will not tell you wliose. 

Dio, To-morrow will I wear it on my helm; 
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. 

Tro, Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn. 
It should be challeng'd. 

Cres, Well, well, 't Is done, 't is past:— And yet It 
is not; 
I win not keep my word. 

Dio, Why then, farewell; 

Thou never Shalt mock Diomed again. 

Cres. You shall not go;— One cannot speak a word, 
But it straight starts you. 

Dio, I do not like this fooling. 

Ther. Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not you 
pleases me best. 

Dio. What, shall I come? the hour? 

Cres. Ay, come:— O Jove! 

Do come:— I shall be plagued. 

Dio. Farewell till then. 

Cres, Good night. I prithee, come.— 

[Exit Dlomedes. 
Troilus, farewell! one eye yet looks on thee. 
But with my heart the other eye dotli see. 
Ah! poor our sex! this fault in us I find. 
The error of our eye directs our mind: 
What error leads must eri'; O then conclude, 
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude. 

[Exit Cresslda. 

Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish 
more. 
Unless she say, my mind is now turn'd whore. 

Ulyss, All 's done, my lord. 

Tro. It is. 

Ulyss. Why stay we then? 

Tro. To make a recordation to my soul 
Of every syllable that here was spoke. 
But, if I tell how these two did co-act. 
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? 
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart. 



An esperance .so obstinately strong. 
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears, 
AS if those organs had deceptions functions. 
Created only to calumniate. 
Was Cressid here? 

Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 

Tro. She was not, sme. 

Ulyss. Most sure she was. 

Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. 

Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord: Cressid was here but 
now. 

Tro. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood! 
Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage 
To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, 
For depravation, to square the general sex 
By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid. 

Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil 
our mothers? 

Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. 

Tlier. Will he swagger him.self out on 'sown eyes? 

Tro. This she? no, this is Diomed's Cresslda. 
If beauty have a soul, this Is not she; 
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony, 
If sanctimony be the gods' delight, 
If there be rule in unitv itself, 
This is not she. O madness of discourse. 
That cause sets up with and against thyself! 
Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt 
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
Without revolt; this is, and is not, Cressid! 
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight 
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate 
Divides more wider than the sky and earth; 
And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle 
As Ariachne's broken woof, to enter. 
Instance, J instance! strong as Pluto's gates; 
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven: 
Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself; 
The bonds of heaven are sllpp'd, dissolv'd, and 

loos'd; 
And with another knot, five-finger-tied. 
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love. 
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and gi-easy reliques 
Of her o'er-eaten, are bound to Diomed. 

Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd 
With that which here his passion doth express? 

Tro. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well 
In characters as red as Mars his heart 
Inflam'd with Venus; never did young man fancy 
With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
Hark, Greek: As much as I do Cressid love. 
So much by weight hate I her Diomed: 
That sleeve is mine that he '11 bear in his helm; 
Where it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill. 
My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout 
Which shipmen do the hurricano call, 
Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun. 
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear 
In his descent, than shall my prompted sword 
Falling on Diomed. 

27ier. He '11 tickle it for his concupy. 

Tro. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false! 
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name. 
And they '11 seem glorious. 

Ulyss. O, contain youself; 

Your passion draws ears hither. 
Enter .ffineas. 

^ne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord: 
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy; 
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 

Tro, Have with you, prince: — Jly courteous lord, 
adieu: — 
Farewell, revolted fair!— and, Diomed, 
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head! 

Ulyss. I '11 bring you to the gates, 

Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 

[^Exeunt Troilus, .Eneas, and Ulysses. 

Ther, 'Would! I could meet that rogue Diomed! I 
would croak like a raven; I would bode, I would 
bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the in- 
telligence of this whore: the parrot will not do more 
for an almond than he for a commodious drab. 
Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery; nothing 
else holds fashion: A burning devil take them! 

[Exit, 

Scene III.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace, 
Enter Hector and Andromache. 
And, When was my lord so much ungently tem- 
per'd, 
To stop his ears against admonishment? 
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 

Hect. You train me to offend you; etyou gone: 
By all the everlasting gods, I '11 go. 
And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the 

day. 
Hect. No more, I say. 

Enter Cassandra. 
Cas. Where is my brother Hector? 

And. Here, sister; arm'd, and bloody in Intent. 
Consort with me In loud and dear petition. 
Pursue we him on knees; for I have dream'd 
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night 
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaugh- 
ter. 
Cas. O, it is true. 

Hect. Ho! bid my trumpet sound! 

Cos. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet 

brother. 
Hect. Begone, I say: the gods have heard me 

swear. 
Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows; 
They are polluted offerings, more abnorr'd 
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 

.4m(J. O! be persuaded: Do not count it holy 
To hurt by being just: it is as lawful, 
For we would give muoh, to count violent thefts, 
And rob in the behalf of charity. 

Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow: 
But vows to every purpose must not hold: 
Unarm, sweet Hector. 

Hect. Hold you still, I say; 

Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate: 
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man 
Holds honour far more precious dear than life.— 

Enter Troilus. 
How now, young man? mean'st thou to fight to-day? 
And, Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 

[Exit Cassandra. 
Hect, No, 'faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, 
youth. 



Scene ni.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



277 



lam to-day t' the vein of chivalry: 

Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, 

And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. 

Unarm thee, eo; and doubt thou not, brave boy, | 

I '11 stand today, tor thee, and me, and Troy. I 

Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you. 
Which better fits a lion than a man. 

Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus? chide me 
for it. 

Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall. 
Even In the fan and wind of your fair sword, 
You bid them rise and live. 

Hect. O, 't is fair play. 

Tro. Fool's play, by heaven. Hector! 

Hect. How now? how now? 

Tro. For the love of all the gods. 

Let 's leave the hermit pity with our mothei's; 
And when we have our armours buckled on. 
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords; 
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth. 

Hect. Fie, savage, fle! 

Tro. Hector, then 't is wars. 

Hect. Troilus, I would not have you'flght to-day. 

Tio. Who should withhold me? 
Not fate, obedience, not the hand of Mars 
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire; 
Not Priamus, and Hecuba on knees, 
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears; 
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, 
But by my ruin. 

Ee-enter Cassandra, with Priam. 

Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast: 
He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay. 
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee. 
Fall all together. 

Pri. . Come, Hector, come, go back: 

Thy wife hath dream'd; thy mother hath had vi- 
sions; 
Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself 
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt. 
To tell thee that this day is ominous: 
Therefore, come back. 

Hect. ^neas is a-fleldj 

And 1 do stand engag'd to many Greeks, 
Even in the faith of valour, to appear 
This morning to them. 

Pri. Ay, but thou Shalt not go. 

Hect. I must not break my faith. 
You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir. 
Let me not shame respect; but give me leave 
To take that course by your consent and voice. 
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 

Cos. O Priam, yield not to him. 

And. Do not, dear father. 

Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you: 
Upon the love you bear me, get you in. [Exit And. 

Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl 
Makes aU these bodements. 

Cos. O farewell, dear Hector. 

Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns pale! 
Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents! 
Hark, how Troy roars! how Hecuba cries out! 
How poor Andromache shrills her dolour forth! 
Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement, 
Like witless antics, one another meet. 
And all cry— Hector! Hector 's dead! O Hector! 

Tro. Away! — away! 

Cas. Farewell.— Yet, soft.— Hector, I take ray 
leave: 
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. 

Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim: 
Go in, and cheer the town; we '11 forth, and fight; 
Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. 

Pri. Farewell: the gods with safety stand about 
thee! 
[Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums. 

Tro. They are at it; hark! Proud Diomed, believe, 
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 

As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, 
Fandarus. 

Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear? 

Tro. What now? 

Pan. Here 's a letter from you' poor girl. 

Tro. Let me read. 

Pan. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tlslck 
so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl: 
and what one thing, what another, that I snail 
leave you one o' these days: And I have a rheum 
In mine eyes too; and such an ache in my bones, 
that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell what 
to think on 't.— What says she there? 

Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from 
the heart; [Tearingjthe letter. 

The effect doth operate another way.— 
Go, wind, to wind, there turn antl change together. — 
My love with words and errors still she feeds; 
But edifles another with her deeds. 

Pan. Why! but hear you. 

Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomy and shame 
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name. 

[Exeunt severally. 

Scene T:V.— Between Troy and the Grecian Camp. 

Alarums: Excursions. Enter Thersites. 

Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; 
I '11 go look on. That dissembling abominable 
varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting 
foolish young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his 
helm: I would fain see them meet; that that same 
young Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might 
send that Greekish whoremasterly villain, with the 
sleeve, back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of a 
sleeveless errand. O' the other side the policy of 
those crafty swearing rascals, that stale old mouse- 
eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, 
Ulysses— is not proved worth a blackberry:— They 
set me up, in policj% that mongrel cur, Ajax, against 
that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles: and now is the 
cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not 
arm to-day; whereupon the Grecians begin to pro- 
claim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill 
opinion. Soft, here come sleeve, and t' other. 

Enter Diomedes, Troilus following. 
Tro. Fly not; for, should'st thou take the river 
Styx, 
I would swim after. 

Dio. Thou dost miscall retire: 

I do not fly; but advantageous care 
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude: 
Have at thee) 



Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian!— now for thy 
whore, Trojan!— now the sleeve, now the sleeve! 

[E.vennt Troilus aiid mome<les,Jlghtina. 
Enter Hector. 

Hect. What art thou, Greek, art thou for Hector's 
match? 
Art thou of blood and honour? 

Ttier. No. no:— I am a rascal; a scurvy railing 
knave; a very filthy rogue. 

Hect. I do believe thee;— live. [Exit. 

Ther. God amercy that thou wilt believe me; but 
a plague break thy neck for frighting me! What 's 
become of the wenching rogues? I think they have 
swallowed one another: I would laugh at that 
miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I '11 
seek them. [Exit. 

Scene y.—The same. 

Enter Diomedes and a Servant. 

Bio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse! 
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid: 
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty; 
Tell her I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, 
And am her knight by proof. 

Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Agamemnon. 

Agam. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamus 
Hath beat down Menon: bastard Margarelon 
Hath Doreus prisoner; 

And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam. 
Upon the pashed corses of the kings 
Epistrophus and Cedius: Polixenes is slain; 
Amphimacus, ai»d Thoas, deadly hurt; 
Patroclus ta'en or slain; and Palamedes 
Sore hurt and bruis'd: the dreadful Sagittary 
Appals our numbers; haste we, Diomea, 
To reinforcement, or we perish all. 
Enter Nestor. 

Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles; 
And bid the spail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. 
There is a thousand Hector's in the field: 
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse. 
And there lacks work; anon, he 's there afoot. 
And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls 
Before the belching whale; then is he yonder. 
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge. 
Fall down before him like the mower's swath: 
Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes; 
Dexterity so obeying appetite 
That what he will he does; and does so much 
That proof Is call'd impossibility. 
Enter Ulysses. 

Vlyss. O courage, courage, princes! great Achilles 
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance; 
Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, 
Together with his mangled Myrmidons, 
That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come 

to him. 
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend. 
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at , 
Roaring for Troilus; who hath done to-day 
Mad and fantastic execution; 
Engaging and redeeming of himself, 
AVith such a careless force, and forceless care. 
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, 
Bade him win all. 

Enter Ajax. 

Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus! [Exit. 

Dio. Ay, there, there. 

Nest. So so, we draw together. 
Enter Achilles. 

Aehil. Where Is this Hector? 

Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face; 
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. 
Hector! where 's Hector? I will none but Hector. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene VI. — Another part of the Field. 
Enter Ajax. 
Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy 
head! 

Enter Diomedes. 
Dio. Troilus, I say! where 's Troilus? 
Ajax. What would'st thou? 

Vio. I would correct him. 

Ajax. Were I the general, thou should'st have my 
oCBce 
Ere that correction:- Troilus, I say! what, Troilus! 
Enter Troilus. 
Tro. O traitor Diomed! — turn thy false face, thou 
traitor. 
And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse! 
Dio. Ha! art thou there? 

Ajax. I '11 fight with him alone: stand, Diomed. 
Dio. He is my prize. I will not look upon. 
Tro. Come both you cogging Greeks; have at you 
both. [Exeunt fighting. 

Enter Hector. 
Hect. Yea, Troilus? O well fought, my youngest 
brother! 

Enter Achilles. 
Aehil. Now do I see thee:— Ha!— Have at thee Hec- 
tor. 
Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. 

Aehil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. 
Be happy that my arms are out of use: 
My rest and negligence befriend thee now. 
But thou anon shalt hear of me again; 
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. 

Hect. Fare thee well. — 

I would have been much more a fresher man 
Had I expected thee.— How now, my brother? 
Re-enter Troilus. 
Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^neas: Shall it be? 
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven, 
He shall not carry him; I '11 be ta'en too. 
Or bring him oft:— Fate, hear me what I say! 
I reck not though I end my lite to-day. 

Enter one in sumptuous armour. 
Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly 
mark: 
No? wilt thou not?— I like thy armour well; 
I '11 frush it, and unlock the rivets all. 
But I '11 be master of it:— Wilt thou not, beast, 

abide? 
Why then, fly on, 1 '11 hunt thee for thy hide, f Ere. 



Scene VII.— The same. 
Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. 
Aehil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; 
Mark what I say.— Attend me where I wheel: 
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath; 
And when I have the bloody Hector found, 
Empale him with your weapons round about; 
In fellest manner execute your arms. 
Follow me, sli's, and my proceedings eye:— 
It is decreed Hector the great must die. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIIL- ITie same. 

Enter Menelaus and Paris, fighting: then 

Thersites. 

Ther. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at 

It: Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my 

double-henned sparrow! 'loo, Paris, 'loo! The bull 

has the game:— 'ware horns, ho! 

[Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. 
Enter Margarelon. 
Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 
Ther. What art thou? 
3Iar. A bastard son of Priam's. 
Ther. I am a bastard too; I love bastards: I am a 
bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, 
bastard in valour, in everything Illegitimate. One 
bear will not bite another, and wherefore should one 
bastard? Take heed, the quarrel 's most ominious to 
us: if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts 
judgment. Farewell, bastard. 
Mar. The devil take thee, coward! [Exeunt. 

Scene TX.— Another part of the field. 
Enter Hector. 
Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without. 
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. 
Now is my day's work done: I '11 take good breath: 
Rest, sword: thou hast thy fill of blood and death! 

[Puts off his helmet, and hangs his shield 

behind him. 
Enter Achilles, and Myrmidons. 
Aehil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set. 
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels: 
Even with the vail and darking of the sun, 
To close the day up, Hector's life is done. 
Hect. 1 am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek. 
Aehil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I 
seek. [Hector /lite. 

So, Illon, fall thou; now, Troy, sink down; 
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. — 
On, Myrmidons; and cry you all amain, 
'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain." 

[A retreat sounded. 
Hark! a retreat upon our Grecian part. 
Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my 

lord. 
Aehil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the 
earth. 
And, stickler-like, the armies separate. 
My half-supp'd sword that frankly would have fed, 
Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed.— 

[Sheaths his sword. 
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail; 
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 

Scene X.—The same. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Dio- 
medes, and others, marching. Shouts within. 

Agam. Hark! hark! what shout is that? 

Nest. Peace, drums [Within.^ Achilles! 

Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles! 

Dio. The bruit is Hector's slain, and by Achilles. 

Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be; 
Great Hector was a man as good as he. 

Agam. March patiently along: Let one be sent 
To pray Achilles see us at our tent.— 
If in his death the gods have us befriended, 
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. 
[Exeunt marching. 

Scene XL— Another Part of the Field. 

Enter ^neas and Trojans. 

.^ne. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of tlie fieldr 
Never go home; here starve we out the night. 
Enter Troilus. 

Tro. Hector Is slain. 

All. Hector!— The gods forbid! 

Tro. He 's dead; and at the murtherer's horse's 
tail. 
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.- 
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed! 
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy! 
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, 
And linger not our sure destructions on! 

.iSne. My lord, you do discomfort ail the host. 

Tro. You understand me not that tell me so: 
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death; 
But dare all imminence that gods and men 
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone! 
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? 
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd 
Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector 's dead: 
There is a word will Priam turn to stone; 
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives. 
Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word. 
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away: 
Hector is dead; there is no more to say. 
Stay yet:— You vile abominable tents. 
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains. 
Let Titan rise as early as he dare, 
I '11 through and through you!— And thou, grcat- 

siz'd coward! 
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates; 
I '11 haunt thee like a wicked conscience still. 
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts. 
Strike a free march to TroyI— with comfort go: 
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 

[Exeunt iEneas and Trojans. 
As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other side, 
Pandarus. 

Pan. But hear you, hear you! 

Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomy and shame 
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name. 

[Exit Troilus. 

Pan. A goodly medicine for mine aching bones! 
— O world! world! world! thus is the poor agent 
despised! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are 
you set a-work, and how ill requited! Why should 
our endeavour be so desired, and the performance 



2T8 



CYMliELINE. 



[Act I. 



so loathed? what verse for It? what Instance for it? 

—Let me see: — 
Full merrily the humble-bee doth slni?. 
Till he hath lost his honey and his sting: 
And being once subdued In armed tall, 
Sweet honey and sweet notes together tail.- 



Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted 
cloths. 
As many as be here of pandar's hall. 
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall: 
Or, If you cannot weep, yet give some groans. 
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. 



Brethren, and sisters, of the bold-door trade. 

Some two months hence my will shall here be made: 

It should be now, but that my fear Is this,— 

Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss: 

Till then I '11 sweat, and seek about for eases; 

And at that time, bequeath you all my diseases. [ Ex. 



CYMBELINE. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



CYMBELINE, King of Britain. 

Clotkn, son to the Queen Oy a former 

husband, 
Lhonatus Posthumus, husband to 

Imogen. 
Belakius, o banished lord, disgtiised 
tinder the name of Morgan. 

(sons to Cymbellne, dis- 
guised under the 
names of Polydore 
and Cadwal, supposed 
sons to Belarius. 



goiderius, 
Arviraqus, 



FmLARio, friend to} 

Posthumus, I r, „ 

lACHiMO, friend to f «on>>ns. 

Phllario. J 

A French Gentleman, friend to Phll- 
ario. 

Caius Lucius, general of the Roman 
forces. 

A Roman Captain. 



Two British Captains 

PisANio, Gentleman to Posthumus. 

Cornelius, a physician. 
Two Gentlemen of CymheMne's Court. 
Two Gaolers. 

Queen, wife to Cymbellne. 
Imogen, daughter to Cymbellne by a 
former queen. 



Helen, woman to Imogen. 

Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tri- 
bunes, Apparitions, a Soothsayer, 
Musicians, Officers, Captains, Sol- 
diers, Messengers, ana other At- 
tendants. 



SCEiTE.— Sometimes in Britain; some- 
times in Rome. 



ACT 1. 

Scene I.— Britain. The Garden behind Cymbellne's 
Palace. 

Enter Two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. You do not meet a man but frowns: our 

bloods 
No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers 
Still seem as does the king. 

2 Gent. But what 's the matter? 

1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom, 

whom 
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow 
That late he married,) hath referr'd herself 
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: She 's wedded; 
Her husband banlsh'd; she imprison'd- all 
Is outward sorrow; though, I think, the king 
Be touch'd at vei'y heart. 

2 Gent. None but the king? 

1 Gent. He that hath lost her, too: so is the queen, 
That most desir'd the match: But not a courtier, 
Although they wear their faces to the bent 

Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not 
Glad at the thing thei' scowl at. 

2 Gent. And why so? 

1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing 
Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her, 

(I mean, that married her,— alack, good man!- 
And therefore banlsh'd,) is a creature such 
As to seek through the regions of the earth 
For one his like, there would be something failing 
In him that should compare. I do not think 
So fair an outward, and such stuff within. 
Endows a man but he. 

2 Gent. You speak him far. 

1 Gent. I do not extend him, sir, within himself; 
Crush him together, rather than unfold 

His measure duly. 

2 Gent. What 's his name, and birth? 

1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father 
Was call'd Sicllius, who did join his honour, 
Against the Romans, with Cassibeian; 

But had his titles by Tenantius, whom 

He serv'd with glory and admlr'd success: 

So gain'd tlie sur-addition, Leonatus: 

And had, besides this gentleman in question. 

Two other sons, who, in the wais o' the time. 

Died with their swords in hand: for which, their 

father 
(Then old and fond of issue,) took such sorrow 
That he quit being; and his gentle lady. 
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd 
As he was born. The king, he takes the babe 
To his protection; calls him Posthumus Leonatus; 
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-charaber. 
i'dts to him all the learnings that his time 
Could make him the receiver of; which he took. 
As we do air, fast as 't was ministered. 
And in '8 spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court, 
(Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov'd: 
A sample to the youngest; to th' more mature 
A glass that feated them; and to the graver, 
A child that guided dotards: to his mistress— 
For whom he now is banlsh'd,- her own price 
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue; 
By her election may be truly read 
What kind of man he is. 

2 Gent. I honour him 

Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me. 
Is she sole child to tne king? 

1 Gent. His only child. 
He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing, 
Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old, 

I' the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery 
Were stolen: and to this hour no guess in know- 
ledge 
Which way they went. 

2 Gent. How long Is this ago? 

1 Gent. Some twenty years. 

2 Gent. That a king's children should be so con- 

vey'd! 
So slackly guarded! And the search so slow, 
That could not trace them! 

1 Gent. Howsoe'er 't is strange, 
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 
Yet is it true, sir. 

2 Gent. I do well believe you. 

1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the gentle- 
man. 
The queen, and princess. lExeunt. 

Scene n.—The same. 
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 
Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, 
daughter. 
After the slander of most step-mothers, 
Evil-ey'd unto you: you are my prisoner, but 



Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 

That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, 

So soon as 1 can win the offended king, 

I will be known your advocate: marry yet 

The fire of rage is in him; and 't were good. 

You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience 

Your wisdom may inform you. 

Post. Please your highness, 

I will from hence to-day. 

Queen. You know the peril:— 

I '11 fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
The pangs of barr'd afCections; though the king 
Hath charg'd you should not speak together. 

\Exit Queen. 

Imo. O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant 
Can tickle where she wounds!— My dearest husband, 
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing 
(Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what 
His rage can do on me: You must be gone; 
And I shall here abide the hourly shot 
Of angry eyes; not comforted to live, 
But that there is this jewel in the world. 
That I may see again. 

Post. My queen! m3' mistress! 
O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause 
To be suspected of more tenderness 
Than doth become a man! I will remain 
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth. 
My residence in Ronie, at one Philario's; 
Who to my father was a friend, to me 
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, 
And with mine eyes I '11 drink the words you send, 
Though ink be made of gall. 

Re-enter Queen. 

Queen. Be brief, I pray you: 

If the king come, I shall incur I know not 
How much of his displeasure: Yet I '11 move him 

[Aside. 
To walk this way; I never do him wrong, 
But he does buy my injuries to be friends; 
Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. 

Post. Should we be taking leave 

As long a term as yet we have to live. 
The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu! 

Imo. Nay, stay a little: 
Were you but riding forth to air yourself. 
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; 
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart; 
But keep it till you woo another wife. 
When Imogen is dead. 

Post. How! how! another?— 
You gentle gods, give me but this I have. 
And sear up my embracements from a next 
With bonds of death!— Remain thou here 

[Putting on the ring. 
While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest. 
As I my poor self did exchange for you. 
To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles 
I still win of you: For my sake wear this; 
It is a manacle of love; 1 'U place it 
Upon this fairest prisoner. 

[Putting a bracelet on her arm. 

Imo. O, the gods! 

When shall we see again? 

Enter Cymbellne and Lords. 

Post. Alack, the king! 

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my 
sight! 
If after this command thou fraught the court 
With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! 
Thou art poison to my blood. 

Post. The gods protect you! 

And bless the good remainders of the court! 
I am gone. [Exit. 

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 

More sharp than this is. 

Cym. O disloyal thing. 

That should 'st repair my youth; thou heapest 
A year's age on me! 

Imo. I beseech you, sir. 

Harm not yourself with your vexation; I 
Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare 
Subdues all pangs, all fears. 

Cym. Past grace? obedience? 

Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past 
grace. 

Cym. That might'st have had the sole son of my 
queen! 

Imo. O bless'd, that I might not! I chose an eagle, 
And did avoid a puttock. 

Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made 
my throne 
A seat for baseness. 

Jnio. No; I rather added 

A lustre toll. 

Cym. O thou vile one! 



Imo. Sir, 

It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus: 
You bred him as my playfellow; and he is 
A man worth any woman; overbuys me 
Almost the sura he pays. 

Cym. What! art thou mad? 

Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me!— 'Would I 
were 
A neat;herd's daughter! and my Leonatus 
Our neighbour shepherd's son! 

Re-enter Queen. 

Cym. Thou foolish thing!- 

They were again together: you have done 

[To the Queen. 
Not after our command. Away with her. 
And pen her up. 

Queen. 'Beseech your patience:— Peace, 

Dear lady daughter, peace. — Sweet sovt reign. 
Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some com- 
fort 
Out of your best advice. 

Cym. Na.v, let her languish, 

A drop of blood a day; and, being aged. 
Die of this folly! [Exit. 

Enter Plsanlo. 

Queen. Fye!— you must give way: 

Here is your servant.— How now, sir? What news? 

Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. 

Queen. Ha! 

No harm, I trust, is done? 

Pis. There might have been, 

But that my master rather play'd than fought, 
And had no lielp of anger: they were parted 
By gentlemen at hand. 

Queen. I am very glad on 't. 

Imo. Your son 's my father's friend; he takes his 
part. 
To draw-upon an exile!— O brave sir! 
I would they were in Afrlc both together; 
Myseff by with a needle, that I might prick 
The goer back.— Why came you from your master? 

Pis. On his command: He would not suffer mo 
To bring him to the haven: left these notes 
Of what commands I should be subject to. 
When 't pleas'd you to employ me. 

Queen. This hath been 

Your faithful servant; I dare lay mine honour. 
He will remain so. 

IHs. I humbly thank your highness. 

Queen. Pray, walk a while. 

Imo. About some half hour hence, 

I pray you, speak with me: you shall, at least. 
Go see my lord abroad: for this time, leave me. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III.— A public Place. 

Enter Cloten and Two Lords. 

1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the 
violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice: 
Where air conies out, air comes in; there 's none 
abroad so wholesome as that you vent. 

Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. 
Have I hurt him? 

2 Lord. No, faith; not so much as his patience. 

[Aside. 

1 Lord. Hurt him? his body 's a passable carcase if 
he be not hurt: it is a.thoroughfare for steel if it be 
not hurt. 

2 Lord. His steel was in debt: it went o' the back 
side the town. [Aside. 

Clo. The villain would not stand me. 
2 Lord. No; but he fled forward still, toward yonr 
face. [Aside. 

1 Lord. Stand you! You have land enough of your 
own: but he added to your having; gave you some 
ground. 

2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans: Pup- 
pies! [Aside. 

Clo. I would they had not come between us. 

2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how 
long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside. 

Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and re- 
fuse me! 

2 Lord. Hit be a sin to make a true election, she is 
damned. [Aside. 

1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and 
her brain go not together: She 's a good sign, but I 
have seen small reflection of her wit. 

2 Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the reflec- 
tion should hurt her. [Aside. 

Clo. Come, I '11 to my chamber: 'Would there had 
been some hurt done! 

2 Lord. I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of 
an ass, which is no creat hurt. lAsid*. 

Clo. You '11 go with us? 

1 Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 



Scene iii.l 



CYMBELINE. 



279 



Clo. Nay, come, let 's go together. 

2 Lord. Well, my lord. \Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— .4 Room in Cymbellne's Palace. 

Enter Imogen and Plsanio. 

Imo. 1 would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the 
haven. 
And question 'dst every sail: if he should write, 
And I not have It, 't were a paper lost. 
As offer'd mercy Is. What was the last 
That he spake to thee? 

Pis. It was, ' His queen, his queen!' 

Imo. Then wav'd his handkerchief? 

Pis. And klss'd It, madam. 

Imo. Senseless linen! happier therein than I! 
And that was all? 

Pis. No, madam; for so long 

As he could make me with his eye or ear 
Distinguish him from others, he did keep 
The deck, with glove or hat or handkerchief 
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind 
Could best express how slow his soul«ail'd on. 
How swift bis ship. 

Imo. Thou shouldst have made him 

As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
To after-eye him. 

JHs. Madam, so I did. 

Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings; 
crack'd them, but 
To look upon him; till the diminution 
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle: 
Nay, follow'd nim, till he had melted from 
The smaliness of a gnat to air; and then 
Have turn'd mine eye, and wept.— But, good Plsa- 
nio, 
When shall we hear from hlra? 

Pis. ■ Be assur'd, madam, 

With his next vantage. 

Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 
Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him 
How I would think on him, at certain hours, 
Such thoughts, and such; or X could make him swear 
The shes of Italy should not betray 
Mine interest and liis honour; or have charg'd him, 
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight. 
To encounter me with orisons, for then 
I am in heaven for him; or ere I could 
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, 
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north, 
Shakes all our buds from growing. 
Enter a Lady. 

Lady. The queen, madam. 

Besires your highness' company. 

Imo. Those things I bid you do get them de- 
spatch'd.— 
I will attend the queen. 

Pis. Madam, I shall. [Exeunt. 

ScENK v.— Rome. An Apartment in Phllarlo's 
House. 

Enter Philario, lachimo, and a Frenchman. 

lach. Believe It sir: I have seen him in Britain: he 
was then of a crescent note; expected to prove so 
worth.v as since he hath been allowed the name of: 
but I could then have looked on him without the 
help of admiration; though the catalogue of his en- 
dowments had been tabled by his side, and I to pe- 
ruse him by items. 

Phil. You speak of him when he was less furnish- 
ed, than now he Is, with that which makes him 
both without and within. 

French. I have seen him in France: we had very 
many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes 
as he. 

lach. This matter of marrying his king's daugh- 
ter, (wherein he must be weighed rather by her 
value than his own,) words him, I doubt not, a great 
deal from the matter. 

French. And then his banishment — 

lach. Ay, and the approbation of those that weep 
thus lamentable divorce, under hercolours, arewon- 
derfuUy to extend him; be it but to fortify her judg- 
ment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, 
for taking a beggar without less quality. But how 
comes it he Is to sojourn with you? How creeps ac- 
quaintance? 

Phi. His father and I were soldiers together; to 
whom I have been often bound for no less than my 
life:— 

Enter Posthumus, 

Here comes the Briton: Let him be so entertained 
amongst you, as suits, with gentlemen of your 
knowing, to a stranger of his quality.— I beseech you 
all, be better known to this gentleman, whom I com- 
mend to you as a noble friend of mine: How worthy 
be is I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than 
story him in his own hearing. 

French. Sir, we have known together in Orleans. 

Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for 
courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay 
still. 

French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I was 
glad I did atone my countryman and you; it had 
been pity you should have been put together with so 
mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance 
of so silent and trivial a nature. 

Post. By your pardon, sir, 1 was then a young 
traveller: rather shunned to go even with what I 
heard than in my every action to be guided by 
others' experiences: but, upon my mended judgment, 
(if I offend not to say it is mended,) my quarrel was 
not altogether slight. 

French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement 
of swords; and by such two that would, by all likeli- 
hood, have confounded one the other, or have fallen 
both. 

lach. Can we, with manners, ask what was the 
difference? 

French. Safely, I think: 't was a contention in 
public, which may, without contradiction, suffer the 
report. It was much like an argumputthat fell out 
last night, where each of us fell in praise of our 
country mistresses: This gentleman at that time 
vouching, (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,) 
his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant- 
qualified, and less attemptible, than any the rarest 
of our ladies in France. 

lach. That lady is not now living: or this gentle- 
man's opinion, by this, worn out. 

Post. She holds her virtue stlU, and I my mind. 



lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of 
Italy. 

Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, I 
would abate her nothing; though I confess myself 
her adorer, not her friend. 

lach. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-ln-hand 
comparison,) had been something too fair, and too 
goocf, for any lady in Britany. If she went before 
others I have seen, as that diamond of yours out- 
lustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe 
she excelled many: but I have not seen the most 
precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. 

Post. I praised her as I rated her: so do I my stone. 

lach. What do you esteem it at? 

Post. More than the world enjoys. 

lach. Either your unparagoned mistress Is dead, 
or she 's outprized by a trifle. 

Post. You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or 
given, If there were wealth enough for the purchase, 
or merit for the gift: the other is not a thing for sale, 
and only the gift of the gods. 

lach. Which the gods have given you? 

Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep. 

lach. You may wear her in title yours: but you 
know strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. 
Your ring may be stolen too: so, your brace of un- 
prizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and the 
other casual; a cunning thief, or a that-way-accom- 
pllshed courtier, would hazard the winning both of 
flrst and last. 

Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished a 
courtier to convince the honour of my mistress; if, 
in the holding or the loss of that, you term her 
frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves; 
notwithstanding I fear not my ring. 

Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 

Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, 
I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are 
familiar at first. 

lach. With five times so much conversation I 
should get ground of your fair mistress; make her 
go back, even to the yielding; had I admittance and 
opportunity to friend. 

Post. No, no. 

lach. I dare, thereupon, pawn the moiety of my 
estate to your ring; which, in my opinion, o'ervalues 
It something: But I make my wager rather against 
your confidence than her reputation: and, to bar 
your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against 
any lady in the world. 

Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold a 
persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you 're 
worthy of by your attempt. 

lach. What 's that? 

Post. A repulse: Though your attempt, as you call 
it, deserve more,— a punisriment too. 

Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too 
suddenly; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, 
be better acquainted. 

lach. 'Would 1 had put my estate, and my neigh- 
bour's, on the approbation of what I have spoke. 

Post. What lady would you choose to assail? 

lach. Yours; whom in constancy you think stands 
so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your 
ring, that, commend me to the court where your lady 
is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of 
a second conference, and I will bring from thence 
that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved. 

Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my 
ring I hold dear as my finger; 't is part of it. 

lach. You ai-e a friend, and therein the wiser. If 
you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot 
preserve it from tainting: But, I see you have some 
religion in you, that you fear. 

Post. This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear 
a graver purpose, I hope. 

lach. I am the master of my speeches; and would 
undergo what 's spoken, I swear. 

Post. Will you?— I shall but lend my diamond till 
your return:— Let there be covenants drawn between 
us: My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness 
of your unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: 
here 's my ring. 

Phi. I will have It no lay. 

lach. By the gods it is one:— If I bring you no suf- 
ficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest 
bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats 
are yours; so Is your diamond too. If I come off, and 
leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she 
your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours: 
—provided I have your commendation for my more 
free entertainment. 

Post. I embrace these conditions; let us have 
articles betwixt us:— only, thus far you shall answer. 
If you make your voyage upon her, and give me 
directly to understand you have prevailed, I am no 
further your enemy: she is not worth our debate. 
If she remain unseduced, (you not making it appear 
otherwise,) for your ill opinion, and the assault you 
have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with 
your sword. 

lach. Your hand; a covenant: We will have these 
things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away 
for Britain; lest the bargain should catch cold, and 
starve. I will fetch my gold, and have our two wagers 
recorded. 
Post. Ageeed. 

[Exeunt Posthumus and lachimo. 

French. Will this hold, think you? 

Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it. Pray, let us 
follow 'em. • lExeunt. 

Scene VI.— Britain. A Boom in Cymbellne's 
Palace. 

Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 

Queen. Whiles yet the dew 's on ground, gather 
those flowers; 
Make haste: Who has the note of them? 

] Lady. I, madam. 

Queen. Despatch. [Exeunt Ladies. 

Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs? 

Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay: here the.v are, 
madam: \Presenting asinallhox. 

But I beseech your grace, (without offence— 
M5' conscience bids me ask,) wherefore you have 
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds, 
Which are the movers of a languishing death; 
But, though slow, deadly? 

Queen. I wonder, doctor. 

Thou ask'st me such a question: Have I not been 
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how 
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so. 
That our great king himself doth woo me oft 



For my confections? Having thus far proceeded, 

(Unless thou think'st nie devlHsh,) is 'tnot meet 

That I did amplify my judgment in 

Other conclusions? I will try the forces 

Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 

We count not worth the hanging, (but none human,) 

To try the vigour of them, and apply 

AUayments to their act; and by them gather 

Their several virtues, and effects. 

Ccr. Your highness 

Shall from this practice but make hard your heart: 
Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
Both noisome and infectious. 

Queen. O, content thee. 

£«ter Plsanio. 
Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him [Aside. 
Will I first work: he 's for his master. 
And enemy to my son.— How now, Plsanio? 
Doctor, your service for this time is ended; 
Take your own way. 

Cor. I do suspect, you, madam: 

But you shall do no harm. [Aside. 

Sueen. Hark thee, a word.— fro Pisanlo. 

or. [Aside.] I do not like her. Shedoth think she 

has 
Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit. 
And win not trust one of her malice with 
A drug of such damn'd nature: Those she has 
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile: 
Which first, perchance, she '11 prove on cats and 

dogs; 
Then afterward up higher; but there is 
No danger in what show of death it makes. 
More than the locking up the spirits a time, 
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
With a most false effect; and I the truer 
So to be false with her. 

Queen. No further service, doctor, 

Until I send for thee. 
Cor. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 

Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou 

think in time 
She will not quench; and let instructions enter 
Where folly now possesses? Do thou work: 
When thou Shalt bring me word she loves my son, 
1 '11 tell thee, on the instant, thou art then 
As great as is thy master: greater; for 
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name 
Is at last gasp: Return he cannot, nor 
Continue where he is: to shift his being 
Is to exchange one misery with another; 
And every day that conies, comes to decay 
A day's work in him: What shall thou expect, 
To be depender on a thing that leans,— 
Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends, 

[The Queen droys a box: Pisanio takes it up. 
So much as but to prop him?— Thou tak'st up 
Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour: 
It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know 
What is more cordial:- Nay, I prithee, take it; 
It is an earnest of a further good 
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
The case stands with her; do 't, as from thyself. 
Think what a chance thou changest on; but think 
Thou hast thy mistress still,— to boot, my son. 
Who shall take notice of thee: I '11 move the king 
To any shape of thy preferment, such 
As thou 'It desire; and then myself, I chiefiy, 
That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
To load thy merit richly. Call my women: 
Think on my words. [Exit Pisa. J— A sly and constant 

knave; 
Not to be shak'd: the agent for his master; 
And the remembrancer of her, to hold 
The handfast to her lord.— I have given him that, 
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
Of liegers for her sweet; and which she, after, 
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd 

Re-enter Plsanio and Ladies. 
To taste of too.— So, so;— well done, well done: 
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses. 
Bear to my closet:— Fare thee well, Pisanio; 
Think on my words. [Exeunt QueeH and Ladies. 

Pis. And shall do: 

But when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
I '11 choke myself; there 's all I '11 do for you. [Exe. 

Scene VII.— .4no</ier Room in the Palace. 
Enter Imogen. 

Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false; 
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady. 
That hath her husband banish'd;— O, that husband! 
My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated 
Vexations of it! Had I been thief stolen. 
As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable 
Is the desire that 's glorious: Blessed be those. 
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills. 
Which seasons comfort.— Who may this be? Fye! 
Enter Pisanio and lachimo. 

Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome, 
Comes from my lord with letters. 

lach. Change you, madam? 

The worthy Leonatus is in safety, 
And greets your highness dearly. [Preseyits a letter, 

Imo. Thanks, good sir: 

You are kindly welcome. 

lach. All of her that is out of door, most rich! 

[Aside. 
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, 
She is alone the Arabian bird; and I 
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend! 
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! 
Or, like the Parthian, I shall fiying fight; 
Rather, directly fly. 

Imo. [Reads.] 'He is one of the noblest note, to 
whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Refiect 

upon him accordingly, as you value your trust 

'Leonatus.' 
So far I read aloud: 
But even the very middle of my heart 
Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. 
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 
Have words to bid you; and shall find It so 
In all that I can do. 

lach. Thanks, fairest lady. — 

What! are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes 
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones 
Upon the number'd beach? and can we not 



^80 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act n. 



Partition make with spectaeles so precious 
'Twlxt fair and fouiy 

Imo. What makes your admiration? 

lach. It cannot be 1' the eye; for apes and mokeys, 
Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and 
Contemn with mows the other: Nor 1' the Judg- 
ment; 
Jor idiots, in this case of favour, would 
Be wisely definite: Nor i' the appetite; 
Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, 
Should make desire vomit emptiness, 
Not so allur'd to feed. 

Imo. What is the matter, trow? 

lach. The cloyed will, 

(Thai satiate yet unsatisfied desire, 
That tul) both tlll'd and running,) ravening first 
The lamb, longs after for the garbage. 

Imo. What, dear sir. 

Thus raps you? Are you well? 

lach. Thanks, madam; well:— 'Beseech you, sir, de- 
sire 13^0 Pisanio. 
My man's abode where I did Ifeave him: he 
Is strange and peevish. 

Pis. I was going, sir, 

To give him welcome. [Em.t Pisanio. 

Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'beseech 
you? 

lach. Well, madam. 

Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is. 

lach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there 
So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd 
The Briton reveller. 

Imo. When he was here 

He did incline to sadness; and oft-times 
Not knowing why. 

lach. I never saw him sad. 

There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces 
The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton 
(Your lord, I mean) laughs from 's tree lungs, cries, 

'O: 
Can my sides hold, to think that man,— who knows, 
By history, report, or his own proof. 
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
But must be,— will his free hours languish for 
Assured bondage?' 

Jmo. Will my lord say so? 

lach. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood with 
laughter. 
It is a recreation to be by. 
And hear him mock the Frenchman:. But, heavens 

know. 
Some men are much to blame. 

Imo, Not he, I hope. 

lach. Not he: But yet heaven's bounty towards 
him might 
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 't is much; 
In you,— which I account his, beyond all talents, — 
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
To pity too. 

Imo. What do you pity, sir? 

lach. Two creatures, heartily. 

Imo. Am I one, sir? 

You look on me. What wreck discern you in me 
Deserves your pity? 

lach. Lamentable! What! 

To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace 
I' the dungeon by a snuff? 

Imo. I pray you, sir. 

Deliver with more openness your answers 
To my demands. Why do you pity meX 

laeh. That others do, 

I was about to say, enjoy your But • 

It is an office of the gods to venge it, 
Not mme to speak on 't. 

Imo. You do seem to know 

Something of me, or what concerns me. 'Pray you, 
(Since doubting things go ill often hurts more 
Than to be sure they do: For certainties 
Either are past remedies; or, timely knowing. 
The remedy then born,) discover to me 
What both you spur and stop. 

lach. Had I this cheek. 

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch. 
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul 
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which 
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, 
Fixing it only here; should I (damn'd then) 
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
That mount the Capitol: join gripes with hands 
Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood, as 
With labour;) then, by-peeping in an eye. 
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light 
That 's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit. 
That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
Encounter such revolt. 

Imo. My lord, I fear. 

Has forgot Britain. 

lach. And himself. Not I, 

Inclln'd to this intelligence, pronounce 
The beggary of his change; but 't is your graces 
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue, 
Charms this report out. 

Imo. Let me hear no more. 

lach. O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my 
heart 
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
So fair, and fasten'd to an erapery. 
Would make the great'st king double! To be part- 

ner'd 
With tomboys, hir'd with that self -exhibition 
Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd ven- 
tures. 
That play with all infirmities for gold 
Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff, 
As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd: 
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you 
Recoil from your great stock. 

Imo. Reveng'd! 

How should I be reveng'd? If this be true, 
(As I have such a heart that both mine ears 
Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true, 
How shall I be reveng'd? 

lach. Should he make me 

Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets. 
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps. 
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. 
I dedicate my.selt to your sweet pleasure; 
More noble than that runagate to your bed; 
And will continue fast to your affection, 
Still close, as sure. 

Jmo. What ho, Pisanio! 

Jach. Let me my service tender on your lips. 



Imo. Away!— I do condemn mine ears that have 
So long attended thee.— If thou wert honourable. 
Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not 
For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange. 
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who , as far 
From thy report, as thou from honour; and 
Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains 
Thee and the devil alike.— What, ho! Pisanio!— 
The king my father shall be made acquainted 
Of thy as.sauU; if he shall think it fit, 
A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart 
As in a Romish stew, and to expound 
His beastly mind to us; he hath a court 
He little cares for, and a daughter whom 
He not respects at all. --What ho, Pisanio! 

lach. O happy Leonatus! I may say: 
The credit that thy lady hath of thee 
Deserves thy trust; and thy most perfect goodness 
Her assur'd credit!— Blessed live you long! 
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever 
Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only 
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. 
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance 
Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord 
That which he is, new o'er: And he is one 
The truest manner'd; such a holy witch. 
That he enchants societies unto him: 
Half all men's hearts are his. 

Imo. You make amends. 

lach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god: 
He hath a kind of honour sets him off. 
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry. 
Most mighty princess, that 1 have adventur'd 
To try your taking, a false report which hath 
Honour'd with confirmation youx great judgment 
In the election of a sir so rare. 
Which, you know, cannot eiT: The love I bear him 
Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you. 
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon. 

Imo. All 's well, sir: Take my power 1' the court 
for yours. 

lach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
To entreat your grace but in a small request. 
And yet of moment too, for it concerns 
Your lord; myself, and other noble friends, 
Are partners In the business. 

Imo. Pray, what is 't? 

lach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, 
(The best feather of our wing,) have mingled sums, 
To buy a present for the emperor; 
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done 
In France: 'T is plate, of rare device; and jewels, 
Of rich and exquisite form; their values great; 
And I am something curious, being strange. 
To have them in safe stowage. May it please you 
To take them in protection? 

Imo. Willingly; 

And pawn mine honour for their safety: since 
My lord hath interest In them, I will keep them 
In my bed-chamber. 

laeh. They are in a trunk. 

Attended by my men: I will make bold 
To send them to you, only for this night. 
I must aboard to-morrow. 

Imo. O, no, no. 

lach. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word. 
By length'ning my return. From Gallia 
I cross'd tlie seas on purpose, and on promise 
To see your grace. 

Imo. I thank you for your pains; 

But not away to-morrow! 

lach. 0,1 must, madam; 

Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please 
To greet your lord with writing, do 't to-night: 
I have outstood my time; which Is material 
To the tender of our present. 

Imo. I will write. 

Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept, 
And truly yielded you: You are very welcome. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT n. 

Scene 1.— Court before Cymbeline's Palace. 

Enter Cloten and Tivo Lords. 

Clo. Was there ever man had such luck! when I 
kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I 
had a hundred pound on 't: And then a whoreson 
jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as if I 
borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend 
them at my pleasure. 

1 Lord. What got he by that? You have broke his 
pate with your bowl. 

2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke it. 
It would have run all out. [Aside. 

Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it 
Is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths; Ha? 

2 Lord. No, my lord; nor [Aside.'\ crop the ears of 
them. 

Clo. Whoreson dog!— I give him satisfaction? 
'Would he had been one of my rank! 

2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. [Aside. 

Clo. I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth, 
—A pox on 't! I had ratlier not be so noble as I am. 
They dare not fight with me, because of the queen 
my mother: every jack-slave hath his belly full of 
fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock 
that no body can match. 

2 Lord. You are cock and capon too; and you crow, 
cock, ^vith your comb on. [Aside. 

Clo. Sayest thou? 

2 Lord. It is not fit your lordship should undertake 
every companion that you give offence to. 

Clo. No, I know that: but it Is fit I should commit 
offence to my inferiors. 

2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 

Clo. Why, so I say. 

1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that 's come to 
court to-night? 

Clo. A stranger! and I not known on 't! 

2 Ix>rd. He 's a strange fellow himself, and knows 
It not. [Aside. 

1 Lord. There 's an Italian come; and, 't Is thought, 
one of Leonatus' friends. 

Clo. Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he 's an- 
other, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this 
stranger? 

1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 

Clo. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no 
derogation in 't? 

1 Ix>rd. You cannot derogate, my lord. 
Clo. Not :a;i;y, 1 think. 

2 Lord. You are a fool granted; therefore your is- 
sues, l)efng foolish, do not derogate. [Aside. 



Clo. Come, I '11 go see this Italian: What I have 
lost to day at bowls I '11 win to-night of him. Come, 
go. 

2 Lord. I '11 attend your lordship. 

[Exeunt Cloten and first Lord. 
That such a crafty devil as is his mother 
Should yield the world this ass! a woman, that 
Bears all down with her brain; and tlhis her son 
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart, 
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess. 
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st! 
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd; 
A mother hourly coining plots; a wooer, 
More hateful than the foul expulsion is 
Of thy dear husband. From that horrid act 
Of the divorce lie'd make, the heaven's hold firm 
The walls of thy dear honour; keep unshak'd 
That temple, thy fair mind; that thou may'st stand. 
To enjoy thy banish 'd lord, and this great land! 

[E.Tit. 

ScKNE II. — A Bed-Chamhrr: in one part of it a 
Trunk. 

Imogen reading in her Bed; a Lady attending. 

Imo. Who 's there? my woman Helen? 

Lady. Please you, madam. 

Imo. What hour is it? 

Lady. Almost midnight, madam. 

Imo. I have read three hom-s then: mine e.ves are 
weak: 
Fold down the leaf where I have left: To bed: 
Take not away the taper, leave it burning; 
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock, 
I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. 

[Exit Lady. 
To your protection I commend me, gods! 
From fairies, and the tempters of the night. 
Guard me, beseech ye! 

[Sleeps, lachimo, from the trunk. 

lach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd 
sense 
Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarqjiin thus 
Did softly press the rushes, ere ne waken'd 
The chastity he wounded.— Cytherea, 
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lilv! 
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch. 
But kiss; one kiss!— Rubles unparagon'd. 
How dearly they do 't— 'T is her breathing that 
Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o' the taper 
Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids. 
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
Under these windows, white and azure, lac'd 
'With blue of heaven's own tinct.— But my design. 
To note the chamber, I will write all down: 
Such and such pictures:— There the window: Such 
The adornment of her bed:— The arras, figures, 
Why, such, and such:— And the contents o' the 

story. 
Ah, but some natural notes about her body 
Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory. 
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! 
And be her sense but as a monument. 
Thus in a chapel lying!— Come off, come off; 

[Taking off her bracelet. 
As slippery, as the Gordian knot was hard! 
'T is mine; and this will witness outwardly. 
As strongly as the conscience does within. 
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
I' the bottom of a cowslip. Here 's a voucher, 
Strcnger than ever law could make: this se^jret 
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and 

ta'en 
The treasure of her honour. No more.— To what 

end? 
Why should I write this down, that 's riveted, 
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading 

late 
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf 's turned down 
Where Philomel gave up;— I have enough: 
To tlie trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning 
May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear; 
Though this a heavenly angel, hell Is here. 

[Clock strikes. 
One, two, three,— Time, time! 

[GrOts into the trunk. The scene closes. 

Scene HI.—Withoiit the Palace, under Imogen's 
Apartment. 

Enter Cloten and Lords. 

1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man In 
loss, the most coldest tnat ever turned up ace. 

Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 

1 Lord. But not every man patient after the noble 
temper of your lordship. You are most hot and 
furious when you win. 

Clo. Winning will put any man into courage. If I 
could get this foolish Imogen, I should have ,gold 
enough. It 's almost morning. Is 't not? 
' 1 Lord. Day, my lord. 

Clo. I would this music would come: I am advised 
to give her music o' mornings; they say it will pene- 
trate. 

Enter Musicians. 
Come on; tune. If you can penetrate her with your 
fingering, so; we '11 try with tongue too: if none will 
do, let her remain; but I '11 never give o'er. First, a 
very excellent good conceited thing; after, a won- 
derful sweet air, with admirable ric'h words to it, — 
and then let her consider. 



Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 

And Phoebus 'gins arise. 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chalic'd flowers that lies! 
And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden 
eyes; 
With everything that pretty is— My lady sweet, 
arise; 
Arise, arise. 

So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider 
your music the better: if it do not, it is a voice in her 
ears, which horse-hairs and calves'-guts, nor the 
voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. 
[Jixennt Musicians. 
Enter Cymbeline and Queen. 
2 Lord. Bere comes the king. 
Clo. I am glad I was up so late; for that 's the rea- 



Scene hi.] 



CYMBELINE. 



381 



son I was up so earlj-. He cnnnot choose but t&ke 
this service I have done, fatherly. Good morrow to 
your majesty, and to my gracious nuither. 

C\fm. Attend you here the door of our stern daugh- 
ter? 
Will she not forth? 

Clo. I have assailed her with musics, but she 
vouchsafes no notice. 

Cym. The exile of her minion Is too new; 
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time 
Must wear the print of his remembrance out. 
And then she 's yours. 

Quetn. You are most bound to the king. 

Who lets go by no vantages that may 
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself 
To orderly solicits; and, befriended 
With aptness of the season, make denials 
Increase your services: so seem, as if 
You were inspired to do those duties which 
You tender to her, that you in all obey her. 
Save when command to your dismission tends. 
And therein yuu are senseless 

Clo. Senseless? not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; 
The one is Calus Lucius. 

Cii'n. •*■ worthy fellow. 

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; 
But that 's no fault of his: We must receive him 
According to the honour of his sender; 
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us. 
We must extend our notice. Our dear son, 
When you have given good morning to your mis- 
tress. 
Attend the queen and us; we shall have need 
To employ you towards this Roman.— Come, our 
queen. 
' \E.reunt Cym., Queen, Lords, and Mess. 
CTo. If she he up, I '11 speak with her; if not. 
Let her lie still and dream.— By your leave, ho! 

fivjiocfcs. 
I know her women are about her. What 
If I do line one of their hands? 'T is gold 
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes 
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 't is gold 
Which makes the true man klU'd, and saves the 

thief; 
Xav, sometime, hangs both thief and true man: 

What 
Can it not do, and undo? I will make 
One of her women lawyer to me; for 
I yet not understand the case myself. 
By your leave. f JSTnoefcs. 

Enter a Lady. 

Lady. Who 's there that knocks? 

Clo. A gentleman. 

Xa(f J/. No more? 

Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 

Lady. That 's more 

Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours. 
Can justly boast of: What 's your lordship's plea- 
sure? 

Clo. Your lady's person: Is she ready? 

Lady. Ay, 

To keep her chamber. 

Clo. There is gold for you; sell me your good re- 

Sort. « 
ow! my good name? or to report of you 
What 'I shall think is good?— The princess— 

Enter Imogen. 

Clo. Good-morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand. 

Imo. Good-morrow, sir: You lay out too much 
pains 
For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give 
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks. 
And scarce can spare them. 

Clo. Still, I swear I iove you. 

Jmo. If you but said so 't were as deep with me: 
If .1 ou swear still, your recompence is still 
That I regard it not. 

Clo. This is no answer. 

Jwio. But that you shall not say I yield, being 
silent, 
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 1' faith, 
Ishall unfold equal discourtesy 
To your best kindness; one of your great knowing 
Should learn, beingtaught, forbearance. 

Clo. To leave you in your madness, 't were my sin: 
I will not. 

Imo. Fools are not mad folks. 

Clo. Do you call me fool? 

Jmo. As I am mad, I do: 
If you '11 be patient, I '11 no more be mad; 
That cures us both. I am much-sorry, sir, 
You put me to forget a lady's manners. 
By being so verbal: and learn now, for all. 
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, 
By the very truth of it, I care not for you; 
And am so near the lack of charit.v, 
(To accuse myself,) I hate you; which I had rather 
Y'ou felt, than make t my boast. 

Clo. You sin against 

Obedience, which you owe your father. For 
The contract you pretend with that base wretch, 
(One bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes. 
With scraps o' the court,) it is no contract, none: 
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, 
(Yet who than he more mean?) To knit their souls 
(On whom there is no more dependency 
But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot. 
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by 
The consequence o' the crown; and must not soil 
The precious note of it with a base slave, 
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
A pantler, not so eminent. 

Imo. Profane fellow! 

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more 
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base 
To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough, 
Eveii to the point of envy, if "t were made 
Comparative for your virtues, to bestyl'd 
The underhangman of his kingdom; and hated 
For being preferr'd so well. 

Clo. The south-fog rot him! 

Imo. He never can meet more mischance than 
come 
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment. 
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer. 
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee. 
Were they all made such men.— How now, Pisanio? 



Enter Pisanio. 

Clo. His garment? Now, the devil— 

Imo. ToDorothy, my woman hlethee presently:- 

Clo. His garment? 

Imo. I am sprlghted with a fool: 

Frighted, and anger'd worse:— Go, bid my woman 
Search for a Jewel, that too casually 
Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's: shrew me. 
If I would lose it for a revenue 
Of any king's in Europe. I do think 
I saw 't this morning: confident I am 
Last night 't was on mine arm; I klss'd it: 
I hope it be not gone, to tell my lord 
That I kiss aught but he. 

Pis. 'T will not be lost. 

Imo. I hope so: go and search. [Exit Pis. 

Clo. You have abus'd me:— 

His meanest garment? 

Imo. Ay; I said so, sir. 

If you will make 't an action, call witnesses to 't. 

Clo. I win inform your father. 

Imo. Your mother too: 

She 's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope. 
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir. 
To the worst of discontent. [Exit. 

Clo. I '11 be reveng'd:— 

His meanest garment?— Well. [Exit. 

Scene IV.— Rome. An Apartment in Philario's 

House. 

Enter Posthumus and Philarlo. 

Post. Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure 
To win the king, as I am bold her honour 
Will remain hers. 

Phi. What means do you make to him? 

Poxt. Not any; but abide the change of time; 
Qiiake in the present winter's state, and wish 
That warmer days would come: In these sear'd 

hopes, 
I barely gratify your love; they failing, 
1 must die much your debtor. 

Phi. Vour very goodness, and your company, 
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 
Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius 
Will do his commission thoroughly: And, I think 
He '11 grant the tribute, send the arrearages, 
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
Is yet fresh in their grief. 

Post. I do believe, 

(Statist though I am none, nor like to he,) 
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear 
The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed 
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings 
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen 
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Caesar 
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage 
Worthy his frowning at: Their discipline 
(Now mingled with their courages) will make known 
To their approvers, they are peoplij such 
That mend upon the world. 

Enter lachimo. 

Phi. See! laehimo! 

Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land: 
And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, 
To make your vessel nimble. 

Phi. Welcome, sir. 

Post. I hope the briefness of your answer made 
The speediness of your return. 

lach. Your lady 

Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon. 

Post. And therewithal the best: or let her beauty 
Look through a casement to allure false hearts. 
And be false with them. 

laeh. Here are letters for you. 

Post. Their tenour good, I trust. 

lach. 'T is very like. 

Phi. Was Caius Lxicius in the Britain court. 
When you were there? 

lach. He was expected then. 

But not approach'd. 

Post. All is well yet. 

Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is 't not 
Too dull for good wearing? 

lach. If I have lost it, 

I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
I '11 make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
A second night of such sweet shortness, which 
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won. 

Post. The stone 's too hard to come by. 

lach. Not a whit. 

Your lady being so easy. 

Post. Make not, sir. 

Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we 
Must not continue friends. 

lach. Good sir, we must. 

If you keep covenant: Had I not brought 
The knowledge of your mistress home, Igrant 
We were to question further: but I now 
Profess myself the winner of her honour. 
Together with your ring; and not the wronger 
Of her, or you, having proceeded but 
By both your wills. 

Post. If you can make *t apparent 

That you have tasted her in bed, my hand. 
And ring, is yours: if not, the foul opinion 
You had of her pure honour gains, or loses. 
Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both 
To who shall find them. 

lach. Sir, my circumstances 

Being so near the truth as I will make them. 
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength 
I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not, 
You '11 give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
You need it not. 

Post. Proceed. 

lach. First, her bed-chamber, 
(Where, I confess, I slept not; but profess. 
Had that was well worth watching,) it was bang'd 
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story 
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
The press of boats, or pride: A piece of work 
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
In workmanship, and value; which I wonder'd. 
Could be so rarel.v and exactly wrought. 
Since the true life on 't was— 

Post. This is true; 

And this you might have heard of here, by me. 
Or by some other. 

lach. More particulars 

Must justify my knowleuge. 

Post. So they must, 

or do your honour Injury. 



lach. The chimney 

Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece. 
Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures 
So likely to report themselves: the cutter 
Was as another nature, dumb: outwent her. 
Motion and breath left out. 

Post. This is a thing 

Which you might from relation likewise reap; 
Being, as it is, much spoke of. 

lach. The roof o' the chamber 

With golden cherubins is fretted: Her andirons 
(I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids 
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 
Depending on their brands. 

Post. This Is her honour!— 

Let It be granted you have seen all this, (and praise 
Be given to your remembrance,) the description 
Of what is In her chamber nothing saves 
The wager you have laid. 

lach. Then, if you can, 

[Pvlling out the bracelet 
Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel: See!— 
And now 't is up again: It must be married 
To that your diamond; I '11 keep them. 

Post. Jove! 

Once more let me behold it: Is it that 
Which I left with her? 

lach. Sir, (I thank her,) that: 

She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet; 
Her pretty action did outsell her ^ft. 
And yet enrich'd it too: She gave it me, and said 
She priz'd it once. 

Post. May be she pluck 'd it off, 

To send it me. 

lach. She writes so to you? doth she? 

Post. O, no, no, no; 't is true. Here, take this too; 
[Gives the ring. 
It is a basilisk unto mine eye. 
Kills me to look on 't:— Let there be no honour 
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; 

love. 
Where there 's another man; The vows of women 
Of no more bondage be to where they are made. 
Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing: — 
O, above measure false! 

Phi. Have patience, sir. 

And take your ring again; 't is not yet won: 
It may be probable she lost it; or. 
Who knows If one of her women, being corrupted, 
ilath stolen it from her? 

Post. Very true; 

And so I hope he came by 't: — Back my ring;— 
Render to me some corporal sign about her. 
More evident than this, for this was stolen. 

lach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 

Post. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. 
'Tis true; nay, keep the ring— 't is true, I am sure 
She would not lose it: her attendants are 
All sworn, and honourable:— They induc'dto steal 

it! 
And by a stranger!— No, he hath enjoy'd her: 
The cognizance of her jncontinency 
Is this,— she hath bought the name of whore thus 

dearly. 
There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell 
Divide themselves between you. 

Phi. Sir, be patient! 

This is not strong enough to be believ'd 
Of one persuaded well of— 

Post. Never talk on 't; 

She hath been colted by him. 

lach. If you seek 

For further satisfying, under her breast 
(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud 
Of that most delicate lodging: By my life, 
I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger 
To feed again, though full. You do remember 
This stain upon her? 

Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 

Another stain, as big as hell can hold. 
Were there no more but it. 

lach. Will you hear more? 

Post. Spare your arithmetic: never count the 
turns; 
Once, and a million! 

lach. I '11 be sworn,- 

Post. No swearing. 

If you will swear you have not done 't, you lie; 
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny 
Thou hast made me cuckold, 

lach. I '11 deny nothing. 

Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb meal! 
I will go there, and do 't; V the court; before 
Her father:— I '11 do something— [Exit. 

Phi. Quite besides 

The government of patience!— You have won: 
Let 's follow him, and pervert the present wrath 
He hath against himself. 

lach. With all my heart. [Exe, 

Scene v.— The same. Another Room in the same. 

Enter Posthumus. 

Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women 
Must be half-workers? We are all bastards; 
And that most venerable man, which I 
Did call iny father, was I know not where 
When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools 
Made me a counterfeit: Yet my mother seem'd 
The Dlan of that time: so doth my wife 
The nonpareil of this.— O vengeance, vengeance! 
Me of my lawful pleasure she restialn'd, 
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance: did it with 
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on 't 
Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought 

her 
As chaste as unsunn'd snow:— O, all the devils!— 
This yellow lachimo, in an hour,— was 't not?— 
Or less,— at first: Perchance he spoke not; but. 
Like a fullacorn'd boar, a German one, 
Cry'd, oh! and mounted: found no opposition 
But what he look'd for should oppose, and she 
Should from encounter gu.ird. Could I find out 
The woman's part in nie! For there 's no motion 
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm 
It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it. 
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; 
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; 
Ambitions, covetiiigs, change of prides, disdain, 
Nice longings, slanders, mutability. 
All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows. 
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all: 

Part So. 



289 



CTMBELINE. 



lAcT nr. 



\: 



< 



t 



For ev'n to vice 

Tlioy are not constant, but are changing still 

One vice but of a minute old, for one 

Not lialf so old as tliat. I 'II write against them, 

Detest them, curse them:— Yet 't is greater slcili 

In a true hate, to pray they have their will: 

The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit. 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— Britain. A Hoom of Stale in Cymbeiine's 
Palace. 

Enter Cymbcline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords, at one 

door; and at another, Caius Lucms and Attend- 
ants. 

Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with 
us? 

Ltic. When Julius Caesar (whose remembrance yet 
Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears and tongues 
Be theme and hearing ever) was in this Britaip, 
And eonquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, 
(Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less 
Than in his feats deserving it,) for him. 
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute. 
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately 
Is left untender'd. 

<?uecn And, to Ici)l the marvel. 

Shall be so ever. 

Clo. There be many Caesars, 

Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
A world by Itself; and we will nothing pay 
For wearing our own noses. 

Q^ieen. That opportunity. 

Which then they had to take from us, to resume 
We have again.— Remember, sir, my liege, 
The lyings your ancestors; together with 
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands 
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 
With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters; 
With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats. 
But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con- 
quest 
Caesar made here; but made not here his brag 
Of came, and saw, and overcame: with sname 
(The first that ever touch'd him) he was carried 
From oft our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping 
(Poor ignorant baublesi) on our terrible seas. 
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd 
As easily 'gainst our rocKs: For joy whereof. 
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point 
(O, giglot fortunel) to master Caesar's sword. 
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, 
And Britons strut with courage. 

Clo. Come, there 's no more tribute to be paid: 
Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; 
and, as I said, there Is no more such Cajsars: other 
of them may have crooked noses; but to owe such 
straight arms, none. 

Cym. Son, let your mother end. 

Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as 
hard as Cassibelan; I do not say I am one; but I have 
a hand. -Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? 
If Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, 
or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tri- 
bute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you 
now. 

Cym. You must know, 
Till the Injurious Romans did extort 
This tribute from us, we were free; Caesar's ambi- 
tion, 
(Which swell'd so much that It did almost stretch 
The sides o' the world,) against ail colour, here 
Did put the yoke upon us; which to shake off 
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
Ourselves to be. We do say then to Cassar, 
Our ancestor was that Muiniutlus, which 
Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Caesar 
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and fran- 
chise 
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed. 
Though Rome be therefore angry;) Mulmutius made 

our laws, 
■Who was the first of Britain which did put 
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd 
Himself a king. 

Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, 

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar 
(Caesar that hath more kings his servants than 
Thyself domestic officers) thine enemy: 
Receive it from me, then:— War, and confusion. 
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look 
For fury not to be resisted;— Thus defied, 
I thank thee for myself. 

Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 

Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent 
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour; 
Which he to seek of me again, perforce, 
Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect 
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for 
Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent 
Which not to read would show the Britons cold: 
So Caesar shall not find them. 

Luc. Let proof speak. 

Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pas- 
time with us a day, or two, or longer: If you seek 
us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us In 
our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it. It is 
yours; if you fall m the adventure, our crows shall 
rare the better for you; and there 's an end. 

Lite. So, sir. 

Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: 
All the remain is, welcome. \Exeunt. 

Scene \1.— Another Room in the Palace. 
Enter Pisanlo, reading a Letter. 
Pis. Howl of adultery? Wherefore write you not 
What monster 's her accuser?— Leonatus! 
O, master! what a strange infection 
Is fallen into thy ear! What false Italian 
(As poisonous tongued as handed) hath prevall'd 
On thy too ready hearing?— Disloyal'' No: 
She 's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes. 
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults 
As would take in some virtue.— O, my master! 
Thy mind to her is now as low as were 
Thy fortunes.— How! that I should murther her? 
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I 
Have made to thy command?— I, her?— her blood? 
If it be so to do good service, never 
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, 
That I should seem to lack humanity 
So much as this fact comes to?— Do 't; The letter 
That I have sent her, by her own command 



Shall give thee opportunity:- O damn'd paper! 
Black as the ink that 's on thee! Senseless bauble. 
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st 
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she conies. 

Enter Imogen. 
I am ignorant In what I am commanded. 

Imo. How now, Pisanio? 

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 

Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus? 
O, Icarn'd indeed were that astronomer 
Tliat knew the stars as I his characters; 
He 'd lay the future open.— Yovi good gods, 
Let what is here contaln'd relish of love. 
Of my 'ord's health, of his content,— yet not. 
That we two are asunder, let that grieve him, — 
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them. 
For it doth physic love;- of his content. 
Ail but in that!— Good wax, thy leave:— Bless'd be 
You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers, 
And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike; 
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet 
You clasp young Cupid's tables.— Good news, gods! 

[Reads. 

'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take 
me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, an 
you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew 
me with your eyes. Take notice that I am In Cam- 
bria, at Milford-Haven; What your own love will 
out of this advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all 
happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, 
increasing in love, ' Leonatus Posthumus.' 

O, for a horse with wings!— Hear'st thou, Pisanlo? 

He is at Milford-Haven: Read, and tell me 

How far 't is thither. If one of mean affairs 

May plod it in a week, why may not I 

Glide thither in a day?— Then, true Pisanlo, 

(Who long'st like me, to see thy lord; who long'st, — 

O, let me bate,— but not like me:— vet long'st,— 

But in a fainter kind:— O, not like me; 

For mine 's beyond beyond.) say, and speak thick, 

(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing. 

To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is 

To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way. 

Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as 

lo inherit such a haven, but, first of all. 

How we may steal from hence; for the gap 

That we shall make in time, from our hence-going 

And our return, to excuse:— but first, how get hence: 

Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? 

We 'II talk of that hereafter. Pritliee, speak. 

How many score of miles may we well ride 

'Twixt hour and hour? 

Pis. One score 'twixt sun and sun. 

Madam, 's enough for j'ou; and too much too. 

Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man. 
Could never go so slow; I have heard of riding 

wagers. 
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 
That run i' the clock's behalf :— But this is foolery: 
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say 
She '11 home to her father; and provide me, pre- 
sently, 
A riding suit; no costlier than would fit 
A franlclin's housewife. 

Pi's. : Madam, you 're best consider. 

Imo. I see before me, man: nor here, nor here. 
Nor what ensues, but have a tog in them, 
1 hat I cannot look through. Awaj', I prithee; 
Do as I bid thee: There 's no more to say; 
Accessible is none but Milford way. \_Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Wales. A mountainous Country, with a 
Cave. 

Enter Belarlus, Gulderius, and Arviragus. 

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 
Whose roof 's as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This 

gate 
Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows 

you 
To a morning's holy office: The gates of monarchs 
Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through 
And keep their impious turbands on, without 
Good morrow to the sun.— Hail, thou fair heaven. 
We house 1' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
As prouder livers do. 

Gut. Hail, heaven! 

Arv. Hail, heaven! 

Bel. Now for our mountain sport: Up to yon hill. 
Your legs are young; I '11 tread these flats. Con- 
sider, 
When you above perceive me like a crovy^ 
That it Is place which lessons and sets off; 
And you may then revolve what tales 1 have told 

you 
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war: 
This service is not service, so being done. 
But being so allow'd: To apprehend thus, 
Draws us a profit from all things we see: 
And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
The sharded beetle in a safer hold 
Than is the fuil-wing'd eagle. O this life 
Is nobler, than attending for a check; 
Richer, than doing nothing for a bribe; 
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk: 
Such gains the cap of him that makes him fine, 
Yet keeps his book uncrossed- no life to ours. 

Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor un- 
fledg'd. 
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor know 

not 
What air 's from home. Haply, this life Is best. 
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you. 
That have a sharper known; well corresponding 
With your stiff age: but unto us it is 
A cell of ignorance; travelling abed; 
A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
To stride a limit. 

Arv. What should we speak of. 

When we are old as you? when we shall hear 
The rain and wind beat dark December, how, 
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing: 
We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey; 
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat: 
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage 
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird. 
And sing our bondage freely. 

Bel. How you speak! 

Did you but know the city's usuries. 
And felt them knowingly: the art o' the court, 
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb 
Is certain falling, or so slippery that 



The fear 's as bad as falling: the toil of the war, 

A pain that only seems to seek out dancer 

r tile name of fame and honour: wiiich dies i' the 

search; 
And hath as olt a slanderous epitaph 
As record of fair act; nay, many times. 
Doth ill deserve bv doing well: what 's worse, 
Must court'sy atthe censure:- O, boys, this story 
The world may read in me: My body 's mark'd 
With Roman swords; and my report was once 
First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me; 
And when a soldier was the theme my name 
W.is not far <.fE: Then was I as a tree 
Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but, in one 

night. 
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will. 
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, 
And left me bare to weather. 
Gui. Uncertain favour! 

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you of) 
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevall'd 
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline 
I was confederate with the Romans: so, 
Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years. 
This rock and these demesnes have been my world: 
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid 
More pious debts to heaven, than in ail 
The fore-end of my time.— But, up to the mountains; 
This is not hunters' language:— He that strikes 
The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast; 
To him the other two shall minister; 
And we will fear no poison, which attends 
In place of gieater state. I '11 meet you in the val- 
leys. [Exeunt Gui. and Arv. 
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! 
These boys know little they are sons to the king: 
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
They think they are mine: and, though train'd up 

thus meanly 
I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them. 
In simple and low things, to prince it much 
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,— 
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom 
The king his father call'd Gulderius,— Jove! 
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
Into my story: say,— 'Thus mine enemy fell; 
And thus I set my foot on his neck'— even then 
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, 
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture 
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, 
(Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure 
Strikes life into iny speech, and shows much more 
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd!— 

Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows 
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon, 

At three, and two years old, I stole these babes; 

Thinkmg to bar thee of succession, as 

Thou rett'st me of my lands. Eurlphile, 

Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their 

mother. 
And every day do honour to her grave: 
Myself, Belarlus, that am Morgan call'd. 
They take for natural father. The game Is up. 

lExit. 

Scene IV.— Near Milford-Haven. 

Enter Pisanlo and Imogen. 

Imo. Thou told'st me, when we c^ie from horse, 
the place 
Was near at hand:— Ne'er long'd my mother so 
To see me first, as I have now:— Pisanio! Man! 
Where is Posthumug? What Is In thy mind 
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that 

sigh 
From the in^vard of thee? One, but painted thus. 
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
Beyond self-explication: Put th};self 
Into a 'haviour of less fear, ere wildness 
Vanquish thy staider senses. What 's the matter? 
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 
A look untender? If it be summer news. 
Smile to 't before: if winterly, thou need'st 
But keep that countenance still.— My husband's 

hand! 
That drugdamn'd Italy hath out-craftied him. 
And he 's at some hard point.— Speak, man; thy 

tongue 
May take off some extremity, which to read 
Would be even mortal to me. 

Pis. Please yoti read; 

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
The most disdain'd of fortune. 

Imo. [Reads.] ' Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played 
the strumpet in my bed: thetestimonies whereof lie 
bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; 
but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain 
as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, 
must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the 
breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her 
life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven: 
she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, it thou 
fear to strike, and to make me certain It is done, 
thou art the pandar to her dishonour, and equally to 
me disloyal.' 

Pis. What shall I need to draw ray sword? the pa- 
per 
Hath cut her throat already.— No, 't Is slander,— 
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose 

tongue 
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile: whose breath 
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
All corners of the world,— kings, queens, and states, 
Maids, matrons,— nay, the secrets of the grave 
This viperous slander enters.— What cheer, madam? 

Imo, False to his bed! What is it to be false? 
To lie in watch there, and to think on him? 
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge na- 
ture. 
To break it with a tearful dream of him. 
And cry myself awake? that 's false to his bed? 
Is it? 

Pi's. Alas, good lady! 

Imo. 1 false? Thy conscience witness:— lachimo. 
Thou did'st accuse him of incoiitinency; 
Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, 
Thy favour 's good enough.— Some jay of Italy, 
Whose mother was her painting,-hath betray'd him: 
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion. 
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 

1 must be ripp'd:— to pieces with me!— O, 

Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming 



SCENK IV.1 



CYMBELmS. 



By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
Put on for villainy: not born where 't gi'ows, 
But worn, a bait lor ladles. 

Pis. Good madam, hear nie. 

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false 
JEneas, 
Were, in liis time, thought false: and Simon's weep- 



ing 
luiali 



Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity 

From most true wretchedness: So, thou, Posthu- 

nius. 
Wilt lay the leaven on all pi-oper men; 
Goodly, anil gallant, shall be false and per]ur"d 
From thy great fail.— Come, fellow, be thou honest: 
Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou seest him, 
A little witness my obedience: Look! 
1 draw the sword myself: take it; and hit 
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart: 
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief: 
Thy master is not there; ivho was. Indeed, 
Thei-ichesot it: Do his bidding; strike. 
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause, 
But now thou seem'st a coward. • 

Pin, , Hence, vile instrument! 

Thou Shalt not damn my hand. 

Jrno. Why, I must die; 

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
No sei-^-ant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter 
There is a prohibition so divine 
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my 

heart; 
Something 's afore 't;— Soft, soft; we '11 no defence; 
Obedient as the scabbard.— What is here; 
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
AH turned to heresy? Away, away. 
Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more 
Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools 
Believe false teachers: Though those that are be- 
tray 'd 
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
Stands in worse case of woe. 
And thou, Posthumus, that didst set up 
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father. 
And make me put into contempt the suit 
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 
It is no act of common passage, but 
A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself. 
To think when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory 
Will then be pang'd by me.— Prithee, dispatch: 
The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife? 
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
When I desire it too. 

Pis. O gracious lady. 

Since t receiv'd command to do this business, 
I have not slept one wink. 

Imo. Do 't, and to bed then. 

Pis. I '11 wake mine eye-balls blind first. 

Imo. Wherefore then 
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd 
So many miles, with a pretence? this place? 
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour? 
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court. 
For my being absent; whereunto 1 never 
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far 
To be unbent when thou hast ta'eu thy stand, 
The elected deer before thee? 

Pis. But to win time 

To lose so bad employment: in the which 
I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, 
Hear me with patience. 

Imo. Talkthy tongue weary; speak: 

I have heard lama strumpet; and mine ear. 
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound. 
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 

Pis. Then, madam, 

I thought you would not back again. 

Imo. Most like: 

Bringing me here to kill me. 

Pis. Not so, neither: 

But if I were as wise as honest, theii 
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be 
But that my master is abus'd: 
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, 
Hath done you both this cursed injury. 

Imo. Some Komau courtezan. 

Pis. No, on my life. 

I '11 give but notice you are dead, and send him 
Some bloody sign of it; for 't is commanded 
I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court. 
And that will well confirm it. 

Imo. Why, good fellow, 

What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live? 
Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
Dead to my husband? 

Pis. If you '11 back to the coun,— 

Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado 
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing: 
That Cloten, whose love-suit bath been to me 
AS fearful as a siege. 

Pis. If not at court. 

Then not in Britain must you bide. 

Imo. Where then? 

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night. 
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world'svolume 
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; 
In a great pool, a swan's nest. Prithee, think 
There 's livers out of Britain. 

Pis. I am most glad 

You think of other place. The ambassador, 
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven 
To-morrow: Now, if you could wear a mind 
Dark as your fortune is— and but disguise 
That which, to appear itself, must not yet be, 
But by self-danger;- youshould tread a course 
Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near 
The residence of Posthumus: so nigh, at least. 
That, though his actions were not visible, yet 
Report should render him hourly to your ear, 
As truly as he moves. 

Imo. O, for such means! 

Though peril to my modesty, not death on 't, 
I would adventure. 

Pis. Well then, here 's the point: 

You must forget to be a woman; change 
Command into obedience; fear, andniceness, 
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, 
Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage; 
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and 
As quarrellous as the weasel; nay, you must 
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, 
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! 
Alack no remedy!) to the greedy touch 
Of common-kissing Titan: and forget 



Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 
You made great Juno angry. 

Imo. Nay, be brief: 

I sec Into thy end, and am almost 
A man already. 

Pis. Flr.it, make yourself but like one. 

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, 
CT is in my cloakbag,) doublet, hat, hose, all 
That answer to them: Would you, in their serving. 
And with what imitation you can borrow 
From youth of such a season, 'tore noble Lucius 
Present youreelf. desire his service, tell him 
Wherein you are happy, (which you '11 make him 

know. 
If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless 
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable. 
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad. 
You have me, rich; and I will never fail 
Beginning, nor supplyment. 

Imo. Thou art all the comfort 

The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away: 
There 's more to be consider'd; but we 'II even 
All that good time will give us: This attempt 
I 'm soldier to, pnd will abide it with 
A prince's courage. Away, I prithee. 

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell; 
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, 
Here is a box: I had it from the queen; 
What 's in 't is precious; if you are sick at sea, 
Orstomachqualm'd at land, a dram of this 
Will drive away distemper.— To some shade. 
And fit you to your manhood:— May the gods 
Direct you to the best! 

Imo. Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 

Enter Cymbeline, (Jueen, Cloten, Lucius, and 
Lords. 

Cym. Thus far; and so farewell. 

Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 

My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence; 
And am right sorry that I must report ye 
Jly master's enemy. 

dim. Our .subjects, sir. 

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself 
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs 
Appear unkinglike. 

Luc. So, sir, I desire of you 

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven. — 
Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you! 

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office; 
The due of honour in no point omit. 
So, farewell, noble Lucius. 

Luc. Your hand, my lord. 

Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth 
I wear it as your enemy. 

Luc. Sir, the event 

Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well. 

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, 

Till he have cross'd the Severn.— Happiness! 

[Exeunt Lucius and Lords. 

Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours 
us 
That we have given' him cause. 

Clo. 'T is all the better; 

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely. 
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness : 
The powers that he already hath in Gallia 
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves 
His war for Britain. 

Queen. 'T is not sleepy business; 

But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. 

Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus 
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen. 
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd 
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd 
The duty of the day: She looks us like 
A thing more made of malice than of duty: 
We have noted it.— Call her before us; for 
We have been too slight in sufferance. 

[Exit am Attendant. 

Queen. ' Royal sir. 

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd 
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, 
'T is time must do. 'Beseech your majesty. 
Forbear sliarp speeches to her: She 's a lady 
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes. 
And strokes deatli to her. 

Re-enter an Attendant. 

Cym. Where is she, sir? How 

Can her contempt be answer'd? 

Atten. Please you, sir. 

Her chambers are all lock'd; and there 's no answer 
That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make. 

Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, 
She pray'd me to excuse her keping close; 
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity. 
She should that duty leave unpaid to you. 
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this 
She wish'd me to make known; but our great court 
Made me to blame in memory. 

Cym. Her door 's lock'd? 

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that vvhich I fear 
Prove false! [Exit. 

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. 

Civ. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
I have not seen these two days. 

Queen. Go, look after.— 

[Exit Cloten. 
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!— 
He hath a drug of mine: I pray hisalisence 
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes 
It is a thing most precious. But for her, 
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; 
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she 's flown 
To her desir'd Posthumus: Gone she is 
To death, or to dishonour; and my end 
Can make good use of either: She being down, 
I have the placing of the British crown. 

Re-enter Cloten. 
How now, my son? 

Clo. 'T is certain she is fled: 

Go in, and cheer the king; lie rages; none 
Dare come about him. 

Queen. All the better: May 

This night forestall him of the coming day! [Exit. 

Clo. I love, and hate her: tor she 's fair and royal; 
And that she hath ail courtly parts more exquisite 
Than lady, ladles, woman; from every one 



The best she hath, and she, of all compounded. 

Outsells them all: I love her therefore. But, 

Disdaining me, and throwing favours on 

The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment. 

That what 's else rare is ohok'd; and, in that point, 

I will conclude to hate her, nay. Indeed, 

To be reveng d upon her. For, when fools 

Enter Pisanio. 
Shall— Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah? 
Come hither: Ah, you precious pander! Villain, 
Where Is thy lady? In a word; or else 
Thou art straightway with the fiends. 

Pis. O, good my lord! 

Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter 
I will not a.sk again. Close villain, 
I '11 have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? 
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
A dram of worth be drawn. 

Pis. Alas, my lord. 

How can she be with Iiim? When was she miss'd? 
He is in Rome. 

Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer; 

No further halting: satisfy me home 
What is become of her? 

Pis. O, myall-worthy lord! 

Clo. All-worthy villain! 

Discover where thy mistress is, at once. 
At the next word,— No more of worthy lord,— 
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
Thy condemnation and thy death. 

Pis. Then, sir, 

This paper is the history of my knowledge 
Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter. 

Clo. Let 's see 't:— I will pursue her 

Even to Augustus' throne. 

Pis. Or this, or perish. 

She 's far enough; and what he learns by this. 
May prove his travel, not her danger. [.iside. 

Clo. Humph! 

Pis. I '11 write to my lord she 's dead. O Imogen, 
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again! [Aside. 

Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true? 

Pis. Sir, as I think. 

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know 't.— Sirrah, if 
thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true serv- 
ice, undergo those employments wherein I should 
have cause to use thee, with a serious industry,— 
that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to per- 
form it directly and truly,— I would think thee an 
honest man; thou should'st neither want my means 
for thy relief nor my voice for thy preferment. 

Pis. Well, my good lord. 

Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently 
and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune 
of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the 
course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of 
mine. Wilt thou serve me? 

Pis. Sir, I will. 

Clo. Give me thy hand, here 's my purse. Hast any 
of thy late master's garments in thy possession? 

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit 
he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. 

Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch tliat suit 
hither: let it be thy first service; go. 

Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit. 

Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven: — I forgot to ask 
him one thing; I 'U remember it anon:— Even there, 
thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee— I would 
these garments were come. She said upon a time 
(the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart), that 
she held the very garment of Posthumus in more 
respect than my noble and natural person, together 
with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit 
upon my back will I ravish her: First kill him, and 
in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which 
will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the 
ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead 
body,— and when my lust hath dined (which, as I say, 
to vex her I will execute in the clothes that she so 

g raised), to the court I '11 knock her back, foot her 
ome again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and 
I '11 be merry in my revenge. 

Re-enter Pisanio, with the clothes. 
Be those the garments? 

Pis. Ay, my noble lord. 

Clo. How long is 't since she went to Milford-Haven? 

Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the 
second thing that I have commanded thee; the third 
is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. 
Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender 
itself to thee. — My revenge is now at Milford: 
'Would I had wings to follow it!— Come, and be 
true. [Exit. 

Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss: for, true to tnee 
Were to prove false, which I will never be 
To him that is most true. To Milford go. 
And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow. 
You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed 
Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed! [Ex. 

Scene Y1.— Before the Cave of Belarius. 

Enter Imogen, in boy's clothes. 

Imo. 1 see a man's life is a tedious one: i 

I have tir'd myself; and for two nights together 
Have made the ground my bed. I should oe sick. 
But that my resolution helps me.— Milford, 
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, 
Thou wast within a ken; O Jove! I think 
Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean. 
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told 

me 
I could not miss my way: Will poor folks lie. 
That have afflictions on them; knowing 't is 
A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder, 
When rich ones scarce tell true: To lapse in fulness 
Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood 
Is worse in kings than beggars.— My dear lord! 
Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee 
My hunger 's gone; but even before I was 
At point to sink for food.— But what is this? 
Here is a path to it: 'T is some savage hold: 
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine, 
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature makes it valiant. 
Plenty, and peace, breeds ouwards; hardness ever 
Of hardness is mother.— Ho! who 's here? 
If any thing that 's civil, speak;— if savage- 
Take, or lend.— Ho!- No answer? then I ll enter. 
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy 
But fear the sword like me, he '11 scarcely look on 't. 
Such a foe, good heavens! [She goes into the cave. 



884 



CTMBELINE. 



LACT IT. 



Enter Belarius, Gulderlus, and Arviragus. 

Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'O best woodman, 
and 
An- master of the feast: Cadwal, and I, 
Will play the cook, and servant; 't is our match: 
The sweat of industry would dry, and die. 
But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs 
Will make what "s homely savoury: Weariness 
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth 
yinds the down pillow hard.— Now, peace be here, 
Poor house that keep'st thyseltl 

Otii. I am throughly weary. 

Arc. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. 

Gut. There is cold meat i' the cave; we '11 browze 
on that 
Whilst what we have kiU'd be cook'd. 

Bel. , Stay; come not in: 

[Looking in. 
But that it eats our victuals I should think 
Here were a fairy. 

Gui. What 's the matter, sir? 

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not. 
An earthly paragon!— Behold divlneness 
No elder than a boy! 

Enter Imogen. 

Imo. Good masters, harm me not: 
Before I enter'd here I call'd; and thought 
To have begg'd, or bought what I have took: Good 

troth, 
I have stolen nought; nor would not, though I had 

found 
Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here 's money for my 

meat: 
I would have left it on the board, so soon 
As I had made my meal; and parted 
With prayers for the provider. 

Gui. Money, youth? 

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! 
As 't is no better reckon'd, but of those 
Who worship dirty gods. 

Imo. I see you are angry: 

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
Have died had I not made it. 

Bel. Whither bound? 

Imo. To Mllford-Haven. 

Bel. What Is your name? 

Imo. Fidele, sir: I have a kinsman who 
Is bound tor Italy; he embark'd at Miltord; 
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, 
I am fallen in this offence. 

Bel. Prithee, fair youth. 

Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds 
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd! 
'T is almost night: you shall have better cheer 
Ere you depart; and thanks, to stay and eat it. 
Boys, bid him welcome. 

Oi<i. Were you a woman, youth, 

I shou-ld woo hard but be your groom.— In honesty, 
I bid for you as I do buy. 

Arv. I'll make 't my comfort, 

He is a man; I '11 love him as my brother:— 
And such a welcome as I 'd give to him 
After long absence, such is yours;— Most welcome! 
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 

Imo. 'Mongst friends! 

If brothers-'— Would it had been so, that they 
Hart been my father's sons, then had my prize 
Been less; and so more equal ballasting 
To thee, Posthumus. \ Aside. 

Bel. He wrings at some distress. 

Gu,i. 'Would I could tree 't! 

Arv. Or I; whate'er it be, 

What pain It cost, what danger! Gods! 

Bel. Hark, boys. [Whispering. 

Imo. Great men. 
That had a court no bigger than this cave. 
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue 
Which their own conscience seal'd them (laying by 
That nothing gift of differing, multitudes). 
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! 
I'd change my sex to be companion with them, 
Since Leonatus false. 

Bel, It shall be so. 

Boys, we '11 go dress our hunt.— Pair youth, come in; 
Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd, 
We '11 mannerly demand tnee of thy story. 
So far as thou wilt speak it. 

Gui. Pray, draw near. 

Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark, 
less welcome. 

Imo. Thanks, sir. 

Arv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII.— Rome. 
Enter Tmio Senators and Tribunes. 

1 Sen. This is the tenor of the emperor's writ: 
That since the common men are now in action 
'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, 

And that the legions now in Gallia are 
Full weak to undertake our wars against 
The fallen-off Britons, that we do incite 
The gentry to this business. He creates 
Lucius pro-consul: and to you the tribunes. 
For this immediate levy, he commands 
His absolute commission. Long live Ceesar! 
Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces? 

2 Sen. Ay. 
Tri. Remaining now in Gallia? 

1 Sen. With those legions 

Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
Must be supplyant: The words of your commission 
Will tie you to the numbers, and the time 
Of their despatch. 

Tri. We will discharge our duty. [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
Scene I.— The Forest, near the Cave. 
Enter Cloten. 
Clo. I am near to the place where they should 
meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his 
garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who 
was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? 
the rather (saving reverence of the word) for 't is 
said, a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must 
play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, (for it 
is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in 
his own chamber,) I mean, the lines of my body are 
as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not 
beneath him In fortunes, l)eyond him in the advan- 
tage of the time, above him in birth, alike conver- 
sant in general services, and more remarkable in 



single oppositions: yet this imper.severant thing loves 
him In my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, 
thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, 
shall within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; 
thy garments cut to pieces before thy face: and all 
this done, spurn her home to her father: who may, 
haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage: but 
my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn 
all into my commendations. M.y horse is tied up 
safe: Out, sword, and to a sore purpose! Fortune, 
put them into my hand! This is the very description 
of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not de- 
ceive me. [ Kxit. 

Scene Il.—Befo7-e the Cave. 

Enter, from the Cave, Belarius, Gulderlus, 

Arviragus, and Imogen. 

Bel. You are not well: [To Imogen] remain here in 
the cave; 
We '11 come to you after hunting. 

Arv. Brother, stay here: 

[Tp Imogen. 
Are we not brothers? 

Imo. So man and man should be; 

But clay and clay differs in dignity. 
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 

Gui. Go you to hunting: I "11 abide with him. 

Imo. So sick I am not;— yet lam not well: 
But not so citizen a wanton, as 
To seem to die, ere sick: So please you, leave me; 
Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom 
Is breach of all. I am ill; but your being by me 
Cannot amend me: Society is no comfort 
To one not sociable: I am not very sick. 
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here: 
I '11 rob none but myself; and let me die. 
Stealing so poorly. 

Old. I love thee; I have spoke it: 

How much the quantity, the weight as much, 
As I do love my father. 

Bel. What? how? how? 

Arv. If It be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
In my good brother's fault: I know not why 
I love this youth; and I have heard you say. 
Love's reason 's without reason; the bier at door. 
And a demand who is 't shall die, I 'd say, 
' My father, not this youth.' 

Bel. O noble strain! [Aside. 

worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! 
Cowards father cowai-ds, and base things sire base: 
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. 

1 'm not their father; yet who this should be 
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.— 

'T Is the ninth hour of the morn. 

Arv. Brother, farewell. 

Imo. I wish ye sport. 

A^-v. You health.— So please you, sir. 

Imo. [^side.] These are kind creatures. Gods, what 
lies I have heard! 
Our courtiers say all 's savage, but at court: 
Experience, O, thou disprov'st report! 
The imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish. 
Poor tributary rivers as sweet flsh. 
I am sick still; heart sick:— Pisanio, 
I '11 now taste of thy drug. 

Gui. I could not stir him: 

He said he was gentle, but unfortunate: 
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 

Arv. Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter 
I might know more. 

Bel. To the tleld, to the field:- 

We '11 leave you for this time: go in and rest. 

Arv. We '11 not be long away. 

Bel. Pray, be not sick. 

For you must be our housewife. 

Imo. Well, or ill, 

I am bound to you. 

Bel. And shalt be ever. [ Exit Imo. 

This youth, howe'er dlstress'd he appears, hath had 
Good ancestors. 

Arv. How angel-like he sings! 

Gui. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in cha- 
racters; 
And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick 
And he her dieter. 

Arv. Nobly he yokes 

A smiling with a sigh: as if the sigh 
Was that it was, for not being such a smile: 
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly 
From so divine a temple, to commix 
With winds that sailors rail at. 

Gui. I do note 

That grief and patience, rooted in him both. 
Mingle their spurs together. 

Arv. Grow, patience! 

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
His perishing root with the Increasing vine! 

Bel. It is great morning. Come; away.— Who 's 
there? 

Enter Cloten. 

Clo. Icannot find those runagates: that villain 
Hath mock'd me;— I am faint. 

Bel. Those runagates! 

Means he not us? I partly know him; 't is 
Cloten, the son of the queen. I fear some ambush. 
I saw him not these many years, and yet 
I know 't is he:— We are held as outlaws:— Hence. 

Gui. He is but one: You and my brother search 
What companies are near: pray you, away; 
Let me alone with him. 

[Exeunt Balarlus and Arviragus. 

Clo. Soft! What are you 

That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers? 
I have heard of such. — What slave art thou? 

Gui. A thing 

More slavish did I ne'er, than answering 
A slave without a knock. 

Clo. Thou art a robber, 

A law breaker, avlllain: Yield thee, thief. 

Gxii. To who? to thee? Who art thou? Have not I 
An arm as big as thine? a Iieart as big? 
Thy words, I grant, are bigger: for I wear not 
My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art. 
Why I should yield to thee? 

Clo. Thou villain base, 

Know'st me not by my clothes? 

Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal. 

Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes. 
Which, as it seems, make thee. 

Clo. Thou precious varlet. 

My tailor made them not. 

Gui. Hence, then, and thank 



The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; 
1 am loath to beat thee. 

Clo. Thou injurious thief. 

Hear but my name, and tremble. 

Gui. What 's thy name? 

C/o. Cloten, thou villain. 

Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, 
I cannot tremble at it: were 't toad, or adder, 

spider, 
'T would move nie sooner. 

Clo. To thy further fear. 

Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 
I 'm son to the queen. 

G in. I 'm sorry for 't; not seeming 

So worthy as thy birth. 

Clo. Art not afeard? 

Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear; the wise: 
At fools I laugh, not fear them. 

Clo. Die the death: 

When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
I '11 follow those that even now fled hence. 
And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads: 
Yield, rtstic mountaineer. [Exeunt, fighting. 

Enter Belarius and Arviragus. 

Bel. No company 's abroad. 

Ar^. None in the world: You did mistake him 
sure. 

Bel, 1 cannot tell. Long is it since I saw him. 
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour 
Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice. 
And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute 
'T was very Cloten. 

Arv. In this place we left them; 

I wish my brother make good time with him. 
You say he Is so fell. 

Bel. Being scarce made up, 

I mean, to man, he had not apprehension 
Of roaring terrors, for defect of judgment. 
As oft the cause of fear: But see, thy brother. 

Re-enter Gulderlus, with Cloten 's head. 

Gui, This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse,— 
There was no money In 't: not Hercules 
Could have knockd out his brains, for he had none: 
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne 
My head, as I do his. 

Bel. What hast thou done? 

Gui. I am perfect, what: cut off one (iloten's head. 
Son to the queen, after his own report; 
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer; and swore, 
With his own single hand he'd take us In, 
Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they 

grow. 
And set them on Lud's town. 

Bel. We are all undone. 

Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose. 
But, that he swore to take, our lives? The lasv 
Protects not us: Then why should we be tender 
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us; 
Play judge and executioner, all himself. 
For we do fear the law? What company 
Di.scoveryou abroad? 

Bel. No single soul 

Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason 
He must have some attendants. Tliough his humour 
Was nothing but mutation,— ay, and that 
From one bad thing to worse,— not frenzy, not 
Absolute madness could so far have rav'd. 
To bring him here alone; Although, perhaps, 
It may be heard at court, that such as we 
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time 
May make some stronger head; the which he hear- 
ing, 
(As it is like him,) might breakout, and swear 
He 'd fetch us in; yet Is 't not probable 
Tocome alone, either heso undertaking, 
Or they so suffering: then on good gound we fear. 
If we do fear this body hath a tail 
More perilous than the head. 

Arv. Let ordinance 

Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er, 
My brother hath done well. 

Bel. I had no mind 

To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness 
Did make my way long forth. 

Gui. With his own sword. 

Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en 
His head from him: I '11 throw 't into the creek 
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea. 
And tell the fishes he 's the queen's son, Cloten: 
That 's all I reck. [Exit. 

Bel. I fear, 't will be reveng'd : 

'Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done 't! though 

valour 
Becomes thee well enough. 

Arv. 'Would I had done 't, 

So the revenge alone pursued me!— Polydore, 
Hove thee brotherly; but envy much 
Thou hast robb'd meof this deed: I would, revenges. 
That possible strength might meet, would seek us 

through 
And put us to our answer. 

Bel. Well, 't is done:— 

We '11 hunt no more today, nor seek for danger 
Where there 's no profit. I prithee, to our rock; 
You and Fidele play the cooks; I '11 stay 
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 
To dinner presently. 

Arv. Poor sick Fidele! 

I '11 willingly to him: To gain his colour, 
I 'd let a parish of such Clotens blood. 
And praise myself for charity. [Exit, 

Bel. O thou goddess. 

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
In these.two princely boys! They are as gentle 
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet. 
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough. 
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind. 
That by the top doth take the mountain pine 
And make him stoop to the vale. 'T is wonder 
That an Invisible instinct should frame them 
To royalty unlearn'd;honourimtaught; 
Civility not seen from otlier: valour, 
■That wildly grows in them, but .vields a crop 
.^slf it had been sow'd! Yet still it 's strange 
WliatCloten's being here to us portends, 
Or what his death will bring us. 

Re-enter Gulderlus. 

Gui. Where's my brother? 

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream. 
In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage 
For his return. | Solemn imisic. 



SCBNK 1 1.1 



CYMBELINE. 



285 



t Bel. My ingenious Instrument! 

Hark, Polydore, It sounds! But what occasion 
Hath Cadwal now to give It motion? Hark! 

Qui. Is he at home? 

Bel. He went hence even now. 

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st 
mother 
It did not speak before. All solemn things 
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? 
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys. 
Is Jollity for apes and griefs for boys. 
Is Cadwal mad? 

Re-enter Arviragus, bearing Imogen as dead in 
his anns. 

Bel. Look, here he comes. 

And brings, the dire occasion in Ills arms. 
Of what we blame him for! 

Arv. The bird is dead. 

That we have made so much on. I had rather 
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty. 
To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch^ 
Than have seen this. 

Oui. O sweetest, fairest lily! 

My brother wear.s thee not tlie one half so well. 
As when thou grew'st thyself. 

Bel. O, melancholy! 

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find 
The ooze, to show what coast tliy sluggish crare 
Might easillest harbour in?— Thou blessed thing! 
Jove knows wliat man thou might'st have made: 

but I, 
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy! 
How found you him? 

Arv. Stark, as you see: 

Thus .smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber. 
Not as deatirs dart, being laugh'd at: his right 

cheek 
Reposing on a cushion. 

Gin. Where? 

Arv. O' the floor; 

His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept; and put 
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rude- 
ness 
Answer'd my steps too loud. 

Gill. Why, he but sleeps: 

If he be gone, he '11 make his grave a bed; 
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, 
And worms will not come to thee. 

Art\ With fairest flowers, 

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
I '11 sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack 
The flower that 's like thy face, pale primrose; nor 
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor 
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
Outsweeten'd 7iot thy breath: the ruddock would. 
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming 
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers He 
Without a monument!) bring thee all this; 
Yea, and f urr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, 
To winter-ground thy corse. 

Gvi. Prithee, have done; 

And do not play in wench-like words with that 
Which is so serious. Let us bury him. 
And not protract with admiration what 
Is now due debt. To the grave. 

Arv. Say, where shall 's lay him? 

Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 

Ai-v. Be 't so: 

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 
Have got the mannish crack, smg him to the ground, 
As once our mother; use like note, and words, 
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 

Gui. Cadwal, 
I cannot sing: I '11 weep, and word it with thee: 
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse 
Than priests and fanes that lie. 

Arv. We 'II speak it then. 

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for 
Cloten 
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys: 
And, though he came our enemv, remember 
He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty, 

rotting 
Together, have one dust; yet reverence 
(That angel of the world) doth make distinction 
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; 
And though you took his life, as being our foe. 
Yet bury him as a prince. 

Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. 

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, 
When neither are alive. 

Arv. If you '11 go fetch him, 

We '11 say our song the whilst.— Brother, begin. 

[Exit Belarius. 

Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the 
east: 
My fatlier hath a reason for 't. 

Arv. 'T is true. 

Gui. C«me on then, and remove him. 

Arv. So,— Begin, 

SONG. 

Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun. 

Nor the furious winter's rages; 
Thou thy worldly task hast done. 

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages. 
Golden lads and girls all must, 
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Arv. Bear no more the frown o' the great, 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 

Care no more to clothe, and eat; 
To thee the reed is as the oak: 

The sceptre, learning, physic, must 

All follow this, and come to dust. 

Gui. Fear no more the lightning flash; 
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; 
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Arv. Thou hast finished joy and moan: 
Both. Ail lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
Gui. No exorciser harm thee! 
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
Ai-v. Nothing ill come near thee! 
Both. Quiet consummation have; 

And renowned be thy grave! 

Reenter Belarius, with the body of Cloten. 
Out, We have done our ob.sequies: Come, lay him 



Bel. Here "s a few flowers: but about midnight, 
more: 
The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night 
Are strewlngs fltt'st for graves.— Upon their faces:— 
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so 
These herb'lcts shall, which we upon you strow.— 
Come on, away; apart upon our knees. 
The ground, that gave them first, has them again: 
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 

[Exeunt Belarius, Gutderlus, ana Arviragus. 

Imo. [Awaking.[ Yes, sir, to IVIllford-Haven,— 
Which is the way? 
I thank you.— By yon bush?— Pray, how far thither? 
'Ods pittikins!— can it be six miles yet?— 
I have gone all night:— 'Faith, I 'II lie down and 

sleep. ■ 
But, soft! no bedfellow:— O, gods and goddesses! 

[Seeing the body. 
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; 
This bloody man, the care on 't.— I hope I dream; 
For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper. 
And cook to honest creatures: But 't Is not so; 
'T was but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing. 
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes 
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good 

faith, 
I tremble still with fear; But if there be 
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! 
The dream 's here still: even when I wake It Is 
Without me, as within me: not imagin'd, felt. 
A headless man!— The garments of Posthumus! 
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand; 
His foot Mercurial: his Martial thigh; 
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face— 
Murtherin heaven?— How?— 'T is gone.— Pisanio, 
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, 
Conspir'd with that irreguious devil, Cloten, 
Hast here cut off my lord.— To write and read 
Be henceforth treacherous!— Damn'd Pisanio — 
Hath with his forged letters,— damn'd Pisanio— 
From this most bravest vessel of the world 
Struck the maintop!— O, Posthumus! alas. 
Where is thy head? where 's that? Ah me! where 's 

that? 
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, 
And left this head on.— How should this be? Pisanio? 
'T is he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them 
Have laid this woe here. O, 't is pregnant, pregnant! 
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious 
And cordial to me, have I not found it 
Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms It home: 
This Is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!— 
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
That we the horrlder may seem to those 
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord! 

Enter Luculs, o Captain, and other Officers, and 
a Soothsayer, 

Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd In Gallia, 
After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending 
You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships: 
They are here in readiness. 

Luc. But what from Rome? 

Cap. The senate hath stlrr'd up the confiners 
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits 
That promise noble services: and they come 
Under the conduct of bold lachimo. 
Sienna's brother. 

Luc. When expect you them? 

Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. 

L^ic. This forwardness 

Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present num- 
bers 
Be muster'd; bid the captains look to 't.— Now, sir. 
What liave you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur- 
pose? 

Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vi- 
sion: 
(I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus:— 
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 
From the spongy south to this part of the west. 
There vanish'd in the .sunbeams: which portends, 
(Unless my sins abuse my divination,) 
Success to the Roman host. 

Luc. Dream often so, 

And never false.— Soft, ho! what trunk Is here 
Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime 
It was a worthy building.— How! a page!— 
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather: 
For nature doth abhor to make his bed 
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.— 
Let 's see the boy's face. 

Cap. He is alive, my lord. 

lAic, He '11 then Instruct us of this body.— Young 
one. 
Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems 
They crave to be demanded: Who is this 
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillowy Or who was he. 
That, otherwise than noble nature did. 
Hath alter'd that good picture? What 's thy inter- 
est 
In this sad wrack? How came It? Who is it? 
What art thou? 

Imo. I am nothltig: or if not. 

Nothing to be were better. 'This was my master. 
A very valiant Briton, and a good. 
That here by mountaineers lies slain:— Alas! 
There are no more such masters: I may wander 
From east to Occident, cry out for service. 
Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
Find such another master. 

Luc. 'Lack, good youth! 

Thou mov'st no less with thy complaming, than 
Thy master in bleeding: Say his name, good friend. 

Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do 
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope 
They '11 pardon it. [Aside^ Say you, sir? 

Luc. Thy name? 

Imo. Fidele, sir. 

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same: 
Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith thy name. 
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say 
Thou Shalt be so well master'd: but, be sure. 
No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, 
Sent by a counsel to me, should not sooner 
Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me. 

Imo. I '11 follow, sir. But first, an 't please the gods, 
I '11 hide my master from the flies, as deep 
As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when 
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd bis 

grave. 
And on It said a century ot prayers. 



Such as I can, twice o'er, I '11 weep, and sigh; 
And, leaving .so his service, follow you. 
So please you entertain me. 

Lnc. Ay, good youth; 

And rather father thee than master thee.— 
My friends. 

The boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us 
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, 
And make him with our pikes and partisans 
A grave: Come; arm him.— Boy, lie is preferr'd 
By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd 
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe tliine eyes: 
Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exe. 

Scene \l\.~A Room in Cymbellne's Palace. 
Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio. 

Cym. Again; and bring me word how 't is with her. 
A fever with the absence of her son; 
A madness, of which her life 's in danger:— Heavens, 
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, 
The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen 
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time 
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone. 
So needful for this present: It strikes me, past 
The hope of comfort.— But for thee, fellow. 
Who needs must know of her departure, and 
Dost seem so ignorant, we '11 enforce it from thee 
By a sharp torture. 

Pis. Sir, my life Is yours, 

I humbly set it at your will: But for my mistress, 
I nothing know w here she remains, why gone. 
Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your high- 
ness. 
Hold me your loyal servant. 

1 Lord. Good my liege. 

The day that she was missing he was here: 
I dare be bound he 's true, and shall perform 
All parts of his subjection loyally. 
For Cloten,— 

There wants no diligence In seeking him. 
And win, no doubt, be found. 

Cym. The time is troublesome: 

We '11 slip you for a season; but our jealousy 

I To Pisanio. 
Does yet depend. 

1 Lord. So please your majesty. 

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, 
Are landed on your coast; with a supply 
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and queen! 
I am amaz'd with matter. 

1 Lord. Good my liege, 

Your preparation can affront no less 
Than what you hear of: come more, for more you 

're ready; 
The want is, but to put those powers In tiiotlon 
That long to move. 

Cym. I thank you: Let 's withdraw: 

And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not 
What can from Italy annoy us; but 
We grieve at chances here.— Away. [Exeunt. 

Pis. I heard no letter from my master since 
I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'T is strange: 
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise 
To yield me often tidings: Neither know I 
What is betid to Cloten; but remain 
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work: 
Wherein I am false I am honest; not true to be true. 
These present wars shall find I love my country, 
Even to the note o' the king, or I '11 fall in them. 
All other doubts by time let them be clear'd: 
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. 

[Exit. 
Scene IV.— Before the Cave. 
Enter Belarius, Guiderlus, and Arviragus. 

Gui. The noise is round about us. 

Bel. Let us from It. 

Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it 
From action and adventure? 

Gui, Nay, what hope 

Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans 
Must or for Britons slay us: or receive us 
For barbarous and unnatural revolts 
During their use, and slay us after. 

Bel. Sons, 

We '11 higher to the mountains; there secure us. 
To the king's party there 's no going: newness 
Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd 
Among the bands) may drive us to a render 
Where we have liv'd; and so extort from us that 
Which we have done, w hose answer would be death 
Drawn on with torture. 

Gui. This is, sir, a doubt 

Insuch a time nothing becomlngyou, 
Nor satisfying us. 

Arv. It Is not likely 

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh. 
Behold their quarter' d fires, have both their eyes 
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, 
That they will waste their time upon our note. 
To know from whence we are. 
Bel. O, I am known 

Of many in the army: many years. 
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore 

him 
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king 
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves; 
Who find in my exile the want of breeding. 
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless 
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd. 
But to be still hot summer's taniings, and 
The shrinking slaves of winter. 

Gui. Than be so. 

Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army: 
I and my brother are not known; yourself 
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown. 
Cannot be question'd. 

Arv. By this sun that shines, 

I '11 thither: What thing is it, that I never 
Did see man die? scarce ever look'd on blood. 
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison? 
Never bestrid a horse, save one. that had, 
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
Nor iron on his heel? I am asham'd 
To look upon the holy sun, to have 
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining 
So long a poor unknown. 

Gui. B.y heavens, I "11 go: 

If you win bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
I '11 take the better care; but If you will not, 
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by 
The hands of Romans! 



CYMBELINE. 



[Act v- 



Arv. So say I; Amen. 

Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set 
So slight a valuation, sliould reserve 
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys: 
If In your oountry wars yon chance to die. 
That Is my bed too, lads, and there I 'U lie; 
Lead, lead.— The time seems long- their blood thinks 
scorn, {Aside. 

Till It fly out and show them princes born. [Exe. 

ACT V. 

Scene I.— A Field between the British and 
Roman Camps. 

Enter Posthumus, tvith a bloody handkerchief. 
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I '11 keep thee; for I am 
wish'd 
Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones, 
If each of you should take this course, how many 
Must niurtlier wives much better than themselves. 
For wrying but a little!— O, Pisaniol 
Every good servant does not all cominaiids; 
No bond, but to do just ones.— Godsl if you 
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never 
Had liv'd to put on this: so had you saved 
The noble Imogen to repent; and struck 
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance: But, 

alack, 
YoH snatch some hence for little faults; that 's love 
To have them fall no more: you some permit 
To second ills with ills, each elder worse. 
And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift. 
But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills. 
And make me bless'd to obeyl— I am brought hith- 
er 
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight 
Against my lady's kingdom: 'T is enough 
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress. Peace! 
I '11 give no wound to thee. Therefore, good hea- 
vens. 
Hear patiently my purpose; I 'II disrobe me 
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself 
As does a Briton peasant: so I '11 fight 
Against the part I come with; so I '11 die 
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my lite 
Is, every breath, a death: and tlius, unknowu, 
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
Myself I '11 dedicate. Let me make men know 
More valour in me, than my habits show. 
Gods, put the streirgtii o' the Leonati In me! 
"To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin 
The fashion less without, and more within. [Exit. 

Scene II.— rfte same. 

Enter at one door Lucius, lachimo, and the Roman 
army; and the British army at another. Leon- 
atus Posthumus following, like a poor soldier. 
They march over, and go out. Then enter again 
in skirmish, lachimo and Posthumus: he van- 
quisheth and disarmeth lachimo, and then leaves 
him. 

lach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom 
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady, 
The princess of this country, and the air on 't 
Revengingly enfeebles me. Or, could this carl, 
\ very drudge of nature's, have subdued me. 
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, 

borne 
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
It that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. f JEc. 
The battle continues; the Britons fly; Cymbeline is 
taken; then enter, to his rescue, Belarius, Guiderius, 
and Arviragus. 

Bel. Stand, stand! we have the advantage of the 
ground; 
The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but 
The villainy of our fears. 

6v.i. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight! 

Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They 
rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter Lu- 
cius, lachimo, and Imogen. 

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy- 
self: 
For friends kill friends, and the disorder 's such 
As war were hoodwink'd. 
laeh. 'T is their fresh supplies. 

Luc. It Is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes 
Let 's reinforce, or fly. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Another Part of the Field. 
Enter Posthumus and a British Lord. 
Lord Cam'st thou from where they made the 

stand? 
Post. I did; 
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. 
Lord. I did. 

Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost. 
But that the heavens fought: The king himself 
Of his wings destitute, the army broken, 
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 
Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted. 
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work 
More plentiful than tools to do 't, struck down 
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was 

damm'd 
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living 
To die with lengthen'd shame. 
Lord. Where was this lane? 

Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with 

turf; 
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,— 
An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd 
So long a breeding as his white beard came to. 
In doing this for his country,— athwart the lane. 
He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run 
The country base, than to commit such slaughter; 
With faces fit tor masks, or rather fairer 
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,) 
Made good the passage; cry'd to tliose that fled, 
• Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men: 
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards! Stand; 
Or we are Romans, and will give you that 
Like beasts, which you shun beastly; and may save. 
But to look back in frown: stand, stand.'— These 

three. 
Three thousand confident, in act as many, 
(For three performers are the file when all 
The rest do nothing,) with this word, 'stand, stand,' 
Accommodated by the place, more charming 



With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd 

A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks. 

Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd 

coward 
But by example (O, sin in war, 
Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look 
The way that they did, and to 'grin like lions 
Upon the ijikes o" the hunters. Then began 
A stop i' the chaser, a retire; anon, 
A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith, they fly 
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; 

slaves. 
The strides they victors made: And now our cow- 
ards 
{Like fragments in hard voyages) became 
The life o' the need, having found the back-door 

open 
Cf the unguarded hearts: Heavens, how they 

wound! 
Some slain before; some dying; some their friends 
O'er-borne i' the former wave; ten, cha.s'd by one. 
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty: 
Those that would die or ere resist are grown 
The mortal bugs o' the field. 

Lord. This was strange chance: 

A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys! 

Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: You are made 
Rather to wonder at the things you hear. 
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon 't. 
And vent it for a mockery? Here is one: 
'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, 
Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.' 

Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 

Post. 'Lack, to what end! 

Who dares not stand his foe, I '11 be his friend: 
For if he 'II do, as he is made to do, 
I know he '11 quickly fly my friendship too. 
You have put me into rhyme. 

Lord. Farewell; you are angry. 

lExit. 

Post. Still going?— This is a lord! O noble misery! 
To be i' the Held, and ask what news of me! 
To-day, how many would have given their honours 
To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to do 't. 
And yet died too? I, In mine own woe charm'd. 
Could not find death where I did hear him groan; 
Nor feel him where he struck: Being an ugly mon- 
ster, 
'T is strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we 
That draw his knives 1' the war. — WelU I will find 

him: 
For being now a favourer to the Briton, 
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again 
The part I came in: Fight I will no more. 
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall 
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is 
Here made by the Roman; great the answer be 
Britons must take; For me, my ransom's death; 
On either side I come to spend my breath; 
Which neither here I "11 keep, nor bear again, 
But end It by some means for Imogen. 

Enter Two Captains, ajid Soldiers. 

1 Cap. Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken: 
'T is thoiight the old man and his sons were angels. 

2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit. 
That gave the affront with them. 

1 Cap. So 't is reported: 
But none of them can be found.— Stand! who is 

there? 
Post. A Roman; 
Who had not now been drooping here, If seconds 
Had answer'd him. 

2 Cap. Lay hands on him; a dog! 
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 

What crows have peck'd them here: He brags his 

service 
As if he were of note: bring him to the king. 
Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, 
Pisanio, and Roman Captives. The Captains pre- 
sent Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him 
over to a Gaoler. 

Scene IV.—A Prison. 
Enter Posthumus, and Two Gaolers. 

1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have 

locks upon you; 
So, graze, as you find pasture. 

2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. 

[Exennt Gaolers. 
Post. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way 
I think, to liberty: Yet am I better 
Than one that 's sick o' the gout: since he had 

rather 
Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd 
By the sure physician, death, who is the key 
To unbar these locks. My conscience' thou art fet- 

ter'd 
More than my shanks and wrists: You good gods, 

give me 
The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, 
Then, free for ever! Is 't enough I am sorry? 
So children temporal fathers do appease; 
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent? 
I cannot dolt better than in gyves, 
Desir'd, more than constrain'd: to satisfy, 
If of my freedom 't is the main part, take 
No stricter render of me, than my all. 
I know you are more clement than vile men, 
Who of their broken debtors take a third, 
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again 
On their abatement: that 's not my desire: 
For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though 
'T is not so dear, yet 't Is a life; you coin'd it: 
'Tween man and man, they weigh not ever.y stamp; 
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake: 
You rather mine, being yours: And so, great powers, 
If you will take this audit, take this lite. 
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! 
I '11 speak to thee in silence. [Re sleeps. 

Solemn Music. Entet; as in an apparition, Sicilius 
Leonatus, father to Posthumus, an old man, at- 
tired like a warrior; leading in hishandan ancient 
matron, his wife, and mother to Posthumus, with 
music befoie them. Then, after other music, follow 
the two young Leonati, brothers to Posthumus, with 
wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle Pos- 
thumus round, as he lies .sleeping. 
Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show 
Thy spite on mortal flies; 
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, 
That thy adulteries 



Rates and revenges. 
Hath my poor boy done aught but well. 

Whose face I never saw? 
I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd 

Attending Nature's law. 
Whose father then (as men report. 

Thou orphan's father art), 
Thou should'st have been, and shielded him - 
From this earth-vexing smart. 
Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid. 
But took me in my throes; 
That from me was Posthumus ripp'd. 
Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
A thmg of pity.' 
Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry. 
Moulded the stuff so fair. 
That he deserv'd the praise o' the world, 
As great Sicilius' heir. 

1 Bro. When once he was mature for man. 

In Britain where was he 
That could stand up his parallel; 

Or fruitful object be 
In eye of Imogen, that best 

Could deem his dignity? 
Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd; 

To be exil'd, and thrown 
From Leonati's seat, and cast 

From her his dearest one. 
Sweet Imogen? 
Sici. Why did you suffer lachimo. 

Slight thing of Italy, 
To taint his nobler heart and brain 

With needless jealousy; 
And to become the geek and scorn 

0' the other's villany? 

2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came, 

Our parents and us twain. 
That, striking in our country's cause. 

Fell bravely, and were slain; 
Our fealty, and Tenantius' right. 

With honour to maintain. 

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 

To Cymbeline perform'd: 
Then Jupiter, thou king of gods. 

Why hast thou thus ad journ'd 
The graces tor his merits due; 

Being all to dolours turn'd: 
Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out; 

No longer exercise. 
Upon a valiant race, thy harsh 

And potent injuries. 
Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, 

Take off his miseries. 
Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help! 

Or we poor ghosts will cry 
To the shining synod of the rest. 

Against thy deity. 

2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, 

And from thy Justice fiy. 

Jupiter descend!,'! in thunder and lightning, sitting 

upon an eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The 

Ghosts /a;j on their knees. 

Jiip. No more, you petty spirits of regions low. 

Offend our hearing: hush!- How dare you ghosts 
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know, 

Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? 
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest 

Upon your never-withering banks of fiowers: 
Be not with mortal accidents opprest; 

No care of yours it is; you know, 't is ours. 
Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift. 

The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; 
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift: 

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent 
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 

Our temple was he married.— Rise, and fade! — 
He shall be lord of lady Imogen, 

And happier much by his affliction made. 
This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein 

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; 
And so, away: no farther with your din 

Express Impatience, lest you stir up mine.— 

Mount, eagle, to my palace crystaline. [Ascends. 

Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath 
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle 
Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is 
More sweet than our bless'd fields: his royal bird 
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak. 
As when his god is pleas'd. 

All. Thanks, Jupiter! 

Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd 
His radiant i-oof :— Away! and to be blest. 
Let us with care perform his great behest. 

[Ghosts vanish. 

Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a, grand- 
sire, and begot 
A father to me: and thou hast created 
A mother, and two brothers; But— O scorn!- 
Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born. 
And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend 
On greatness' favour dream as I have done; 
Wake, and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve: 
Many dream not to find, neither deserve, 
And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I, 
That have this golden chance, and know not why. 
What fairies haunt this ground? A boq^? O rare 

one! 
Be not, as is our f angled world, a garment 
Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects 
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers. 
As good as promise. 

[Reads.] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself 
unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced 
by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately 
cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead 
many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old 
stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end 
his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish la 
peace and plenty.' 

'T is still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen 
Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing: 
Or senseless speaking, ora speakingsuch 
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is. 
The action of my life is like it, which 
I 'U keep, if but for sympathy. 

Enter Gaoler. 

Oaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? 

Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. 



m 



Scene iv.] 



CYMBELINK. 



2sr 



Gaol. Hanging Is the word, sir; If you be ready for 
that you are well cooked. 

Post. So, If I prove a good repast to the spectators 
the dish pays the shot. 

G^ol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir" But the 
comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, 
fear no more tavern bills; which are of ten the sad 
ness of parting, as the procuring of mirth; you come 
in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too 
much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, 
and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and 
brain both empty; the brain the heavier for being 
too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heavi- 
ness: O! of this contradiction you shall now be quit. 
— O, the charity of a penny cordi It sums up thou- 
sands in a trice: you have no true debitor and credit- 
or but it; of what 's past. Is, and to come, the dis- 
charge: Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters; 
so the acquittance follows. 

Post. I am merrier to die than thou art to live. 

Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth- 
ache: But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and 
a hangman to help him to bed, I tldnk he would 
change places with his officer: for, look you, sir, you 
know not which way you shall go. 

Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow. 

Gaol. Your death has ey.es in 's head then; I have 
not seen him so pictured: you must either be direct- 
ed by some that take upon theni to know; or take 
upon yourself that which I am sure you do not 
know; or jump the after-Inquiry on your own peril, 
and how you shall speed ni your journey's end I 
think you 'U never return to tell one. 

Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes 
to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, 
and will not use them. 

Gaol. What an infinite mock Is this, that a man 
should have the best use of eyes to see the way of 
blindness! I am sure hanging 's the way of wink- 
ing. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner 
to the king. 

Post. Thou bring'st good news;— I am call'd to be 
made free. 

Gaol. I'll be hanged then. 

Post. Thou Shalt be then freer than a gaoler: no 
bolts for the dead. 

[Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. 

Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and 
beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, 
on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to 
live, for all he be a Koman: and there be some of 
them too that die against their wills; so should I, if I 
were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one 
mind good: O, there were desolation of gaolers and 
gallowsesi I speak against my present profit; but my 
wish hath preferment in 't. [Ex. 

Scene ■V.-Cymbeline's2'enf. 

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arvlragus, 
Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. 

Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have 
made 
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart, 
That the poor soldier that so richly fought. 
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast 
Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found: 
He shall be happy that can find him, if 
Our grace can make him so. 

Bel. I never saw- 

Such noble fury In so poor a thing; 
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought 
But beggary and poor looks. 

Cym. No tidings of him? 

Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and 
living. 
But no trace of him. 

Cym. To my grief, I am 

The heirof his reward; whicn I will add 
To you the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, 

\To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arvlragus. 
By whom I grant she lives:— 'T is now the time 
To ask of whence you are:— report It. 

Bel. Sir, 

In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen: 
Further to boast were neither true nor modest, 
Unless I add we are honest. 

Cyin. Bow your knees: 

Arise, my knights o' the battle; I ci'eate you 
Companions to our person, and will fit you 
With dignities becoming your estates. 

Enter Cornelius and Ladies. 
There 's business in these faces:— Why so sadly 
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, 
And not o' the court of Britain. 

Cor. Hail, great king! 

To sour your happiness, I must report 
The queen is dead. 

Cym. Whom worse than a physician 

Would this report become? But I consider. 
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 
Will seize the doctor too.— How ended she? 

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life. 
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd 
I will report, so please you: These her women 
Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks, 
Were present when she finish'd. 

Cym. Prithee, say. 

Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you: only 
Aftected greatness got by you, not you; 
Married your royalty, was wife to your place; 
Abhorr'd your person. 

Cym. She alone knew this: 

And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 

Cor. Your daugliter, whom she bore In hand to 
love 
With such integrity, she did confess 
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life. 
But that her flight prevented it, she had 
Ta'en off by poison. 

Cym. Omost delicate fiend! 

Who is 't can read a woman?— Is there more? 

Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess she 
had 
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took. 
Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'rlng. 
By inches waste you: In which time she purpos'd. 
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
O'ercome you with her show; yes, and in time. 



When she had fitted you with her oraft, to work 
Her son into the adoption of the crown: 
But, failing of her end by his strange absence. 
Grew shamelessdespc'i'utc; opcn'd, in despite 
Of heaven and men, her piirixises: repented 
The evils she hatch'd were not effected: so. 
Despairing, died. 

Cym. Heard you all this, lier women? 

Lady. We did, so please your highness. 

Cym. Mine eyes 

Were not in fault, for she was beautifid; 
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart. 
That thought her like her seeming: It had been vi- 
cious 
To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! 
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say. 
And prove it in t hy feeling. Heaven mend all! 

Enter Lucius, lachlmo, the Soothsayer, and other 

Roman prisoners, guarded; Posthumus behind, and 

Imogen. 
Thou com'st not, Caivis, now for tribute; that 
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss 
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit 
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaugh- 
ter 
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted: 
So, think of your estate. 

Lite. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day 
Was yours by accident; had itgone with us, 
We should not, when the blood was cool, have 

threaten'd 
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods 
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
May be call'd ransom, let it come: suflBceth 
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer; 
Augustus lives to think on 't: and so much 
For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born. 
Let him be ransom'd: never master had 
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 
So tender over his occasions, true. 
So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join 
With my request, which, I '11 make bold, your high- 
ness 
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm. 
Though he liave served a Roman: save him, sir, 
And spare no blood beside. 

Cym. I have surely seen him: 

His favour is familiar to me. 
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, 
And art mine own —I know not why, nor wherefore, 
To say live boy: ne'er thank thy master; live: 
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt. 
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I '11 give It; 
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner. 
The noblest ta'en. 

Jmo. I humbly thank your highness. 

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; 
And yet, I know thou wilt. 

Imo. No, no: alack, 

There 's other work In hand; I see a thing 
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, 
Must shuffle for itself. 

Luc. The boy disdains me. 

He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys, 
That place them on the truth of girls and boys. 
Why stands he so perpiex'd? 

Cym. What would'st thou, boy? 

I love thee more and more; think more and more 
What *s best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? 

speak. 
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? 

Imo. He IS a Roman; no more kin to me 
Than I to your highness; who, being born your 

vassal, 
Am something nearer. 

Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so? 

Imo. I 'II tell you, sir, in private. If you please 
To give me hearing. 

Cym. Ay, with all my heart. 

And lend my best attention. What 's thy name? 

Imo. Fidele, sir. 

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page: 

I '11 be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely. 

fCymbeline and Imogen converse apart. 

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? 

Arv. One sand another 

Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad 
Who died, and was Fidele:— What think you? 

Gui. The same dead thing alive. 

Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; 
forbear; 
Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure 
He would have spoke to us. 

Gui. But we saw him dead. 

Bel. Be silent; let 's see further. 

Pis. It is my mistress. [Aside. 

Since she is living, let the time run on 
To good, or bad. 

[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. 

Cym. Come, stand thou by our side; 

Make thy demand aloud.— Sir, [to lach.J step you 

forth; 
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; 
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it. 
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall 
Winnow the truth from falsehood.— On, speak to 
him. 

iino. My boon is, that this gentleman may render 
Of whom he had this ring. 

Post. What 's that to him? [Aside. 

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say 
How came It yours? 

lach. Thou 'It torture me to leave unspoken that 
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 

Cym. How! me? 

lach. I am glad to be constraln'd to utter that 
Which torments me to conceal. By villainy 
I got this ring; 't was Leonatus' jewel: 
Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may 

grieve thee 
As It doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my 
lord? 

Cym. All that belongs to this. 

lach. That paragon, thy daughter,— 

For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits 
Quail to remember,— Give me leave; I faint. 

Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy 
strength: 
I had rather thou should'st live while nature will. 
Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak. 

lach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock 



That struck the hour!) it was In Rome, (accurs'd 

The mansion where!) 't was at a feast, (O 'would 

Our viands had been polson'd! or, at least. 

Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthumus, 

(What should I say? ho was too good, to be 

where ill men were; and was the best of all 

Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly. 

Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 

For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 

Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming 

The shrine of Venus, or straight-plight Minerva, 

Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, 

A shop of all the qualities that man 

Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving. 

Fairness, which strikes the eye:— 

Cym. I stand on fire: 

Come to the matter. 

lach. All too soon I shall. 

Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.— This Posthu- 
mus 
(Most like a noble lord in love, and one 
That hath a royal lover) took this hint; 
And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein 
He was as calm as virtue, )he began 
His mistress' picture; which, by his tongue being 

made. 
And then a mind put in 't, either our brags 
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 
Prov'd us unspeaking sots. 

Cym. Xay, nay, to the purpose. 

lach. Your daughter's chastity— there it begms. 
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams. 
And she alone were cold: Whereat, I, wretch! 
Made scruple of his praise: and wager'd with him 
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore 
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain 
In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring 
By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight. 
No lesser of her honour confident 
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; 
And would so, had it been a carbuncle 
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had It 
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain 
Post I in this design: Well may you, sir. 
Remember me at court, Avhere I was taught 
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 
'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd 
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent; 
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd 
That I return 'd with similar proof enough 
To make the noble Leonatus mad. 
By wounding his belief in her renown 
With tokens, thus and thus; averring notes 
Of chamber hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, 
(O, cunning how I got it!) nay, some marks 
Of secret on her person, that he could not 
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,— 
Methinks I see him now,— 

Post. Ay, so thou dost, 

[Coming forward. 
Italian fiend!— Ah me, most credulous fool. 
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 
That 's due to all the villains past, in being. 
To come'.— O, give me cord, or knife, or poison. 
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out 
For torturers ingenious; it is I 
That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend. 
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 
That kiU'd thy daughter:— villain-like, I lie; 
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
A sacrilegious thief, to do 't:— the temple 
Of virtue was she; yea, and she cast herself. 
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain 
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus: and 
Be villainy less than 't was!— O Imogen! 
My queen, my life, n^y wife! O Imogen, 
Imogen, Imogen! 

Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear!— 

Post. Shall 's have a play of this? Thou scornful 
page. 
There lie thy part. [Striking her: she falls. 

Pis. O, gentlemen, help 

Mine, and your mistress:— O, my lord Posthumus! 
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now:— Help, help!— 
Mine honour'd lady! 

Cym. Does the world go round? 

Post. How come these staggers on me? 

Pis. Wake, my mistress! 

Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 
To death with mortal joy. 

Pis. How fares my mistress? 

Imo. O, get thee from my sight; 
Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! 
Breathe not where princes are! 

Cym. The tune of Imogen! 

Pis. Lady, 
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 
That box I gave you was not thought by me 
A precious thing; I had it from the queen. 

Cym. New matter still? 

Imo. It polson'd me. 

Cor. O gods!— 

I left out one thing which the queen confess'd. 
Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio 
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection 
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd 
As I would serve a rat. 

Cym. What 's this, Cornelius? 

Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me 
To temper poisons for her; still pretending 
The satisfaction of her knowledge only 
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs 
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose 
Was of more danger, did compound for her 
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease 
The present power of life: but, in short time. 
All offices of nature should again 
Do their due functions.— Have you ta'en of It? 

Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. 

Bel. My boys. 

There was our error. 

Gui. This Is sure, Fidele. 

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from 
you? 
Think that you are upon a rock, and now 
Throw me again. [Embracing him. 

Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 

Till the tree die! 

Cy>n. How now, my flesh, my child? 



CORIOLANUS. 



LACT I. 



What, nink'st thou nie a dullard In this act? 
Wilt thou not speak to nie? 

Into. Your bU'SBlng, sir. [Kneeling. 

Btl. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye 
not; 
You had a motive for it. 

[.To Guiderliis and Arvlragus. 

Cym. My tears, that fall, 

Prove hol.v water on thee! Imogen, 
Thy mother 's dead. 

f>no. I am sorry for 't, my lord. 

Ci/m. O, she was naught; and long of her it was 
That we meet here so strangely: But her son 
Is gone, we know not liow, nor where. 

Pis. My lord. 

Now fear is from mo, I 'II speak troth. Lord Cloteii, 
Upon my lady's missing, tame to me 
With his sword druHii; foam'ii at the mouth, and 

swore 
If I discover' J not w hich way she was gone, 
It was my instant deatli: By aceident, 
I had a feigned letter ot my master's 
Then in my pocket: which directedhim 
To seek her on the mountains near to Mllford; 
Where, in a frenzy, In my master's garments. 
Which he infoi'c'ti from me. away he posts 
With unchaste purpose, ana with oath to violate 
My lady's honour: what became of him, 
I further know not. 

Oui. Let me end the story: 

I slew him there. 

Cym. Marry, the gods forefend! 

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
Pluck a hard sentence: prithee, valiant youth. 
Deny "t again. 

Gui. I have spoke It, and I did it. 

Cym. He was a piince. 

Gui. a most Incivil one. The wrongs he did me 
Weie nothing prince like; for he did provoke me 
With language tliat would make me spurn the sea. 
If it could so roiir to me: I cut off 's head; 
And am right glad he is not standing here 
To tell this tale of mine. 

Cym. lam sorry for thee. 

By thine own tongue thou art condemu'd, and must 
Endure our law: Thou art dead. 

Imo. That headless man 

I thought had been my lord. 

Cym. Bind the offender. 

And take him from our presence. 

Bel. Stay, sir king: 

This man is better than the man he slew. 
As well descended as thyself; ami hath 
Moi'e of thee merited, than a band of Clotens 
Had ever scar for.— Let his arms alone; 

[To the guard. 
They were not born for bondage. 

Cym. Why, old soldier, 

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for. 
By tasting of our wratli? How of descent 
As good as we? 

Arv. In that he spake too far. 

Cym. And thou shalt die tor 't. 

Bel. We will die all three 

But I will prove, that two of us are as good 
As I have given out him.— Hy sons, I must. 
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech. 
Though, haply, well for you. 

Arv. Your danger 's ours. 

Gui. And our good his. 

Bel. Have at It then.— 

By leave;— Thou hadst, great king, a subject who 
Was call'd Belarius. 

Cyvi. What of him? he is 

A banish'd traitor. 

Bel. He it is that hath 

Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man; 
I know not how a traitor. 

Cym. Take him hence; 

The whole world shall not save him. 

Bel. Not too hot: 

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; 
And let it be confiscate all, so soon 
As I have receiv'd it. 

Cym. Nursing of my sons? 

Bel. I am too blunt and saucy: Here 's my knee; 
Ere I arise I will prefer my sons; 
Then, spare not the old father. Migh^ sir, 
These two voung gentlemen, that call me father. 
And think they are my sons, are none of mine; 
They are the issue of your loins, my liege. 
And blood of your begetting. 



Cynu Howl my issue? 

Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, 
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd: 
Your pleasure was my mere olTence, my punishment 
Itself, and all my treason; that I sufter'd 
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes 
(For such and so they are) these twenty years 
Have I traln'd up: those arts they have, as I 
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as 
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Eurlphile, 
Whom for the theft 1 wedded, stole these children 
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to 't; 
Having receiv'd the punishment before. 
For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty. 
Excited me to treason: Their dear loss. 
The more of you 't was felt, the more it. shap'd 
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir. 
Here are your .sons again; and I must lose 
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world: 
The benediction of these covering heavens 
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy 
To inlay heaven with stars. 

Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 

The service, that you three have done, is more 
Unlike tlian this thou tell'st: I lost my children; 
If these be the.y, I know not how to wish 
A pair of worthier sons. 

Bel. Be pleas'd awhil =. 

This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
Most woithy prince, as youi-s, is true Guiderius: 
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvlragus, 
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd 
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand 
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, 
1 can with ease produce. 

Cym. Guiderius had 

Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; 
It was a mark of wonder. 

Bel. This is he; 

Who hath upon him still that natural stamp: 
It was wise Nature's end in the donation, 
To be his evidence now. 

Cytn. O. what, am I 

A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother 
Rejoic'd deliverance more:— Bless'd pray you be. 
That, after this sti'ange starting from your orbs. 
You may reign in them now'— O Imogen, 
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 

Imo. No, my lord; 

I have got two worlds by 't.— O my gentle brothers. 
Have we thus met? O never say hereafter 
But I am truest .speaker: you call'd me biother, 
When I was but your sister; I you brothers. 
When you were so indeed. 

Cym. Did you e'er meet? 

Arv. Ay, my good lord. 

Gui. And at first meeting lov'd; 

Continued so, until we thought he died. 

Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 

Cym. O rare instinct! 

When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridg- 
ment 
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which 
Distinction should be rich in.— Where, how liv'd you. 
And when came you to serve our Roman captive? 
How parted with your brothers? how flist met them? 
Why fled you from the court? and whlthei-? "These, 
And your three motives to the battle, with 
I know not how much more, should be demanded; 
And all the other by-dependencies, 
From chance to chance; but nor the time, norplace, 
Will serve our long inter'gatories. See, 
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen; 
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting 
Each object with a joy; the counterchange 
Is severally in all. Let 's quit this ground, 
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. 
Thou art my brother. So we '11 hold thee ever. 

[lo Belarius. 

Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me. 
To see this gracious season. 

Cym. All o'erjoy'd, 

Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too. 
For they shall taste our comfort. 

Imo. My good master, 

I will yet do you service. 

Luc. Happy be you! 

Cym. The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought. 
He would have well becom'd tills place, and grac'd 
The thankings of a king. 

Post. I am, sir. 



The soldier that did company these three 
In poor beseeming; 't was a fitment for , 

The purpose I then follow'd:— That I was he, 
SpeaK, lachimo: I had you down, and might 
Have made you finish. 

lack. I am down again: [Kneeling. 

But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee. 
As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you. 
Which I so often owe: but, your ring first; 
And here the bracelet of the truest princess. 
That ever swore her faith. 
_ Post. Kneel not to me; 

The power that I have on you is to spare vou; 
The malice towards you to forgive you: Live, 
And deal with others better. 

Cym. Nobly doom'd; 

We 'II learn our freeness of a son-in-law; 
Pardon 's the word to all. 

Arv. You holp, us, sir. 

As you did mean indeed to be our brother; 
Joy'd are we that you are. 

Post. Your servant, princes.— Good, my lord of 
Rome, 
Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought. 
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back. 
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows 
Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found 
This label on my bosom; whose containing 
Is so fi'om sense in hardness, that I can 
Make no collection of it; let him show 
His skill in the construction. 

iMc. Phllarmonus! 

Sooth. Here, my good lord. ' 

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 

Sooth. [Reads.] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to 
himself unknown, without seeking find, and be em- 
braced by a piece of tender air: and when from a 
stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being 
dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to 
the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthu- 
mvis end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flour- 
ish in peace and plenty.' 

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; 
The fit and apt construction of thy name. 
Being Leonatus, doth import so much: 
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, 

IToCymbellne. 
Which we call mollis aer: and mollis aer 
We term it mulier: which mulier I divine 
Is this most constant wife: who. even now. 
Answering the letter of the oracle. 
Unknown to you, unsought, were cllpp'd about 
With this most tender air. 

Cym. This hath some seeming. 

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, 
Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point 
Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stolen. 
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd. 
To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue 
Promises Britain peace and plenty. 

Cym. Well, 

My peace we will begin:— And, Cais Lucius, 
Although the victor, we submit to Ccesar, 
And to the Roman empire; promising 
To pay oUr wonted tribute, from the which 
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen; 
Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her and hers,) 
Have laid most heavy hand. 

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune 
The harmony of this peace. The vision 
W^hioh I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke 
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant 
Is full accomplish'd: For the Roman eagle. 
From south to west on wing soaring aloft, 
Lessen'd hei-seif, and in the beams o' the sun 
So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle. 
The Imperial Caesar, should again unite 
His fiivour with the radiant Cymbeline, 
Which shines here in the west. 

Cym. L.aud we the gods; 

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 
From our blessed altars! Publish we this peace 
To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let 
A Roman and a British ensign wave 
Friendly together: so through Lud's town march; 
And in the temple of great Jupiter 
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts. 
Set on there:— Never was a war did cease. 
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. 

L Kxeitnt. 



CORIOLANUS. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Catcs Marcivs CORIOLANUS, a noble 

Roman. 
Titus Lartius, ) generals against the 
CoMiMUS, i Volsces. 

Menknius Agrippa, friend to Corlo- 

Inniis. 
Sicisius Vklutus, ) tritiunes of thepeo- 
JUNius Brutiis, ( pie. 



Toung Marcius, son to Corlolanus. 

A Roman Herald. 

TuLLUS AuFiDius, general of the Vol- 
sces. 
Lieutenant to Aufidius. 
Conspirators with AufldiUR. 



A Citizen of Antium. 
Two Volscian Guards. 

VoLUMNiA, mother to Corlolanus. 
ViRGiLiA, ivife to Corlolanus. 
Valeria, /Jtend to Virgilia. 

Gentlewoman attending Virgilia. 



Roman and Volscian Senators, Patri- 
cians, jdlidiles. Lictors. Soldiers, Citi- 
zens, Messengers, Servants to Aufi- 
dius, and other Attendants. 

SCENE.— Paif/y in Rome; and partly 
in the territories of the VoLSCiANS ana 
Antiates. 



ACT L 

Scene I.— Rome. A Street. 

Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with stax-es, 
clubs, and other weapons. 

1 at. Before we proceed any further, hear me 
speak. 

at. Speak, speak. [Several speaking at once. 

1 at. You are all resolved rather to die than to 
famish? 

Cif. Resolved, resolved. 

1 Cil. First, you know, Caius Marclus is chief 
enemy to the people. 

at. We know 't, we know 't. 



1 Cif. Let us kill him, and we Ml have corn at our 
own price. Is 't a verdict? 

at. No more talking on 't: let It be done: away, 
away! 

2 at. One word, good 'citizens. 

1 at. We are accounted poor citizens; the patri- 
cians, good: What authority surfeits on would re- 
lieve us. If they would yield us but the superfluity, 
while it were wholesome, we might guess they re 
lieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear' 
the leanness that athicts us, the object ot our misery, 
is as an Inventory to particularize their abundance; 
our sufferance Is a gain to them.— Let us revenge 
this with our pikes, ere we become rakes, for the 
gods know, I speak this in hunger for bread, not in 
thirst for revenge. 



2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Calu 
Marclus? 

All. .-Vgainsi him first; he 's a very dog to the com 
monalty. 

2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done for 
his country? 

1 at. Very well; and could be content to give him 
good report for 't, but that he pays himself with 
being proud. 

All. Nay. but speak not maliciously. 

1 Cif. I say unto you, what he hath done famously 
he did it to that end; though soft-consclenced men 
can be content to say It was for his country, he did 
it to please his mother, and to be partly proud; 
which he i.s, even to the altitude of his virtue. 



Scene n.l 



CORIOLANUS. 



889 



2 at. What he cannot help in his nature you ac- 
count a vice in him: You must in no way say he is 
covetous, 

1 Ctt. If I must not, I need not be barren of accus- 
ations; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire In repe- 
tition. \Slu>uts within.] What shouts are these? 
The other side o' the city Is risen: Why stay we 
prating here? to the Capitol! 

All, Come, come. 

ICit. Soft! who comes here? 

Enter Menenius Agrippa. 

2 CiY. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath 
always loved the people. 

1 at. He 's one lionest enough: 'Would ali the rest 
were so! 

Men. What work 's, my countrymen. In hand? 
Where go vou 
With bats ana clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray 
you. 

2 at. Our business is not unknown to the senate; 
they have had inkling, this fortnight, w hat we intend 



to fob off our disgrace with a tale: but, an 't please 
you. deliver. 
Men. There was a time when all the body's mem- 
bers 
Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it;— 
That only like a gulf It did remain 
r the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, 



Still cupboardin.g the viand, never bearing 

lie 
ments 



Like labour with the rest; where the other inslru- 



Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
And mutually participate; did minister 
Unto the appetite and affection common 
Of (he whole body. The lielly answered,— 

2 at. Well, sir, what answer made the belly? 

Men. Sir, I shall tell you.— With a kind of smile, 
Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus, 
(For, look you, I may make the belly smile 
As well as speak,) It tauntingly replied 
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts 
That envied his receipt; even so most fitly 
As you malign our senators, for that 



Yet I can make mv audit up, th.it all, 

From me do h:ick receive the flour of all, 

And leave'nic liul llic bran.' What say you to 't? 

at. It was an answer: How ;ipply you this? 

Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly, 
And .you the mutinous members; For examine 
Their counsels and their cares; digest things rightly, 
Touching the weal o' the common; you shall find, 
No public benefit, which you receive, 
But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you. 
And no way from yourselves.— What do you think? 
You, the great toe of this assembly?— 

2 at. I the gi'cat toe? Why the great toe? 

3fen. For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, 
poorest. 
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: 
Thou rascal, that art worst In blood to run, 
Lead'st first, to win .some vantage.— 
But malce you ready your stiff bats and clubs; 
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle. 
The one side must have bale.— Hail, noble Mar 
clus! 




UcT I.— SCENE jii,] Vol. MetWnks I see him stamp thus, and call thus,—' Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear.' 



to do, which now we 'II show 'em in deeds. They 
«ay poor suiters have strong breaths; they shall 
inow we have strong arms too. 

Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest 
neighbours, 
Will you undo ourselves? 

2 at. We cannot, sir, we are undone already. 

Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
Have the patricians of you. For your wants, 
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well 
Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them 
Against the Roman state; whose course will on 
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
Of more strong link asunder than can ever 
Appear in your impediment: For the dearth. 
The gods, not the patricians, make it, and 
Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, 
You are transported by calamity 
Thither where more attends you; and you slander 
The helms o' the state, who care for you like 

fathers. 
When you curse them as enemies. 

2 at. Care for us!— True, Indeed— They ne'er 
cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and their 
storehouses crammed with grain, make eiicts for 
usury, to support usurers, repeal daily any whole- 
some act established against the rich; and provide 
more piercing statutes daily, to chain up and re- 
strain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; 
and there 's all the love they bear us. 

Men. Either you must 
Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you 
A pretty tale; it may be you have heard it; 
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture 
To stale 't a little more. 

2 at. Well, I '11 hear it, sir: yet you must not think 



They are not such as you. 

2 at. Your belly 's answer: What! 

The kingly -crowned head, the vigilant eye. 
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier. 
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter. 
With other muniments and petty lielps 
In this our fabric, if that they— 

Men. What then?— 

'Fore me, this fellow speaks!— what then? what 
then? 

2 at. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, 
Who is the sink o' the body,— 

Wen. Well, what then? 

2 at. The former agents, if they did complain. 
What could the belly answer? 

Men. I will tell you; 

If you '11 bestow a small (of what you have little) 
Patience a while, you 'II hear the belly's answer. 

2 at. You are long about it. 

-Wen.. Note me this, good friend; 

Your most grave belly was deliberate, 
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd. 
' True Is it, my incorporate friends,' quotli he, 
' That I receive the general food at first, 
Which you do live upon: and fit it is; 
Because I am the storehouse, and the shop 
Of the whole body: But if you do remember, 
I send it through the rivers of your blood. 
Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain. 
And through the cranks and offices of man: 
The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins. 
From me receive that natural competency 
Whereby they live: And though that all at once, 
Y^ou, my good friends,' (this says the belly,) mark 
me, — 

2 at. Ay, sir; well, well. 

Men. ^ ^ , , ' Though all at once cannot 

See what I do deliver out to each; 



Enter Caius Marcius. 

Mar. Thanks — ^What 's the matter, you dissentlous 
rogues. 
That, rubbing the poor Itch of your opinion. 
Make yourselves scabs? 
2 at. We have ever your good word. 

iliac. He that will give good words to thee will 
flatter 
Beneath abhorring.— What would you have, you 

curs. 
That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you. 
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, 
Whei-e he should find you lions finds you hares; 
Where foxes, geese: You are no surer, no, 
Than is the coal of fire upon the loe. 
Or hailstone in the sun. Y'our virtue is. 
To make him worthy whose offence subdues him. 
And curse tliat Justice did it. Who deserves great- 
ness 
Deserves your hate: and your affections are 
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
Which would increase liis evil. He that depends 
Upon your favour swims with fins of load. 
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! trust 

ye? 
With every minute you do change a mind: 
And call him noble that was now your hate. 
Him vile that was your garland. What 's the mat- 
ter. 
That in these several places of the city 
You cry against the noble senate, -who. 
Under the gods, keeps you in awe, which else 
Would feed on one another?— What 's their seek 
ing? 
Men. For corn at their own rates; whereof they 

say. 
The city is well stor'd, FPart 36. 



390 



CORIOLANUS. 



[Act I. 



Mar. Hang 'em! They say! 

They '11 sit by the fire, and pri-sume to know 
What 's done 1' the Capitol: who Is like to rise. 
Who thrives, and who declines: side factions, and 

give out 
Conjectural marriages; making parties strong. 
Anil feebllng such ns stand not In their liking 
Below their cobbled shoes. They say there 's grain 

enouKh! 
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth. 
And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry 
With thousnnds of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
As I could pick my lance. 
Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuad- 
ed; 
For though abundantly they lack discretion. 
Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you. 
What says the other troop? 

Mar. They are dissolved: Hang 'em! 

Tliey said they were au-hungry; sigh'd forth pro- 
verbs, 
That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat. 
That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent 

not 
Corn for the rich man only:— With these shreds 
They vented their complamiugs; wliich being an- 

swer'd. 
And a petition granted them, a sti-ange one, 
(To breiik the heart ot generosity. 
And make bold power look pale,) they threw their 

caps 
As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon, 
Shouting their emulation. 
Men. What is granted them? 

Jlfar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wis- 
doms. 
Of their own choice, One 's Junius Brutus, 
Slcinius Velutus, and I know not— 'Sdeaih! 
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city. 
Ere so prevail'd with me; it will in time 
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes 
For Insurrection's arguing. 
Men. This Is strange, 

ilfor. Go, get you home, you fragments! 

Enter a Messenger, hastily. 

Mfss. Where 's Caius Marclus? 
Jlfar. Here: What 's the matter? 

Mess. The news Is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. 
Jlfar. I am glad on 't; then we shall have means to 
vent 
Our musty superfluity:— See, our best elders. 

JEnter Cominius. Titns Lartius, and other Senators; 
Junius Brutus, and Slcinius Velutus. 

1 Sen. Marcius, 't Is true that you have lately told 
us; 
The Volsces are in arms. 

Jlfar. They have a leader, 

TullHs Aufldius, that will put you to 't. 
I sin in envying his nobility: 
And were I anything but what I am, 
I would wish me only he. 

Com. You have fought together. 

Mar. Were half to half the world by tne ears, and 
he 
Upon my party, I 'd revolt, to make 
Only my wars with him: he Is a lion 
That I am proud to hunt. 

1 Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 

Attend upon Cominlus to these wars. 

Com. It is your former promise. 

ilfar. Sir, It is; 

And I am constant.— Titus Lartius, thou 
Shalt see me once more strike at TuUus' face: 
What, art thou stiff? stand'st out? 

Tit. No, Caius Marcius; 

I '11 lean upon one crutch, and fight with t' othor, 
Ere stay behind this business. 

ilfen. O, true bred! 

1 Sen. Your company to the Capitol: where, I 
know, 
Our greatest friends attend us. 

Tit. Lead you on: 

Follow, Cominlus: we must follow you; 
Right worthy you priority. 

Com. Noble Marcius! 

1 Sen. Hence! To your homes, be gone. 

[To the Citizens. 

Jlfar. Nay, let them follow: 

The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither, 
To gnaw their garners:— Worshipful mutineers. 
Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. 

lExeuni Senators, Com., Mar., Tit., and 
Menen. Citizens steal away. 

Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? 

Bru. He has no equal. 

Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for th« peo- 



ple, - 
Mark'd you his lip and eyes? 



Bru. 

Sic. ' ' Nay, but his taunts. 

Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the 
gods. 

Sic. Be-mock the modest moon. 

Bru. The present wars devour him: he is grown 
Too prouQ to be so valiant. 

-Sic. . Such a nature. 

Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
Which he treads on at noon: But I do wonder 
His insolence can brook to be commanded 
Under Cominlus. 

Bru. Fame, at the which he aims. 

In whom already he is well grac'd, cannot 
Better be held, nor more attaln'd, than by 
A place below the first: for what miscarries 
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 
To the utmost of a man; and giddv censure 
Will then cry out of Marcius, ' O, if he 
Bad borne the business!' 

Sic. Besides, if things go well, 

Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall 
Of his demerits rob Cominlus. 

Bru. Come: 

Half all Cominlus' honors are to Marcius, 
Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults 
To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed, 
In aueht he merit not. 

Sic. Let 's hence, and hear 

How the despatch is made; and in what fashion. 
More than in singularity, he goes 
Upon this present action. 

Bru. Let 's along. [Exeunt. 



Scene II.— Corioll. The. Senate-House. 
Enter TuUus Aufldius, and certain Senators. 

1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufldius, 
That they of Rome are enter'd in our copfisels. 
And know how we proceed: 

.'luf. Islt not yours/ 

Whatever have been thought on in this state. 
That could he brought to bodily act ere Rome 
Had circumvention? T Is not four days gone 
Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think 
I have the letter here; yes, here it is: [Reads. 

' They have press'd a power, but it is not known 
Whether for ea.st or west: The dearth is great; 
The people mutinous: and it Is rumour'd, 
Cominlus, Marcius your old enemy, 
(Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,) 
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, 
These three lead on this preparation 
Whither 't is bent: most likely, 't is for you; 
Consider of it.' 

1 Sen. Our army 's in the field: 

We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready 
To answer us. 

Auf. Nor did you think it folly 

To keep your great pretences veil'd till when 
They needs nmst show themselves; which In the 

hatching. 
It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery, 
We shall be shorten'd in our aim; which was. 
To take In many towns, ere, almost, Rome 
Should know we were afoot. 

2 Sen. Noble Aufldius, 
Take your commission; hie you to your bands: 
Let us alone to guard Corioli; 

If they set down before us, for th& remove 
Bring up your army; but, I think, you '11 find 
They've not prepar'd for us. 

Avf. O, doubt not that; 

I speak from certainties. Nay, more; 
Some parcels of their powers are foith already. 
And only hitherward. I leave your honour. 
If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
'T is sworn between us we shall ever strike 
Till one can do no more. 

All. The gods assist you! 

Ai<f. And keep your honours safe! 

1 Sen. Farewell. 

2 Sen. Farewell. 

All. Farewell. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Rome. An Apartment in Marcius' 

Mouse. 

Enter Volumnia and Virgilia: They sit doion 

on two low .'itools, and sew. 

Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express your- 
self in a more comfortable sort: It my son were my 
husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence 
wherein hewon honour, than in the embracements 
of his bed, where he would show most love. When 
yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of 
my womb; when youth with comeliness plucked all 
gaze his way; when, for a day of kings' entreaties, 
a mother should not sell him amhour from her be- 
holding; I, — considering how honour would become 
such a person; that it was no better than picture- 
like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, 
— was pleased to let him seek danger where he was 
like to find tame. To a cruel war I sent him; from 
whence he return'd, his brows bound with oak. I 
tell thee, daughter,— I sprang not more in joy at first 
hearing he was a man-child, than now iu first seeing 
he had proved himself a man. 

Vir. But had he died in the business, madam? how 
then? 

Vol. Then his good report should have been my 
son; I therein would have found issue. Hear me 

f)rofess sincerely:— had I a dozen sons, each In my 
ove alike, and none less dear than thine and my 
good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for 
their country, than one voluptuously surfeit out of 
action. 

Enter a Gentlewoman. 

Oent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit you- 

Vir. 'Beseech you, give ine leave to retire myself. 

Vol. Indeed, you shall not. 
Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum; 
See him pluck Aufldius down by the hair; 
As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him: 
Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus,— 
' Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear. 
Though you were born in Rome:' His bloody brow 
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes; 
Like to a harvest-man, that 's task'd to mow 
Or all, or lose his hire. 

Vir. His bloody brow! O, Jupiter, no blood! 

Vol. Away, you fool! it more becomes a man 
Than gilt his trophy: The breasts of Hecuba, 
VVhen she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood 
At Grecian swords' contending.— Tell Valeria 
We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent. 

Vir. Heaven bless my lord from fell Aufldius. 

Vol. He '11 beat Aufldius' head below his knee, 
And tread upon his neck. 

Be-enter Gentlewoman, icith Valeria and Tier Usher. 

Val. My ladies both, good day to you. 

Vol. Sweet madam. 

Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 

Val. How do you both? you are manifest house- 
keepers. What are you sewinghere? A fine spot, in 
good faith.— How does your little son? 

Vir. 1 thank your ladyship; well, good madam. 

Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a 
drum, thau look upon his schoolmaster/ 

Val. O' my word, the father's son: I 'II swear 't is a 
very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o' 
Wednesday half an hour together: lie has such a con- 
firmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded 
butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again; 
and after it .again; and over and over he comes, and 
up again; catched it again: or whether his fallen- 
raged him, or how 't was, he did so set his teeth, and 
tear it; O, I warrant, how he mammocked it! 

Vol. One of Ills father's moods. 

Val. Indeed la, 't is a noble child. 

Vir. A crack, madam. 

Val. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have 
you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. 

Vir. No, good madam;I will not out of doors. 

Val. Not out of doors? 

Vol. She shall, she shall. 



Tir. Indeed, no, by your patience; I will not over 
the threshold till my lord return from the wars. 

Val. Fie! you confine yourself most unreasonably. 
Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. 

Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her 
with my prayers; but I cannot go thither. 

Vol. why, I pray you? 

Vir. 'T is not to save labour, nor that I want love. 

Val. You would be another Penelope: yet, they 
say, all the yarn she spun tn Ulysses' absence did but 
fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would your cam- 
bric were sensible as your finger, that you might 
leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with 
us. 

Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed I will 
not forth. 

Val. In truth, la, go with me; .and I'll tell you ex- 
cellent news of your husband. 

Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. 

Val. Verily, I do not jest with you; there came 
news from him last night. 

Vir. Indeed, madam? 

Val. In earnest, it 'strue; I heard a senator speak 
It. Thus it is:— The Volsces have an army forth, 
again.st whom Cominlus the general is gone, with 
one part of our Roman power; your lord and Titus 
Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they 
nothing doubt prevailing, and to make It brief wars. 
This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with 
us. 

Vir. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you 
In everything hereafter. 

Vol. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but 
disease our better mirth. 

Val. In troth, I think she would:— Fare j'ou well 
then.— Come, good sweet lady.— Prithee, Virgilia, 
turn thy solemnness out o' door, and go along with 
us. 

Vir. No: at a word, madam. Indeed I must not. I 
wish you much mirth. 

Val. Well, then farewell. [Exeunt. 

ScENn; IV.— Before Corioli. 
Enter, with drums and colonrs, Marcius. Titus Lar- 
tius, Olficers, and Soldiers. To them a Messenger. 

Mar. Yonder comes news:— A wager, they have 
met. 

Lart. My horse to yours, no. 

Mar. 'T Is done. 

Lart. Agreed. 

Jlfar. Say, has our general met the enemy? 

Mess. They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet, 

Lart. So, the good horse is mine. 

Mar. I '11 buy him of you. 

Lart. No, I 'II nor sell nor give him; lend you nim 
I will, 
For half n hundred years.- Summon the town. 

Jlfar. How far off lie these armies? 

Mess. Within this mile and halt. 

Jlfar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they 
ours. 
Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work; 
That we with smoking swords may march from, 

hence. 
To help our fielded friends!— Come, blow thy blast. 
They :iOund a parley. Enter, on the walls, some 

Senators, and others. 
Tullus Aufldius, is he within your walls? 

1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he: 
That 's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums 



[Alarums afar off. 



Are bringing forth our youth: We ll break our walls. 
Rather than they shall pound us up: Our gates. 
Which yet seems shut, we have but pinn'd with 

rushes; , 

They '11 open of themselves. Hark you, far off 

[Other alarums. 
There is Aufldius; list, what work he makes 
Amongst your cloven army. 

Mar. O, they are at It! 

Lart. Their noise be our instruction. — Ladders, ho! 
The Volsces enter, and pass over the stage. 

Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. 
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight 
With hearts more proof than shields.— Advan<^, 

brave Titus: 
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts. 
Which makes me sweat with wrath.— Come on, my 

fellows; 
He that retires I '11 take him for a Volsce, 
And he shall feel mine edge. 
Alaj-ums, and exeunt Romans and Volsces, ^g/i^mgr. 

The Romans are beaten back to their trenches. 

Re-enter Marcius. 

Jlfar. All the contagion of the south light on you. 
You shames of Rome!— you herd of— Boils and 

plagues 
Plaster you o'er; that you may be abhorr'd 
Further than seen, and one infect another ' 

Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese 
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell! 
AH hurt behind; backs red and faces pale 
With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home. 
Or, by the fires ot heaven, I '11 leave the foe. 
And hiake my wars on you! look to it: Come on; 
If you '11 stand fast, we '11 beat them to their wives. 
As Ihey us to our trenches followed. 
Another alarum. The Volsces and Romans re-enter, 

and the fight is renewed. The Volsces retire into 

Corioli, and Marcius /oWoira them to the gates. 
So, now the gates are ope: — Now prove good se" 

conds. 
'T is for the followers fortune widens them. 
Not for the filers: mark me, and do the like. 

[He enters the gates, and is shut in. 

1 Sol. Fool-hardiness; not I. 

2 Sol. Nor I. 

3 Sol. See, they have shut him in. 

[Alarum continues. 

All. To the pot, I warrant him. 

Enter Titus Lartius. 

Lart. What is become of Maricus? 

All. Slain, sir, doubtless. 

1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels. 
With them he enters: who, upon the sudden, 
Clapp'd-to their gates: he is himself alone, 
"To answer all the city. 

Lart. O noble fellow! 

Who sensibly out dares his senseless sword. 



SCENH IX.] 



CORIOLANUS. 



29t 



And when It bows stands up! Thou art left, Marclus: 

A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, 

Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 

Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 

Only in strokes; but with thy (]n*ini looks and 

Tho thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, 

Thou niad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world 

Were feverous, and (iid tremble. 

iZe-en*«r Mareius, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy- 

1 Sol. Look, sir. 

Lart. O! 't Is Marclus: 

Let 's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 

[They fight, and all enter the city. 

Scene V.— Within the Toivn. A Street. 

Enter certain Romans with spoils. 

1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 

2 Rom. And I this. 

3 Rom. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver. 

[Alarum continues still afar off. 

Enter Marclus and Titus Lartius,i('/7ft a trumpet. 

Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their 
hours 
At a erack'd drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons, 
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves. 
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up:— Down with 

them!— 
And hark, what noise the general makes!— To 

him!- 
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
Piercing our Romans: Then, valiant Titus, take 
Convenient numbers to make good the city: 
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste 
To help Cominlus. 

iMrt. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st; 

Thy exercise hath been too violent 
For a second course of fight. 

JIfor. Sir, praise me not: 

My work hath not yet warm'd me: Fare you well. 
The blood I drop is rather physical 
Than dangerous to me: To Aufidius thus 
I will appear, and fight. 

Lart. Now the fair goddess. Fortune, 

Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms 
Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman. 
Prosperity be thy page! 

Mar. Thy friend no less 

Than those she placeth highest!— So, farewell. 

Lart. Thou worthiest Marclus!— [Eccit Marclus. 
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; 
Call thither all the offlcerg of the town. 
Where they shall know our mind: Away! [Exeunt. 

Scene VI.— iVcar the Camp of Cominius. 
.Enfer Cominlus and Forces retreating. 

Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fought: we 
are come off 
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, 
Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs. 
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck. 
By interims and conveying gusts we have heard 
The charges of our friends:- The Roman gods 
I^ead their successes as we wish our own; 
That both our powers, with smiling fronts encounter- 
ing. 

Enter a Messenger. 
May give you thankful sacriflee!— Thy news? 

Mess. The citizens of Corioll have issued. 
And given to Lartlusand toMarcius battle: 
I saw our party to their trenches driven, 
And then Icame away. 

Com. Though thou speak'st truth, 

Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is 't 
since? 

Mess. Above an hour, my lord. 

Com. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums: 
How could'st thou in a mile confound an hour. 
And bring thy news so late? 

Mess. Spies of theVolsces 

Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel 
Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, 
Half an hour since brought my report. 
Enter Marcius. 

Com. Who 's yonder. 

That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods! 
He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have 
Before-time seen him thus. 

Mar. Come I too late? 

Com. The shepherd knows not thunder trom a ta- 
bor. 
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue 
From every meaner man. 

Mar. Come I too late? 

Com. Ay, if j'ou come not in the blood of others, 
But mantled in your own. 

ilfar. " O! let me clip you 

In arms as sound as when I woo'd; in heart 
As merry as when our nuptial day was done, 
And tapers burn'd to bedward. 

Com. Flower of warriors, 

How is 't with Titus Lartius? 

Mar. As with a man busied about decrees: 
Condemning some to death, and some to exile; 
Ransoming iiim, or pitying, threat'ning the other; 
Holding Corioll in the name of Rome, 
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, 
To let him slip at will. 

Com. Where is that slave 

Which told|me they had beat you to your trenches? 
Where is he? Call him hither. 

Mar. Let him alone. 

He did inform the truth: But for our gentlemen. 
The common file, (A plague!- Tribunes for them!) 
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge 
From rascals worse than they. 

Com. But how prevail'd you? 

Mar. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think: 
Where is the enemy? Are you lords o* the field? 
If not, why cease you till you are so'' 

Com. Marcius, we have ai disadvantage fought. 
And did retire, to w-in our purpose. 

ilfar. How lies their battle? Know you on which 
side 
They have plae'd their men of trust? 

Cum. As I guess, Marcius, 

Their bands In the vaward are the Antiates, 
Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, 
Their very heart of hope. 

Mar. I do beseech you, 

By all the battles wherein we have fought, 



By the blood we havirshert together, by the vows 
We have made to endure friends, that you directly 
Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates: 
And that you not delay the present: but, 
Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts. 
We prove this very hour. 

Com. Though I could wish 

You were conducted to a gentle bath. 
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
Deny your asking; take your choice of those 
That best can aid your action. 

Mar. Those are they 

That most are willing:— If any such be here, 
(As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting 
Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear 
Lesser his person than ill report; 
If any think brave death outweighs bad life. 
And that his country 's dearer than himself; 
Ijet him alone, or so many so minded. 
Wave thus, [ivaving his hand] to express his disposi- 
tion, 
And follow Marcius. 

[They all shout, and wave their swords; take him 
7ip in their arms, and cast up their caps. 
O me, alone! Make you a sword of me? 
If these shows be not outward, which of you 
But is four Volsces? None of you but is 
Able to bear against the great Aufidius 
A shield as hard as his. A certain number. 
Though thanks to all, must I select from all: the 

rest 
Shall bear the business in some other fight. 
As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; 
And four shall quickly draw out my command. 
Which men are best Inclin'd. 

Com. March on, my fellows: 

Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
Divide In all with us. [Exeunt. 

SpENji: yU.—The Gates o/ Corioll. 

Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corioll, going 
with a drum and trumpet toward Cominus and Ca- 
ius Marcius, enters with a Lieutenant, a party of 
Soldiers, and a Scout. 

Lart. So, let the ports be guarded; keep your 
duties. 
As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch 
Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve 
For a short holding: If we lose the field, 
We cannot keep the town. 

Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 

Lart. Hence, and shut .vour gates upon us.— 
Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene VIII.— ^ Field of Battle between the 
Roman and the Volsciau Camps. 

Alarum. Enter Marcius and Aufidius. 

Mar. I '11 fight with none but thee; for I do hate 
thee 
Worse than a promise-breaker. 

Auf. We hate alike; 

Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor 
More tlipn thy fame, and envy: Fix thy foot. 

Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slavd. 
And the gods doom him after. 

Auf. If I fly , Marcius, 

Halloo me like a hare. 

Mar. Within these three hours, TuIIus, 

Alone I fought in your Corioll walls. 
And made what work I pleas'd; 'T is not my blood 
Wherein thou seest me mask'd: for thy revenge 
Wrench up thy power to the hlghcit. 

Auf. Wert thou the Hector 

That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny. 
Thou Bhould'Bt not scape me here.— 

[They fight, and certain Volsces come to 
Hie aid o/ Aufidius. 
Officious, and not valiant -you have sbam'd me 
In your condemned seconds. 

[Eojeunt fighting, driven in by Marclus, 

Scene IX.— The Roman Camp. 

Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flcvrish. Enter at 
one side, Cominiu.s, and Romans; at the other side, 
Marcius, with his ann in a scarf, and other Rom- 
ans. 

Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work. 
Thou 'it not believe thy deeds: but I ')! report it 
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; 
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, 
I' the end, admire; where l.idies shall be frighted. 
And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tri- 

"bunes, 
That, with the fusy plebeians, hate thine honours. 
Shall say, against their hearts,— 'We thunk the 

gods. 
Our Rome hath such a soldier!' — 
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast. 
Having fully din'd before. 

Enter Titus Lartius, with his power, from the 
pursuit. 
Lart. O general. 

Here is the steed, we the caparison: 
Hadst thou beheld— 

Mar. Pra.v now, no more: my mother, 

Who has a charter to extol her blood. 
When she does praise me grieves me. I have done, 
As you have done: that 's what I can: Induc'd 
As you have been; that 's for my country: 
He that has but effected his good will 
Hath overta'en mine act. 

Com. You shall not be 

The grave of your deserving: Rome must know 
The value of her own: 't were a concealment 
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement. 
To hide your doings; and to silence that. 
Which, to the spire and top of praLses vouch'd. 
Would seem but modest: 'Therefore, I beseech 
you, i 

(In sign of what you are, not to reward 
What you have done,) before our army hear me. 
Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they 
smart 
To hear themselves remembered. 

Com. Should they not, 

Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude. 
And tent themselves w Itli death. Of all the horses, 
(Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,) of all 
The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city. 
We render you the tenth; to be ta'eu forth. 



Before the common distribution. 
At your only choice. 

Mar. I thank you, general; 

But cannot make my heart consent to take 
A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse It; 
And stand upon my common part with those 
That have beheld the doing. 

[A long flourish. They nil cry, Marclus! 
Marcius! cast up their caps and lances. 
Cominius and Lartius stand hare. 

Mar. May these same instruments, which you pro- 
fane. 
Never sound more, when drums and trumpets shall 
I' the field prove fiatterers! Let courts and cities be 
Made all of falsefac'd soothing, where steel grows 

soft 
As the parasite's silk! 

Let them be made an overture for the wars! 
No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd 
My nose tliat bled, or foll'd some debile wretch. 
Which without note here 's many else have tlone, 
You shout me forth 
In acclamations hyperholical; 
As if loved my little should be dieted 
In praises sauc'd with lies. 

Com. Too modest are you; 

More cruel to your good report than grateful 
To us that give you truly: by your patience. 
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we 'II put you 
(Like one that means his proper harm) in manacles. 
Then reason safely with you.— Therefore, be it 

known. 
As to us, to all the world, that Calus Marclus 
Wears this war's garland: in token of the w hlch 
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him. 
With all his trim belongings; and, from this time. 
For what he did before Corioll, call him. 
With all the applause and clamour of the host, 
Caius Marcius Coriolanus.— 
Bear the addition nobly ever! 

[Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums. 

All. Calus Marclus Coriolanus. 

Cor. I will go wash; 
And when my face Is fair, you shall perceive 
Whether I blush, or no: Howbeit, I thank you: — 
I mean to stride your steed: and, at all times. 
To undercrest your good addition. 
To the fairness of my power. 

Com. So, to our tent: 

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
To Rome of our success. — You, Titus Lartius, 
Mu.st to Corioli back: send us to Rome 
The best, with whom we may articulate. 
For their own good, and ours. 

L^rt. I shall, my lord. 

Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that novir 
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg 
Of my lord general. 

Com. Take it: 't is yours.— What in 't? 

Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioll, 
At a poor man's house: he us'd me kindly: 
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; 
But then Aufidius was within my view, 
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you 
To give my poor host freedom. 

Com. O, well begg'd! 

Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
Be free as Is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. 

Lart. Marcius, his name? 

Cor. By Jupiter, forgot!— 

I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.— 
Have we no wine here? 

Com. Go we to our tents; 

The blood upon your visage dries: 't is time 
It should be iooJc'd to: come. [Exeunt. 

Scene X.—The Camp of the Volsces. 

A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, 
bloody, loith Two or Three Soldiers. 

Avf. The town is ta'en! 

1 Sul. 'T will be delivec'd back on good condition. 

Anf. Condition?- 
1 would I were a Roman; for I cannot. 
Being a Volsce, be that I am.— Condition! 
What good condition can a treaty find 
I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, 
I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me; 
And would'st do so, I think, should we encounter 
As often as we eat.- By the elements. 
If e'er again I meet him beard to beard. 
He is mine, or I am his: Mine emulation 
Hath not that honour in 't it had: for where 
I thought to crush him in an equal force, 
(True sword to sword,) I 'II potch at him some way; 
Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 

1 Sol. He 's the devil. 

Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle: My valour 's 
poison'd. 
With only suft'ering stain by him; for him 
Shall fly out of Itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary, 
Being naked, sick: nor fane, nor Capitol, 
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice, 
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
Their rotten privilege and custom "gainst 
M.v hate to Marcius: where I find him, were It 
At home, upon m.y brother's guard, even there, 
Against the hospitable canon, would I 
Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the 

city; 
Learn how 't Is held; and what they are, that must 
Be hostages for Rome. 

I Sol. Win not you go? 

Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove: 
I pray you, Ct is south the city mills,) bring me word 

thither 
How the world goes; that to the pace of it 
I may spur on my journey. 

1 Sol. I shall, sir. [Exeunt. 

ACT IL 
Scene I.— Rome. A public Place. 
Enter Menenlus, Sicinius, and Brutus. 
Men. The augurer tells me we shall have news to- 
night. 
Bru. Good, or bad? 

Men. Not according to the prayer of the people, for 
they love not Marcius. 
Stc. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. 
Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love? 
Sic. The lamb. 

Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians 
would the noble Marcius. 



292 



CORIOLANUS. 



LAqt II. 



Bni. Ho '9 a lamb, indeed, that bacs like a bear. 

Men. He 's a bear, Indeed, that lives like a lamb. 
You two are old nien; tell me one thing that I shall 
ask vou. 

Both Trib. Well, sir. 

Men, 111 what enormity Is Mai'cluspoor In, that you 
two have not in abundancey 

Bru. He 's poor in one fault, but stored with all. 

Sic. Especially in pride. 

Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 

ilfen. This is strange now: Bo you two know how 
vou are eeiisiired here in the city, I mean of us o' the 
rightUand lile? Do you? 

jBo</i Trib. Why, how are we censured? 

Men. Because you talk of pride now,— Will you not 
be angrv? 

Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well! 

Me7i. Why, 't is no great matter: for a very little 
thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of pa- 
tience: give your disposition the reins, and be angry 
at your pleasures; at the least, it you take it as a 
pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Marcius for 
being proud? 

Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 

Men. 1 know you can do very little alone; for your 
helps are man.y; or else your actions would grow 
wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like 
for doing much aione. You talk of pride: O, that 
you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your 
necks, and make but an interior survey oi your good 
selves! O, that you could! 

Bru. What then, sir? 

Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of un- 
meriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias, 
fools,) as any in Rome. 

Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. 

Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, 
and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop 
of allaying Tyber in 't; said to be something imper- 
fect, in favouring the first complaint: hasty, and 
tinder-like, upon too trivial motion: one that con- 
verses more with the buttock of the nlglit than with 
the forehead of the morning. What I think I ut- 
ter; and spend my malice in my breath: Meeting 
two such weals-men as you are, (I cannot call you 
Lycurguses,) if the drink you give me touch niy 
palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can- 
not say your worships have delivered the matter 
well, when I find the ass in compound with the 
major part of your syllables: and though I must be 
content to bear with those that say you are rever- 
end grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you 
have good faces. If you see this in the map of my 
microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough 
too? What harm can your bisson conspecuities 
glean out of this character, if I be known well 
enough too? 

Brn. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. 

Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any- 
thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and 
legs; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in 
hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fos- 
set-seller; and then rejourn the controvers.v of 
three-pence to a second day of audience.— When 
you are hearing a matter between party and party, 
it you chance to be pinched with the colic, you 
make faces like murmurs; set up the bloody flag 
against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamber- 
pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more en- 
tangled by your hearing: all the peace you make 
In their cause is, calling both the parties knaves: 
You are a pair of strange ones. 

Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be a 
perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary 
bencher in the Capitol. 

Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if 
they should encounter such ridiculous subjects as 
vou are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it 
is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your 
t)eards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff 
1 botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's 
pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is 
proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your 
predecessors since Deucalion; though, peradven- 
ture, some of the best ot 'em were hereditary hang- 
men. Good e'en to your worships; more of your 
conversation would infect my brain, being the herds- 
men of the beastly plebeians: I Svill be bold to take 
my leave of you. [Bru. and Sic. retire to the 

back of the scene. 
Enter Tolumnla, Vlrgilia, and Valeria, d:c. 
How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, 
were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you follow 
your eyes so fast? 

Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ap- 
proaches; for the love of Juno, let 's go. 

Men. Ha! Marcius coming home? 
Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most pro- 
sperous approbation. 

JIfen. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee— 
Hoo! Marcius coming home! 

Tkoo Ladies. Nay, 't is true. 

Vol. Look, here 's a letter from him: the state 
hath another, his wife another; and I think there 's 
one at home for you. 

Men. I will make my very house reel to-night:— A 
letter for me? 

Vol. Yes, certain, there 's a letter for you; I 
saw 't. 

Men. A letter for me? It gives me an estate of 
seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip 
at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in 
Galen is but empiricutick, and, to this preservative, 
of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not 
wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. 
Vir. O, no, no, no. 
Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for 't. 

Men. So do I too, if it be not too much:— Brings a' 
victory in his pocket?— The wounds become him. 

VoL On 's brows: Menenius, he comes the third 
lime home with the oaken garland. 

Men. Has he disciplined Aufldius soundly? 
Vol. Titus Lartius writes,— They fought together, 
but Aufldius got off. 

Men. An 't was time for him too, I '11 warrant him 
been so fldiused for all the chests in Corioil, and the 
gold that 's in them. Is the senate possessed of this? 
Vol. Good ladies, let 's go:— Yes, yes, yes: the sen- 
ate has letters from the general, wherein he gives 
my son the whole name of the war: he hath in this 
action outdone his former deeds doubly. 

Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of 
hlni. 



Men. Wondrous! ay, I warrant you, and not with- 
out his true purchasing. 

Vir. Ihe gods grant them true! 

Vol. True? pow, wow! 

Men. True? I '11 be sworn they are true:— 
Where is he wounded?— God save your good wor- 
ships! rro the Tribunes, ivho cowit'/orttYo-rf.J Marcius 
is coming home: he has more cause to be proud.— 
Where is he wounded? 

Vol. r the shoulder, and i' the left arm: There will 
be large cicatrices to show the people when he shall 
stand for his i>iaee. He received in tlie repulse of 
Tarquin seven Inirts i' the body. 

Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh,— 
there 's nine that I know. 

Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty- 
flve wounds upon him, 



Men. Now it 's twenty-seven: every gash was an 
iiemy's f - • . 

trumpets. 



enemy's grave: [A shout aiid Jlou 



ery gc 
ris/i.J 



Hark! the 



Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him 
he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears: 
Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; 
Which, being advanc'd, declines; and then men die. 

A Sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius and 
Titus Lartius; between them Coriolanus, crowned 
with an oaken garland; with Captains, Soldiers, 
and a Herald. 

Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight. 
Within Corioli' gates: where he hath won, 
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; 
These in honour follows, Coriolanus:— 
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 

^Flourish. 

All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 

Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart; 
Pray now, no more. 

Com. Look, sir, your mother. 

Cor. O! you have, I know, petition'd all the gods 
For my prosperity. [Kneels. 

Vol. Nay, my good soldier, up.'' 

My gentle Marcius. worthy Caius, 
And by deed achieving honour newly nam'd. 
What is it? Coriolanus must I call thee? 
But, O thy wife! 

Cor. My gracious silence, hail! 

Would'st thou have laughed had I come coffln'd 

home. 
That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear. 
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear. 
And mothers that lack sons. 

Men. Now the gods^crown thee! 

Cor. And live you yet?— O my sweet lady, pardon. 

[To Valeria. 

Vol. I know not where to turn;— O welcome home; 
And welcome, general:— And you are welcome ail. 

Men. A hundred thousand welcomes: I could 
weep. 
And I could laugh; I am light and heavy: Welcome: 
A curse begin at every root of his heart 
That is not glad to see thee!--You are three 
That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith of men. 
We have some old crab-trees here at home that will 

not 
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors: 
We call a nettle but a nettle; 
And the faults of fools but folly. 

Com. Ever right. 

Cor. Menenius, ever, ever. 

Her. Give way there, and go on. 

Cor. Your hand, and yours: 

[To liis wife and mother. 
Ere in our own house I do shade my head. 
The good patricians must be visited; 
From whom I have received not only greetings. 
But with them change of lionours. 

Vol. I have liv'd 

To see inherited my very wishes, 
And the buildings of my fancy: 
Only there's one thing wanting, which I doubt not. 
But our Rome will cast upon thee. 

Cor. Know, good mother, 

I had rather be their servant in my way. 
Than sway with them in tlieirs. 

Com. On, to the Capitol! 

[Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. 
The Ti'ibunes remain. 

Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared 
sights 
Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse 
Into a rapture lets her baby cry, 
While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins 
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck. 
Clambering the walls to eye him: Stalls, bulks, 

windows. 
Are smothered up, leads flll'd, and ridges hors'd 
With variable complexions: all agreeing 
In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens 
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff 
To win a vulgar station: our veil'd dames 
Commit the war of white and damask, in 
Their nicely-gawded clieeks, to the wanton spoil 
Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother. 
As if that whatsoever god who leads him 
Were silly crept into his human powers. 
And gave him graceful posture. 

Sic. On the sudden, 

I warrant him consul. 

Bru. Then our office may, 

Duringhis power, go sleep. 

Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours 
From where he should begin, and end; but will 
Lose those he hath won. 

Bru. In that there's comfort. 

Sic. Doubt not the commoners, for whom we stand. 
But they, upon their ancient malice, will 
Forget, wita the least cause, these his new honours; 
Which that he '11 give them, make 1 as little question 
As he is proud to do 't. 

Bru. I heard him swear. 

Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
Appear 1' the market-place, nor on him put 
The napless vesture of humility; 
Nor, showing (as the manner is) his wounds 
To the people, beg their stinking breaths. 

Sic. 'TIs right. 

Bru. It was his word: O, he would miss it, rather 
Than carry it, but by the suit o' the gentry to him, 
And the desire of the nobles. 

Sic. I wish no better 

Than have hlra hold that purpose, and to put it 
In execution. 



Bru. 'Tis most like, he will. 

Sic. It .shall be to him then, as our good wills; 
A sure destruction. 

Bru. So it must fall out 

To him, or our authorities. For an end. 
We must suggest tlie people in what hatred 
He still hath held them; that, to his power, he would 
Have made tliem mules, silenc'd their pleaders. 
And dispropertied their freedoms: holding them. 
In human action and capacity. 
Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world. 
Than camels in their war; who have their provand 
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
For sinking under them. 

Sic. This, as you say,— suggested 

At some time when his soaring insolence 
Shall touch the people,— (whicli time shall not want, 
If he be put upon 't, and that 's as easy 
As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire 
To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze 
Shall darken him for ever. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Bru. What 's the matter. 

Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 
'T is thouglit that Marcius shall be consul: 
I have seen the dumb men throng to see him. 
And the blind to hear him speak: Matrons flung 

gloves. 
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs, 
Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended. 
As to Jove's statue; and the commons made 
A shower and thunder, with their caps and shouts: 
I never saw the like. 

Bru. Let 's to the Capitol; 

And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, 
But hearts for the event. 

Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt. 

Scene 11.— Tlie same. The Capitol. 
Enter Two Officers, to lay cushions. 

1 Off. Come, come, they are almost here: How 
many stand for consulships? 

2 Off. Three, they say: but 't Is thought of every 
one Coriolanus will carry it. 

1 Off. That 's a brave fellow; but he 's vengeance 
proud, and loves not the common people. 

2 Off. 'Faith, there have tjeen many great men that 
have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them; and 
there be many that they have loved, they know not 
wherefore: so that it they love they know not why, 
they hate upon no better a ground: Therefore, for 
Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate 
him, manifests the true knowledge he has in their 
disposition; and, out ot his noble carelessness, lets 
them plainly see 't. 

1 Off: If he did not care whether he had their love 
or no, he waved indifferently 'twlxt doing them 
neither good nor harm; but he seeks their hate with 
greater devotion than they can render it him; and 
leaves nothing undone that »iay fully di.scover him 
their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice 
and displeasure of the people is as bad as that which 
he dislikes, to Hatter them for their love. 

2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country: 
And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those 
who, having been supple and courteous to the peo- 
ple, bonneted, without any further deed to have 
them at all into their estimation and report: but he 
hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and his 
actions in their hearts, that for their tongues to be 
silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of in- 
grateful Injury; to report otherwise were a malice, 
that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and 
rebuke from every ear that heard it. 

1 Off. No more of him: he is a worthy man: Make 
way, they are coming. 

A Sennet. Enter, with lictors before them, Cominius 
the Consul, Menenius, Coriolanus, many other Sen- 
ators, Sicinius and Brutus. The Senators take 
their places; the Tribunes take theirs also by them- 



Men. Having determin'd of the Volsces, 
And to send for Titus Lartius, it remains, 
As the main point of this our after-meeting. 
To gratify his noble service, that hath 
Thus stood for his country: Therefore, please you. 
Most reverend and grave elders, to desire 
The present consul, and last general 
In our well-found successes, to report 
A little ot that worth.v work perform'd 
By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom 
We meet here, both to thank, and to remember 
With honours like himself. 

1 Sen. Speak, good Cominius: 

Leave nothing out for length, and make us think, 
Rather our state 's defective for requital. 
Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' the people, 
We do request your kindest ears; and, after. 
Your loving motion toward the common body, ' 
To-yieid what passes here. 

Sic. We are convented 

Upon a pleasing treaty; and have hearts 
Inclinable to honour and advance 
The theme of our assembly. 

Bru. Which the rather 

We shall be bless'd to do, it he remember 
A kinder value of the people than 
He hath hereto priz'd them at. 

Men. That 's off, that 's off; 

I would you rather had been silent: Please you 
To hear Cominius speak? 

Bru. Most willingly: 

But yet my caution was more pertinent 
Than the rebuke you give it. 

Men. He loves your people; 

But tie him not to be their bedfellow. — 
Worthy Cominius, speak.— Naj-, keep your place. 

(Coriolanus rises, and offers to go away. 

1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear 
What you have nobly done. 

Cor. Your honours' pardon; 

I had rather have my wounds to heal again, 
Than hear say how I got them. 

Bi-u. Sir, I hope 

My words dis-bench'd you not. 

Cor. No, sir: yet oft. 

When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. 
You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: But, your peo- 
ple, 
I love them as they weigh. 

Meti. Pray now, sit down. 



SCBNE II.I 



COmOLANUS. 



29a 



Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head 1' the 
sun, 
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit 
To hear my nothings monsier'd. [Exit Corlolanus. 
Men. Masters o' the people, 

Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, 
(That 's thousand to one good one,) wlien you now 

see 
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour. 
Than one of his ears to hear it?— Proceed, Cominius. 

Com. I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus 
Should not be utter'd feebly.— It Is held 
That valour is the chiefest virtue, 
And most dignifies the haver: if it be. 
The man I speak of cannot In the world 
Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years. 
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought 
Beyond the mark of others: our then dictator. 
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, 
When with his Amazonian chin he drove 
The bristled lips before him: he bestrid 
An o'erpress'd Roman, and i' the consul's view 
Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met. 
And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats. 
When he might act the woman in the scene. 
He prov'd best man i' the field, and for his meed 
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea; 
And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since. 
He lurch'd all swords o' the garland. For this last. 
Before and in Corioli, let me say 
I cannot speak him home; He stopp'd the fliers; 
And by his rare example made the coward 
Turn terror into sport: as weeds before 
■ A vessel under sail, so men obey'd. 
And fell below his stem: his sword (death's stamp). 
Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot 
He was athing of iSlood, whose every motion 
Was tim'd with dying cries: alone he enter'd 
The mortal gate o' the city, which he painted 
With shunless destiny, aidless came off, 
And with a sudden re-enforcement struck 
Corioli like a planet: Now all 's his: 
When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce 
His ready sense, then straight his doubled spirit 
Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate. 
And to the battle came he; where he did 
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
"T were a perpetual spoil: and, till we call'd 
Both field and city ours, he never stood 
To ease his breast with panting. 
Men. Worthy man! 

1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honours 
Which we devise him. 

CoiK. Our spoils he kick'd at; 

And look'd upon things precious as they were 
The common muck o' the world; he covets less 
Than misery itself would give; rewards 
His deeds with doing them; and is content 
To spend the time, to end it. 

Men. He 's right noble; 

Let him be call'd for. 

1 Sen. Call Coriolanus. 

Off. He doth appear. 

Re-enter Coriolanus. 

Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd 
To make thee consul. 

Cor. I do owe them stiU 

My life and services. 

Men. It then remains 

That you do speak to the people. 

Cor. I do beseech you. 

Let me o'erleap that custom; for I cannot 
Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, 
For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage: please 

you 
That I may pass this doing. 

Sic. Sir, the people 

Must have their voices; neither will they bate 
One jot of ceremony. 

Men. Put them not to 't:— 

Pray you, go fit you to the custom; 
And take to you, as your predecessors have, 
Your honour with your form. 

Cor. It is a part 

That I shall blush in acting, and might well 
Be taken from the people. 

Bit*. Mark you that? 

Cor. To brag unto them,— Thus I did, and thus; — 
Show them the unaching sears which I should hide, 
As if I had receiv'd them for the hire 
Of their breath only :— 

Men. Do not stand upon 't.— 

We recommend to you, tribunes of the people. 
Our purpose to them;— and to our noble consul 
Wish we all joy and honour. ~ 

Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! 

\_Flourish. Tlien exeunt Senators. 

Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. 

Sic. May they perceive his intent! He will require 
them. 
As if he did contemn what he requested 
Should be In them to give. 

Bru. Come, we '11 inform them 

Of our proceedings here; on the market-place 
I know they do attend us. [Exeunt. 

Scene 111.— The same. The Market-place. 
Enter several Citizens. 

1 at. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought 
not to deny him. 

2 at. We may, sir, if we will. 

3 at. We have power in ourselves to do It, but it 
is a power that we have no power to do: for if he 
shows us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are 
to put our tongues Into those wounds, and speak for 
them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also 
tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude 
is monstrous: and for the multitude to be ingrateful 
were to make a monster of the multitude; of the 
which, we being members, should bring ourselves to 
be monstrous members. 

1 at. And to make us no better thought of, a little 
help will serve: for once, when we stood up about 
the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many- 
headed multitude. 

3 at. We have been called so of raan.v; not that 
our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn, 
some bald, but that our wits are so diversely col- 
oured: and truly I think if all our wits were to issue 
out ot one skull, they would fly east, west, north, 
south; and their consent of one direct way should be 
at once to all points o' the compass. 



2 at. Think you so? Which way do you judge my 
wit would fl.v? 

3 at. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another 
man's will, 't is strongly wedged up in a block-head; 
but if it were at liberty, 't would, sure, southward. 

2 at. Why that way? 

3 at. To lose Itself in a fog; where being three 
parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth 
would return for conscience' sake, to help to get 
thee a wife. 

2 at. You are never without your tricks:— You 
may, you may. 

3 Of. Are you all resolved to give your voices? 
But that 's no matter, the greater part carries it. I 
say, if he would incline to the people, there was 
never a worthier man. 

Enter Coriolanus and Menenius. 

Here he comes, and in the gown of humility; mark 
his behaviour. We are not to stay all together, but 
to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, 
and by threes. He 's to make his requests by partic- 
ulars: wherein every one of us has a single honour, 
in giving him our own voices with ourown tongues: 
therefore follow me, and I '11 direct you how you 
shall go by him. 

All. Content, content. [Exeunt. 

Men. O sir, you are not right: have you not known 
The worthiest men have done 't? 

Cor. What must I say?— 

I pray, sir,— Plague upon 't! I cannot bring 
My tongue to such a pace:— Look, sir;— my 

wounds; — 
I got them in my country's service, when 
Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran 
From the noise of our own drums. 

Men. O me, the gods! 

You must not speak of that: you must desire them 
To think upon you. 

Cor. Think upon me? Hang 'em! 

I would they would forget me, like the virtues 
Which our divines lose by them. 

Men. You '11 mar all; 

I '11 leave you: Pray you, speak to them, I pray you. 
In wholesome manner. [Exit. 

Enter Two Citizens. 

Cor. Bid them wash their faces. 

And keep their teeth clean.— So, here comes a brace. 
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 

1 at. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you 
to't. 

Cor. Mine own desert. 

2 at. Your own desert? 

Cor. Ay, not mine own desire? 

1 at. How! not your own desire. 

Cor. No, sir: 'T was never my desire yet to trouble 
the poor with begging. 

1 at. You must think, If we give you anything, we 
hope to gain by you. 

Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' the consul- 
ship? 

1 at. The price is, to ask it kindly. 

Cor. Kindly, sir? I pray, let me ha 't; I have 
wounds to show you, which shall be yours in pri- 
vate.— Your good voice, sir; what say you? 

2 at. You shall have it, worthy sir. 

Cor. A match, sir:— There is in all two worthy 
voices begged:— I have your alms; adieu. 

1 at. But this is something odd. 

2 at. An 't were to give again,— But 't is no mat- 
ter. [Exeunt two Citizens. 

Enter two other Citizens. 

Cor. Pray you now, if It may stand with the tune 
of your voices that I may be consul, I have here the 
customary gown. 

3 at. You have deserved nobly of your country, 
and you have not deserved nobly. 

Cor. Your enigma? 

3 at. You have been a scourge to her enemies, 
you have been a rod to her friends; you have not, in- 
deed, loved the common people. 

Cor. You should account me the more virtuous 
that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir, 
flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a dear- 
er estimation of them; 't is a condition they account 
gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice Is 
rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise 
the insinuating nod, and be off to them most coun- 
terteltly: that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitch- 
ment of some popular man, and give it bountifully 
to the desirers. Therefore, beseecli you, I may be 
consul. 

4 at. We hope to find .you our friend; and there- 
fore give you our voices heartily. 

3 at. You have received many wounds for your 
country. 

Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with showing 
them. I will make much of your voices, and so 
trouble you no farther. 

Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! 

[Exeunt. 

Cor. Most sweet voices!— 
Better It is to die, better to starve. 
Than crave the hire which flrst we do deserve. 
Why in this woolvish gown should I stand here. 
To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear. 
Their needless vouchers? Custom calls me to 't: — 
What custom wills, in all things should we do 't, 
The dust on antique time would lie unswept, 
And mountainous error be too highly heap'd 
For truth to overpeer. Rather than fool It so. 
Let the high ofBce and the honour go 
To one that would do thus.— I am half through 
The one part suffer'd, and the other will I do. 

Enter three other Citizens. 

Here come more voices.— 

Your voices: for your voices I have fought; 

Watch'd for your voices; tor your voices, bear 

Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six 

I have seen and heard of; for your voices; 

Have done many things, some less, some more: your 

voices: 
Indeed, I would be consul. 

5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go without 
any honest man's voice. 

6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul: The gods give 
him joy, and make him good friend to the people! 

All. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! 

[Exeunt Citizens. 
Cor. Worthy voices! 



Reenter Menenius, with Brutus and Sicinlus. 

JIfcn. You have stood your limitation; and the trl* 
bunes 
Endue you with the people's voice: 
Remains, that, In the official marks Invested, 
You anon do meet the senate. 

Cor. Is this done? 

Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd: 
The people do admit you; and are summon'd 
To meet anon upon your approbation. 

Cor. Where? at the senate-house? 

Sic. There, Coriolanus. 

Cor.May I change these garments? 

Sic. You ma.v, sir. 

Cor. That I '11 straight do; and, knowing myself 
again. 
Repair to the senate house. 

Men. I '11 keep you company.— Will you along? 

Biit. We stay here for the people. 

Sic. Fare you well. 

[Exeunt Corlol. and Menen, 
He has It now; and by his looks, raethiuks, 
'T Is warm at his heart. 

Bru. With a proud heart he wore 

His humble weeds: Will you dismiss the people? 

Re-enter Citizens. 
Sic. How now, my masters? have you chose this 
man? 

1 at. He has our voices, sir. 

Bru. We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. 

2 Cit. Amen, sir: to my poor unworthy notice, 
He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices. 

3 at. Certainly. 
He flouted us downright. 

1 at. No, 't is his kind of speech, he did not mock 

us. 

2 Cit. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says 
He used us scornfully: he should have show'd us 
His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for his country. 

Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 
Cit. No, no; no man saw 'em. 

[ Several speak. 

3 at. He said he had wounds, which he could show- 

in private; 
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, 
' I would be consul,' says he: ' aged custom, 
But by your voices, will not so permit me; 
Your voices, therefore:' When we granted that. 
Here was,— 'I thank you for your voices,- thank 

you,— 
Your most sweet voices:— now you have left your 

voices, 
I have no further with you:'— Was not this mockery? 

Sic. Why, either, were you ignorant to see 't? 
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness 
To yield your voices? 

Bru. Could you not have told him. 

As you were lesson'd,— When he had no power, 
3ut was a petty servant to the state. 
He was your enemy; ever spake against 
Your liberties, and the charters that you bear 
I' the body of the weal: and now, arriving 
A place of potency, and sway o' the state, 
If he should still malignantly remain 
Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might 
Be curses to yourselves? You should have said. 
That as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature 
Would think upon you for your voices. 
And translate his malice towards you Into love. 
Standing your friendly lord. 

Sic. Thus to have said. 

As you were fore-advls'd, had touch'd his spirit. 
And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd 
Either his gracious promise, which you might. 
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to; 
Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature. 
Which easily endures not article 
Tying him to aught; so, putting him to rage. 
You should ta'en the advantage of his choler. 
And pass'd him unelected. 

Bru. Did .vou perceive 

He did solicit you in free contempt. 
When he did need your loves; and do you think 
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, 
When he hath power to crush? Why, had your 

bodies 
No heart among you? Or had you tongues, to cry 
Against the rectorship of judgment? 

Sic. Have you, 

Ere now, denied the asker? and, now again, 
Of him that did not ask, but motk, bestow 
Your sued-for tongues? 

3 Cit. He 's not conflrm'd, we may deny him yet. 

2 Cit. And will deny him: 
I '11 have five hundred voices of that sound. 

1 at. I twice five hundred, and their friends to 
piece 'em. 

Bru. Get you hence Instantly; and tell those 
friends. 
They have chose a consul that will from them take 
Their liberties; make them of no more voice 
Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking 
As therefore kept to do so. 

Sic. Let them assemble; 

And, on a safer judgment, all revoke 
Your Ignorant election: Enforce his pride. 
And his old hate unto you: besides, forget not 
With what contempt he wore the humble weed: 
How In his suit he scorn'd you: but your loves. 
Thinking upon his services, took from you 
The apprehension of his present portance. 
Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion 
.After the Inveterate hate he bears you. 

Bru. Lay a fault on us, your tribunes, that w© 
labour'd 
(No impediment between) but that you must 
Cast your election on him. 

Sic. Say, you chose him 

More after our commandment, than as guided 
By your own true affections; and that, your minds. 
Preoccupied with what you rather must do 
Than what you should, made you against the grata 
To voice him consul: Lay the fault on us. 

Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you. 
How yomngly he began to serve his country. 
How long continued: and what stock he springs of. 
The noble house o' the Marcians; from whence came 
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, 
Who, after great Hostillus, here was king: 
Of the same house Publius and Qulntus were. 
That our best water brought by conduits hither; 
And Censorinus, darling of the people, 



COJilOLANUS. 



lACTItt. 



And nobly nam'd so. twice being censor, 
Wns his great ancestor. 

.Sic. One thus descended, 

Thiit hath beside well in his person wrought 
To be set high in place, we did commend 
To your remembrances: but you have found, 
Scaling his present bearing with his past. 
That he 'syour fixed enemy, an<l revoke 
Your sudden approbation. 

Btit. Say, you ne'er had done 't, 

(Harp on that still,) but by our putting on: 
And presently, when you have drawn your number, 
Repair to the Capitol. 

at. We will so: almost all repent in their election. 
[Several speak, Exeunt Citizens. 

Bru. Let them go on; 
This mutiny were better put In hazard. 
Than stay, past doubt, for greater: 
If as his nature is, he fall in rage 
With their refusal, both observe and answer 
The vantage of his anger. 

Sic. To the Capitol! 

Come; we '11 be there before the stream o' the peo- 
ple; 
And this shall seem, as partly 't Is, their own. 
Which we have goaded onward. iEcceunt, 

ACT HI. 

Scene I.— The same. A Street. 

Comets. Knter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, 

Titus Lartius, Senators, and Patricians. 
Cor. Tullus Aufldius then had made new head? 

Lart. He had, my lord; and that it was which 
caus'd 
Our swifter composition. 

Cor. So then the Volsces stand but as at first; 
Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road 
Upon us again. 

Com. They are worn, lord consul, so 

That we shall hardly In our ages see 
Their banners wave again. 

Cor. Saw you Aufldius? 

Lart. On safeguard he came to me; and did curse 
Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely 
Yielded the town: he Is retir'd to Antium. 

Cor. Spoke he of me? 

Lart. He did, my lord. 

Cor. How? what? 

Lart. How often he had met you, sword to sword: 
That of all things upon the earth he hated 
Your person most: that he would pawn his fortunes 
To hopeless restitution, so he might 
Be call'd your vanquisher. 

Cor. At Antium lives he? 

Lart. At Antium. 

Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, 
To oppose his hatred fully.— Welcome home. 

[To Lartius. 
Enter SIclnius and Brutus. 
Behold! these are the tribunes of the people, 
The tongues o' the common mouth. I do despise 

them; 
For they do prank them In authority. 
Against all noble suft'erance. 

Sic. Pass no further. 

Cor. Ha! what Is that? 

Bru. It will be dangerous to go on: no further. 

Cor. What makes this change? 

Men. The matter? 

Com. Hath he not pass'd the noble and tlie com- 
mon? 

Bru. Cominius, no. 

Cor. Have I had children's voices? 

1 Sen. Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market- 
place. 

Bru. The people are incens'd againsthlm. 

Sic. Stop, 

Or all will fall in broil. 

Cor. Are these your herd?— 

Must these have voices, that can yield them now. 
And straight disclaim their tongues?— What are your 

offices? 
You being their mouths, why rule you not their 

teeth? 
Have you not set them on? 

Men. Be calm, be calm. 

Cor. It Is a purpos'd thing and grows by plot. 
To curb the will of the nobility: 
Suffer it, and live with such as cannot rule. 
Nor ever will be rul'd. 

Bru. Call 't not a plot: 

The people cry you mock'd them; and, of late, 
When corn was given them gratis, you repln'd; 
Seandal'd the suppliants for the people; call'd them 
Time pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 

Cor. Why, this was known before. 

Bru. Not to them all. 

Cor. Have you Inform'd them sithence? 

Bru. How! I inform them! 

Com. You are like to do such business. 

Bru. Not unlike, 

Each way, to better yours. 

Cor. Why then should I be consul? By yon clouds. 
Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
Your fellow tribune. 

Sic. You show too much of that 

For which the people stir: If you will pass 
To where you are bound, you must inquire your way, 
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit; 
Or never be so noble as a consul, 
Nor yoke with him for tribune. 

Men. Let 's be calm. 

Com. The people are abus'd,-set on.— This palt- 
'ring 
Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus 
De.serv'd this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely 
1' the plain way of l)ls merit. 

Cor. Tell me of corn! 

This was my speech, and I will speak 't again;- 

Men. Not now, not now. 

1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 

Cor. Now, as I live, I will.— My nobler friends, 
I crave their pardons: 
For the mutable, rank-scented many. 
Let them regard me as I do not flatter. 
And therein behold themselves: I say again. 
In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate 
The cockle of rebellion. Insolence, sedition. 
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd and 

scatter'd. 
By mingling them with us, the honour'd number; 
Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
Which they have given to heggars. 



Men. Well, no more. 

1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 

Cor. How! no more? 

As for my country I have shed my blood. 
Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
Coin words till their decay, against those measles. 
Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought 
The very way to catch them. 

Bru. You speak <>' the people as if you were a god 
To punish; not a man of their infirmity. 

Sic. 'T were well we let the people know 't. 

Men. What, what? his choler? 

Cor. Choler! 

Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, 
By Jove, 't would be my mind! 

Sic. It is a mind 

That shall remain a poison where it is. 
Not poison any further. 

Cor. Shall remain!— 

Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you 
His absolute shall? 

Com. 'T was from the canon. 

Cor. Shall! 

good, but most unwise patricians, why. 

You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus 

Given Hydra here to choose an oflRcer, 

That with his peremptory shall, being but 

The horn and noise of the monsters, wants not spirit 

To say he 'II turn your current in a ditch. 

And make your channel his? If he have power, 

Then vail your Ignorance: if none, awake 

Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned. 

Be not as common fools; if you are not. 

Let them have cusliions by you. You are plebeians, 

If they be senators; and they are no less. 

When both your voices blended, the greatest taste 

Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate; 

And such a one as he, who pvits his shall, 

His popular shall, against a graver bench. 

Than ever frown'd in Greece! By Jove himself. 

It makes the consuls base! and my soul aches, 

To know, when two authorities are up. 

Neither supreme, how soon confusion 

May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take 

The one by the other. 

Com. Well— on to the market-place. 

Cor. Whoever gave that counsel to give forth 
The corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 't was used 
Sometime In Greece,-- 

Men. Well, well, no more of that. 

Cor. Though there the people had more absolute 
power, ^ 

1 say, they nourlsh'd disobedience, fed 
The rain of the state. 

Bru. Why shall the people give 

One that speaks thus, their voice? 

Cor. 1 "II give my reasons. 

More worthier than their voices. They know the corn 
Was not our recompense; resting well assur'd 
They ne'er did service for 't: Being press'd to the 

war. 
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd. 
They would not thread the gates: this kind of ser- 
vice 
Did not deserve corn gratis: being 1' the war. 
Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd 
Most valour, spoke not for them: The accusation 
Which they have often made against the senate 
All cause unborn, could never be the native 
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? 
How shall this bosom multiplied digest 
The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express 
What 's like to be their words:—' We did request it; 
We are the greater poll, and In true fear 
They gave us our demands:'— Thus we debase 
Th nature of our seats, and Ttake the rabble 
Call our cares, fears: which will in time 
Break ope the locks o' the senate, and bring in 
The crows to peck the eagles. 

Men. Come, enough. 

Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 

Cor. No, take more: 

What may be sworn by, both divine and human. 
Seal what I end withal!— This double woi'ship, — 
Where one part does disdain with cause, the otiier 
Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wis- 
dom, 
Cannot conclude, but by the .vea and no 
Of general ignorance,— It must omit 
Real necessities, and give way the while 
I'o unstable slightness: purpo.se .so barr'd, It follows 
Nothing is done to purpose: Therefore, beseech 

you,— 
Yoti that will be less fearful than discreet. 
That love the fundamental part of state 
More than you doubt the change on 't; that prefer 
A noble life before a long, and wish 
To jump a body with a dangerous physic 
That 's sure of death without it,— at once pluck out 
The multitudinous tongue, let them not lick 
The sweet which is their poison: your dishonour 
Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state 
Of that integrity which should become it; 
Not having the power to do the good It would, 
For the ill which doth control It. 

Bru. He has saM enough. 

Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 
As traitors do. 

Cor. Thou wretch! despite o'erwhelm thee!— 
What should the people do with these bald tribunes? 
On whom depencling, their obedience fails 
To the greater bencli: In a rebellion. 
When H hat 's not meet, but what must be, was law. 
Then were they chosen; in a better hovir. 
Let what is meet he said, it must be meet, 
And throw their power i' the dust. 

Bru. Manifest treason! 

Sic. This a consul? ho. 

Bru. The jEdiles, ho!— Le him be apprehended. 
Enter an JEiile. 

Sic. Go, call the people; [Exit .ffidlle] In whose 
name, myself 
Attach thee, as a traitorous Innovator, 
A foe to the public weal: Obey, I charge thee, 
And follow to thine answer. 

Cor. Hence, old goat! 

Sen. £ Pat. We '11 surety him. 

Com. Aged sir, hands off. 

Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones 
Out of thy garments! 

Sic. Help, ye citizens! 



Enter the .ffidlles, and a rabble of ClUzens. 
Men. On both sides more respect. 
Sic. Here 's he that would take from you all your 

power. 
Bru. Seize him, .ffidiles! 
at. Down with him, down with him! 

[Several speak. 
Senators Si others. Weapons, weapons, weapons! 
[They all bustle about Coriolanus. 
Tribunes, patricians, citizens'— what, hoi— 
Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens! 
Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace! 

Men. What is about to be?— I am out of breath; 
Confusion 's near: I cannot speak:— You, tribunes 
To the people.— Coriolanus, patience:— 
Speak, good Sicinius. 
Sic. Hear me, people;— Peace! 

at. Let 's hear our tribune:— Peace! Speak, speak, 

speak! 
Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties: 
Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, 
Whom late you have nam'd for consul. 

Jlfen. Fie, fie, fie! 

This Is the way to kindle, not to quench. 

1 Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. 
Sic. What Is the city but the people? 

at. True, 

The people are the city. 

Bru. By the consent of all, we were establish'd 
The people's magistrates. 

Cit. You so remain. 

Men. And so are like to do. 

Com. That Is the way to lay the city flat; 
To bring the roof to the foundation; 
And bui'y all which yet distinctly ranges, 
In heaps and piles of ruin. 

Sic. This deserves death. 

Bru. Or let us stand to our authority. 
Or let us lose it:— We do here pronounce. 
Upon the part o' the people. In whose power 
We were elected theirs, jSIarclus is worthy 
Of present death. 

Sic. Therefore lay hold of him; 

Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence 
Into destruction cast him. 

Bru. JEdiles, seize him! 

Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. 

Men. Hear me one word. 

Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 

yEdi. Peace, peace! 

Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's 
friend, [To Brutu.'. 

And temperately proceed to what you would 
Thus violently redress. 

Bru. Sir, those cold ways, 

That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
Where the disease Is violent:— Lay hands upon hlra. 
And bear him to the rock. 

Cor. No; I '11 die here. 

[Drawing his sujord. 
There 's some among you have beheld me fighting; 
Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. 

Men. Down with that sword!— 'Tribunes, withdraw 
a while. 

Bru. Lay hands upon him. 

Men. Help, Marcius; help. 

You that be noble: help him, young. and old! 

Cit. Down with him, down with him! 

[In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the M&\\e9, 
and the people are beat in. 

Men. Go, get you to your house; be gone, away! 
All will be naught else. 

2 Sen. Get you gone. 

Com. Stand fast; 

We have as many friends as enemies. 

Men. Shall it be put to that? 

1 Sen. The gods forbid! 

I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house; 
Leave us to cure this cause. 

Men: For 't is a sore upon us 

You cannot tent yourself: Be gone, beseech you. 

Com. Come, sir, along with us. 

Men. I would they were barbarians, (as they are. 
Though in Rome litter'd,)not Romans, (as they are 

not, 
Though calv'd 1' the porch o' the Capitol.)— Be gone; 
Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; 
One time will owe another. 

Com. On fair ground I could beat forty of them. 

Men. I could myself take up a brace of the best of 
them; yea, the two tribunes. 

Com. But now 't is odds beyond arithmetic; 
And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands 
Against a falling fabric— Will you hence 
Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend 
Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear 
What they ar^ used to bear. 

Men. Pray you, be gone; 

I '11 try whether my old wit be in request 
With those that have but little; this must be patch'd 
With cloth of any colour. 

Com. Nay, come away. 

[Ei'e'(nt Coriolanus, Cominius, and others. 

1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune. 
Men. His nature is too noble for the world: 

He would not flatter Neptune for his trident. 

Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart 's his 

mouth: 
What his breast forges that hlsT;ongue must vent; 
And, being angry, does forget that ever 
He heard the name of death. [A noise within. 

Here 's goodly work! 

2 Par. I would they were a-bed! 
Men. I would they were in Tyber!— What, the 

vengeance. 
Could he not speak them fair? 

Re-enter Brutus and Sicinius, with the rabble. 

Sic. Where is this viper. 

That would depopulate the city. 
And be every man himself? 

Men. You worthy tribunes. — 

Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock 
With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law, 
And therefore law shall scorn him further trial 
'fhan the severity of the public power, 
Which he so sets at nought. 

1 Cit. He shall well know 

The noble tribunes are the peoples' mouths. 
And we their hands. 

Cit. He shall, sure on 't. 

[Several speale together. 

Men. Sir, sir.— 

Sic. Peace! 



I 



SCKNB I.l 



VOJIIOLANUS. 



295 



Men. Do not cry havoc, where you should but 
hunt 
With modest warrant. 

Sic. Sir, how comes 't, that you have holp 

To malce this rescue? 

Men. Hear ine spealc:— 
As I do Icnow the consul's worthiness, 
So can I name his faults:— 

Sic. Consul!— what consul? 

Men. The consul Corlolanus. 

Bru. He consul! 

at. No, no, no, no, no! 

Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good 
people, 
I may be heaid, I would crave a word or two; 
The which shall turn you to no further harm 
Than so much loss of time. 

Sic. Speaic briefly then: 

For we are peremptory, to despatch 
This viperous traitor: to eject him lience 
Were but one danger; and to keep him here 
Our certain death; therefore It Is decreed. 
He dies to-night. 

Men. Now the good gods forbid, 

That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude 
Towards her deserved children is enroil'd 
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam 
Should now eat up her own! 

Sic. He 's a disease, that must be cut away. 

Men. O, he is a limb, that has but a disease; 
Mortal, to cut it oft; to cure it, easy. 
What has he done to Rome tliat 's worthy death? 
Killing our enemies? The blood he hath lost, 
(Which I dare vouch is more thar. that he hath, 
. By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country: 
And what is left, to lose it by his country. 
Were to us all, that do 't, and suffer it, 
A brand tb the end o' the world. 

Sic. This is clean kam. 

Bru. Merely awry: When he did love his country, 
It honour'd him. 

Men. The service of the foot. 

Being once gangren'd, is not then respected 
For what before it was — 

Bru. We '11 hear no more:— 

Pursue him to his house, and pluck mm thence; 
Lest his infection, being ot catching nature. 
Spread further. 

Men. One word more, one word. 

This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late. 
Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by pro- 
cess; 
Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out. 
And sack great Rome with Romans. 

Bru. If it were so,— 

Sic. What do you talk? 
Have we not had a taste of his obedience? 
Our ^diles smote! ourselves resisted!— Come:— 

Men. Consider this;— he has been bred i' the wars 
Since he could draw a sword, and is ill-school'd 
In bolted language; meal and bran together 
He throws witliout distinction. Give me leave, 
I '11 go to him, and undertake to bring him in peace, 
Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, 
(In peace,) to his utmost peril. 

1 Sen. Noble tribunes. 

It is the humane way: the other course 
Will prove too bloody; and the end of it 
Unknown to the beginning. 

Sic. Noble Mcnenlus, 

Be you then as the people's officer:- 
Masters, lay down your weapons. 

Bru. Go not home. 

Sic. Meet on the market-place:— We '11 attend you 
there: 
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we '11 proceed 
In our first way. 

Men. I '11 bring him to you:— 

Let me desire your company. He must come, 

[To the Senators. 
Or what is worse will follow. 

1 -Sen. Pray you, let 's to him \_Bxe. 

Scene n.—A Boom in Coriolanus's Hoitse. 
Enter Corlolanus and Patricians. 

Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears; present 
me 
Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels; 
Or pile ten hills on the 'Tarpeian roclc. 
That the precipitation might down .stretch 
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 
Be thus to them. 

Enter Volumnla. 

1 Pat. You do the nobler. 

Cor. I muse my mother 
Does not approve me further, who was wont 
To call them woollen vassals, things created 
To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads 
In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, 
When one but of my ordinance stood up 
To speak of peace, or war. I talk of you; 

[To Volumnia. 
Why did you wish me milder? Would you liave me 
False to my nature? Rather say, I play 
The man I am. 

Vol. O sir, sir, sir, 

I would have had you put your power well on, 
Before you had worn it out. 

Cor. I^t go. 

Vol. You might have been enough the man you 
are. 
With striving less to be so: Lesser had been 
The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
You had not snow'd them how you were dispos'd 
Ere they lack'd power to cross you. 

Cor. Let them hang. 

Vol. Ay, and burn too. 

Enter Menenius and Senators. 

Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, some- 
thing too rough; 
You must return, and mend it. 

1 Sen. There 's no remedy; 

Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
Cleave in the midst, and perish. 

Vol. Pray be counsell'd: 

I have a heart as little apt as yours. 
But yet a brain that leads my use of anger 
To better vantage. 

Men. Well said, noble woman! 

Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that 
The violent fit o' tiie time craves it as physic 



For the whole state, I would put mine armour on. 
Which I can scarely bear. 

Cor. What must I do? 

JIfen. Return to the tribunes. 

Cm: Well, 

What then? what then? 

ilf«n. Repent what you have spoke. 

Cor. For them?— I cannot do it to the gods; 
Must I then do 't to them? 

Vol. You are too absolute; 

Though therein you can never be too noble. 
But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, 
Honour and poiic.v, like unsever'd friends, 
I' the war do grow together: Grant that, and tell 

me. 
In peace, what each of them, by th' other lose, 
That they combine not there. 

Cor. Tush, tush! 

Men. A good demand. 

Vol. If It be honour, in your wars, to seem 
The same you are not, (which, for your best ends, 
You adopt your policy.) how is it less, or worse. 
That it shall hold companionship in peace 
With honour, as in war; since that to both 
It stands in like request? 

Cor. Why force you this? 

Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
To the people; not by your own instruction. 
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you. 
But with such words that are but roted in 
Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables 
Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth. 
Now, this no more dishonours you at all. 
Than to take in a town with gentle words. 
Which else would put you to your fortune, and 
The hazard of much blood.— 
I would dissemble with my nature, where 
My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requlr'd 
£ should do so in honour; I am in this. 
Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; 
And you will rather show our general lowts 
How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon them, 
For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard 
Of what that want might ruin. 

JIfen. Noble lady! — 

Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so, 
Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
Of what is past. 

Vol. I prithee now, my son. 

Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; 
And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them,) 
The knee bussing the stones, (for in such business 
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
More learned than the ears,) waving thy head. 
Which often,— thus,— correcting thy stout heart. 
Now humble, as the ripest mulberry 
That will not hold the handling: Or, say to them. 
Thou art their soldier, and, being bred in broils, 
Hast not the soft way, which, thoH dost confess. 
Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim. 
In asking their good loves: but thou will frame 
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
As tliouhast power and person. 

Men. This but done. 

Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours: 
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
-is words to little purpose. 

Vol. Prithee now 

Go, and be rul'd: although I know thou hadst rather 
Follow thine enemy iu a fiery gulf. 
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Comiulus. 

Enter Cominlus. 

Com. I have been 1' the market-place; and, sir, 't 
is fit 
You make strong party, or defend yourself 
Bj' calmness, or oy absence; all 's in anger. 

Men. Only fair speech. 

Com. I think 't will serve, if he 

Can thereto frame his spli'it. 

Vol. He must, and will:— 

Prithee now say you will, and go about it. 

Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? 
Must I, 
With my base tongue, give to my noble heart 
A lie, that it must bear? Well, I will do 't: 
Yet were there but this single plot to lose. 
This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it. 
And throw it against the wind.- To the market- 
place:— 
You have put me now to such a part, which never 
I shall discharge to the life. 

Com. Come, come, we '11 prompt you. 

Vol. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said. 
My praises made thee first a soldier, so. 
To have my praise for this, perform a part 
Thou hast not done before. 

Cor. Well, I must do 't: 

Away my disposition, and possess me 
Some harlot's spirit! My tliroat of war be turn'd, 
Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice 
That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves 
Tent in my cheeks; and schoolboys' tears take up 
The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue 
Make motion through my lips; and my arm'd knees. 
Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
That hath receiv'd an alms!— I will not do 't; 
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth, 
And, by my body's action, teach my mind 
A most inherent baseness. 

Vol. At thy choice then: 

To beg of thee it is my more dishonour, 
Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let 
Thy mother rather feel tliy pride, tiian fear 
Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death 
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me; 
But. owe thy pride thyself. 

Cor. Pray, be content; 

Mother, I am going to the market-place; : 

Chide me no more! I '11 montebank their loves, 
Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd I 
Ot all the trades in Rome. Look, 1 am going: ! 

Commend me to my wife. I 'II return consul; 
Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
1' the way of flattery, further. 

Vol. Do your will. [Exit. 

Com. Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm your- 
self 
To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd 
With accusations, as I hear, more strong 
Than are upon you yet. 

Cor. The words is, mildly :— Pray you, let us go: 



Let them accuse me by invention, I 
Will answer in mine honour. 

Men. Ay, but mildly. 

Cor. Well, mildly be it then: mildly. [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— IVie same. The Market-place. 
Enter Slclnlus and Brutus. 

Bru. In this point charge him home, that he af- 
fects. 
Tyrannical power If he evade us there. 
Enforce him with his envy to the people; 
And that the spoil, got on the Antiates, 
Was ne'er distributed. — 

Enter an JEdUe. 
What, will he come? 

yEd. He 's coming. 

Bru. How accompanied 

.tEd. With old Menenius, and those senators 
That always favour'd him. 

Sic. Have you a catalogue 

Of all the voices that we have procur'd. 
Set down by the poll? 

./Ed. 1 have; 't Is ready. 

S(c. Have you collected them by tribes? 

/Ed. I have. 

Sic. Assemble presently the people hither: 
And when they hear me say 'It shall be so 
I' the right and strength o' the common.s,' be It 

either 
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them. 
If I say, fine, cry, 'fine;' if death, cry 'death;' 
Insisting on the old prerogative 
And power i' the truth o" the cause. 

/Ed. I shall inform them. 

Bru. And when such time they have begun to cry. 
Let them not cease, but with a ain confus'd 
Enforce the present execution 
Of what we chance to sentence. 

^d. Very well. 

Sic. Make them be strong; and ready for this hint, 
When we shall hap to give 't them. 

Bru. Go about it.— 

[Exit JEdae. 
Pvit him to choler straight: He hath been us'd 
Ever to conquer, and to have his worth 
Of contradiction: Being once chaf'd, he cannot 
Be rein'd again to temperance: then he speaks 
What 's in his heart: and that is there which looks 
With us to break his neck. 

Enter Corlolanus, Menenius, Cominlus, Senators, 
and Patricians. 

Sic. Well, here he comes. 

Men. Calmly, I do beseech you. 

Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece 
Will bear the knave by the volume.— Tne honour'd 

gods 
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice 
Supplied with worthy men! plant love among us! 
Throng our large temples with the sliows of peace, 
And not our streets with war! 

1 Sen. Amen, amen! 

Men. A noble wish. 

Re-enter JEiile, with Citizens. 

Stc. Draw near, ye people. 

/Ed. List to your tribunes; audience: Peace, I say! 

Cor. First, hear me speak. 

Both Tri. Well, say.-Peace, ho! 

Cor. Shall I be charg'd no further than this pre- 
sent? 
Must all determine here? 

Sic. I do demand, 

If you submit you to the people's voices. 
Allow their officers, and are content 
To suffer lawful censure for such faults 
As shall be prov'd upon you? 

Cor, I am content. 

Men. Lo, citizens, he says he is content: 
The warlike service he has done, consider; 
Think on the wounds his body bears, which show 
Like graves i' tiie holy churchyard. 

Cor. Scratches with briars. 

Scars to move laughter only. 

Men. Consider further. 

That when he speaks not like a citizen. 
You find him like a soldier: Do not take 
His rougher accents for malicious sounds. 
But, as 1 say, such as become a soldier. 
Rather than envy you. 

Com. Well, well, no more. 

Cor. What is the matter. 
That being pass'd for consul with full voice, 
I am so dishonour'd, that the very hour 
You take it off again? 

Sic. Answer to us. 

Cor. Say then: 't is true, I ought so. 

Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to 
take 
From Rome all season'd office, and to wind 
Yourself into a power tyrannical; 
For which you are a traitor to the people. 

Cor. How! traitor? 

Men. Nay; temperately: Your promise. 

Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the people! 
Call me their traitor!— thou injurious tribune! 
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths. 
In thy hands elutch'd as many millions, in 
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say. 
Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free 
As I do pray the gods. 

Sic. Mark j'ou this, people? 

at. To the rock; to the rock with him' 

Sic. Peace! 
We need not put new matter to his charge: 
What you have seen him do, and heard him speak. 
Beating your officers, cursing yourselves. 
Opposing laws witli strokes, and here defying 
Those whose great power must try him; even this. 
So criminal, and in such capital kind. 
Deserves the extremest death. 

Bru. But since he hath serv'd well tor Rome,— 

Cor. What! do you prate of service? 

Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 

Cor. You? 

Men. Is this the promise that you made your mo- 
ther? 

Com. Know, I pray you,— 

Cor. I '11 know no further; 

Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death. 
Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger 
But with a grain a day, I would not buy masters, 

Their mercy at the price of one fair wort. "'""8 wnen 
Nor check my courage for what they can give, 
To have 't with saying. Good morrow. 



1296 



CORIOLANUS. 



Sic. For that he has 

(As much as in him lles^ from time to time 
Envied URalnst the people, seeking means 
To pluck away their power; as now at last 
Given hostile stroiies, and that not in the presence 
Of dreaded justice, but on tlie ministers 
That do distribute it: In the name o' the people, 
And in the power of us the tribunes, we. 
Even from this instant, banish him our city; 
In peril of precipitation 
Fron) olt the rock Tarpeian, never more 
To enter our Rome gates; 1' the people's name, 
I suy it hall lie so. 

Cit. It shall be so: It shall be so; let him away; 
He 's bauish'd, and it shall be so. 

Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
friends;— 

Sic. He 's sentenc'd; no more hearing. 

Com. Let me speak: 

I have been consul, and can show, for Rome, 
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
My country's good, with a respect more tender, 
More holy and profound, than mine own life, 
My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, 
And treasure of my loins; then if I would 
Speak that— 

Sic. We know your drift: speak what? 

iJiu. There 's no more to be said, but he is ban- 
ish'd. 
As enemy to the people and his country: 
It shall be so. 

Cit. It shall be so, it shall be so. 

Cor. You common cry of cursl whose breath I 
hate 
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
As the dead carcases of unburled men 
That do corrupt my air, I banish you; 
And here remain with your uncertainty! 
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! 
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, 
Fan you into despair! Have the power still 
To banish your defenders; till, at length. 
Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels,) 
Making not reservation of yourselves, 
<Still your own foes,) deliver you. 
As most abated captives, to some nation 
That won you without blows! Despising, 
For you, the city, thus I turn my back: 
There Is a world elsewhere. 

[Ejieimt Coriolanus, Cominius, Menenius, 
Senators, ajicZ Patricians. 

uEd. The people's enemy is gone, is gone! 

Cit. Our enemy is bauish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! 
[The people shout, and throw up their caps. 

Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him, 
As he hath follovv'd you, with all despite; 
Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 
Attend us through the city. 

Cit. Come-, come, let 's see him out at gates; 
come:— 
The gods preserve our noble tribunes!— Come. 

lExeunt. 

ACT TV. 

Scene I.— The same. Before a Gate of the City. 

JEnter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, 
Cominius, and several j/ounp Patricians. 

Cor. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell:— 
the beast 
With many heads butts me away.— Nay, mother. 
Where is your ancient courage? you were used 
To say, extremity was the trier of spirits; 
That common chances common men could bear; 
That, when the sea was calm, ail boats alike 
Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows, 
When most struck home, being gentle wounded, 

craves 
A noble cunning: you were used to load me 
With precepts, that would make invincible 
The heart tiiat conn'd them. 

Vir. O heavens! O heavens! 

Cor. Nay, I prithee, woman, — 

Vol. Now the led pestilence strike all trades in 
Lome, 
And occupations perish! 

Cor. What, what, what! 

I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother. 
Resume that spirit, when .vou were wont to say, 
If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
Six of his labours you 'd have done, and sav'd 
Your husband so much sweat— Cominius, 
Droop not; adieu!— Farewell, my wife! my mother! 
I '11 do well yet.— Thou old and true Menenius, 
Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, 
And venomous to thine eyes.— My sometime general, 
I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women, 
'T Is fond to wail inevitable strokes, 
As 't is to laugh at them.— My mother, you wot well 
My hazards still have been your solace: and 
Believe 't not lightly, (though I go alone. 
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 
Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than ^een,) your 

son 
Will, or exceed the common, or be caught 
With cautelous baits and practice. 

Vol. My first son, 

Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius 
With thee a while: Determine on some course, 
More than a wild exposure to each chance 
That starts 1' fie way before thee. 

Cor. O the gods! 

Com. I 'II follow thee a month, devise with thee 
Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us, 
And we of thee: so, it the time thrust forth 
A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
O'er the vast world, to seek a single man; 
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
I' the absence of the ueeder. 

Cor. Fare ye well:— 

Thou hast years upon thee; and thou art too full 
Of the wars' siu-feits, to go rove with one 
That 's yet unbruis'd: bring me but out at gate.— 
•Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
""y friends of noble touch,,.when I am forth, 
■•■") far"weli, and smile; I pray you, come. 
T rf .ain above the ground, you shall 
MiK .-u me still; and never of me aught 

Which » IS like me formerly. 

(■>. - That '3 worthily 

^■j mii>»>li)<' ' ar.— Come, let 's not weep.— 
If I could shak,. off but one seven years 



From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, 
I 'd with thee every foot! 

Cor. Give me thy hand. 

Come. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— T^ic same. A Street near the Gate. 

Enter Sicinlus, Brutus, and an .ffidlle. 

Sic. Bid them go home; he 's gone, and we '11 no 
further.— 
The nobllltv are vex'd, who, we see, have sided 
In his behalf. 

Brn. Now we have shown our power. 

Let us seem humbler after it is done. 
Than when it was a doing. 

Sic. Bid them home: 

Say, their great enemy is gone, and they 
Stand in their ancient strength. 

Bru. Dismiss them home. 

[Exit J&aile. 
Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. 
Here comes his mother. 

Sic. Let 's not meet her. 

Bru. Why? 

Sic. They say she 's mad. 

Bi-u. They have ta'en note of us: 

Keep on your way. 

Vol. O, you 're well met: The hoarded plague o' 
the gods 
Requite your love! 

Men. Peace, peace! be not so loud. 

Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should hear,— 
Nay, and you shall bear some.— Will you be gone? 

[To Brutus. 

Fir. You shall stay too: [roSicln.] I would I had 
the power 
To say so to my husband. 

Sic. Are you mankind? 

Vol. Ay, fool: Is that a shame?— Note but this 
fool.— 
Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship 
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome, 
Then thou hast spoken words? 

Sic. O blessed heavens! 

Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words; 
And for Rome's good.— I '11 tell thee what;— Yet go:— 
Nay, but thou shalt stay too:— I would m.v son 
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, 
His good sword In his hand. 

Sic. What then? 

Vir. What then? 

He 'd make an end of thy posterity. 

Vol. Bastards, and all.— 
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! 

Men. Come, come, peace! 

Sic. I would he had continued to his country, 
As he began; and not unkuit himself 
The noble knot he made. 

Bru. I would he had. 

Vol. I would he had! 'T was you incens'd the 
rabble: 
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth. 
As I can of those mysteries which heaven 
Will not have earth to know. 

Bru. Pray, let us go. 

Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone: 
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this; 
As far as doth the Cepifol exceed 
The meanest house in Rome, so far my son, 
(This lady's husband here, this, do you see,) 
Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. 

Bru. Well, well, we '11 leave you. 

Sic. Why stay we to be baited 

With one that wants her wits? 

Vol. Take my prayers with you.— 

I would the gods had nothing else to do, 

[Exeunt Tribunes. 
But to confirm my cur.ses! Could I meet them 
But once a day, it would unclog my heart 
Of what lies heavy to 't. 

Men. You have told them home, 

And, by my troth, you have cause. Sfou '11 sup with 
me? 

Vol. Anger 's my meat; I sup upon myself. 
And so shall starve with feeding. —Come, let 's go: 
Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, 
In anger. Juno like. Come, come, come. 

Men. Fie,-fle, fie! [Exeunt. 

Scene III.— ^ Highway between Rome and Antium. 
Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting. 

Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me: 
your name, I think, is Adrian. 

Volsc. It is so, sir: truly, I have forgot you. 

Horn. I am a Rpman; and my services are, as you 
are, against theiraiKnow you me yet? 

Volsc. Nicanol'??' No. 

Rom. The same, sir. 

Volsc. You had more beard when I last saw you, 
but your favour is well appeared by your tongue. 
What 's the news in Rome? I have a note from the 
Volscian state, to find you out there: You have well 
saved me a day's journey. 

jRom. There hath been in Rome strange insurrec- 
tions: the people against thesenators, patricans, and 
nobles. 

Volsc. Hath been! Is It ended then? Our state 
thinks not so; they are in a most warlike prepara- 
tion, and hope to come upon them in the heat of 
their divisiou. 

Rom. The main blaze of it Is past, but a small 
thing would make it flame again. For the nobles 
receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy 
Coriolanus, that they are in a right aptness to take 
all power from the people, and to pluck from them 
their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell 
you, and is almost mature for the violent breaking 
out. 

Volsc. Coriolanus banished? 

Rom. Banished, sir. 

Volsc. You will be welcome with this intelligence, 
Nicanor. 

Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have 
heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man's wife 
is when she 's fallen out with her husband. Your 
noble Tullus Aufldlus will appear well in these wars, 
his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no re- 
quest of his country. 

Volsc. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate 
thus accidentally to encounter you: You have ended 
my business, and I will merrily accompany you 
home. 

Rom. I shall, between this and supper, tell you most 



strange things from Rome; all tending to the good 
of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, say 
you? 

Volsc. A most royal one: the centurions, and their 
charges, distinctly billeted, already in theentertain- 
ment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. 

Rom. I am jpyful to hear of their readiness, and 
am the man, I think, that .shall set them in present 
action. So, sir, heartily well met, ancl most glad of 
yoiu- company. 

Volsc. You take my part from me, sir; I have the 
most cause to be glad of yours. 

Rom. Well, let us go together. [Exeunt. 

ScKNE IV.— Antium. Before Aufldlus's House. 

Enter Coriolanus, in mean apparel, disguised and 
muffled. 

Cor. A goodly city is this Antium: City, 
'T is I that made thy widows: many an heir 
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
Have I heard groan, and drop: then know me not; 
Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones. 

Enter a Citizen. 
In i)uny battle slay me.— Save you, sir. 

Cit. And you. 

Cor. Direct me, if it be your will. 

Where great Aufldius lies: Is he In Antium? 

Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state. 
At his house this night. 

Cor. Which is his house, 'beseech you? 

Cit. This, here, before you. 

Cor. Thank you, sir; farewell. 

[E.nt Citizen. 
O, world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn. 
Whose double bosotiis seem to wear one heart, , 
Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, 
Are still together, who, twin, as 't were, in love 
Unseparable, shall within this hour, 
On a dissension of a doit, break out 
To bitterest enmity : So, fellest foes. 
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their 

sleep 
To take the one the other, by some chance, 
Some trick not worth an egg. shall grow dear friends 
And interjoin their issues. So with me:— 
My birthplace hate I, and my love 's upon 
This enemy town.— I 11 enter, if he slay me, 
He does fair justice; If he give me way, 
I '11 do his country service. \Exit. 

Scene \.—The same. A Hall in Aufldlus's House. 
Music within. Enter a Servant. 

1 Serv. Wine, wine, wine! What service Is here! 

I think our fellows are asleep. lE^^. 

Enter another Servant. 

2 Serv. Where 's Cotus! my master calls for him- 
Cotus! [Exit. 

Enter Coriolanus. 
Cor. A goodly house: The feast smells well: but I 
Appear not like a guest. 

Re-enter the first Servant. 

1 Serv. What would you have, friend? Whence are 
you? Here 's no place for you: Pray, go to the door. 

Cor. 1 have deserv'd no better entertainment, 
In being Coriolanus. 

Reenter second Servant. 

i Serv. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his 
eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such com- 
panions? Pray, get you out. 

Cor. Away! 

2 Sell'. Away? Get you away. 
Cor. Now thou art troublesome. 

2 Serv. Are you so brave? I '11 have you talked with 
anon. 

Enter a third Servant. The first meets him. 

3 Seiv. What fellow 's this? 

1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot 
get him out o' the house; Prithee, call my master to 
him. 

3 Seri;. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray 
you, avoid the house. 

Cor. Let me but stand; I will not hurt your hearth. 

3 Serv. What are you? 

Cor. A gentleman. 

3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. 

Cor. True, so I am. 

3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some 
other station; here 's no place for you; pray you, 
avoid: come. 

Cor. Follow your function, go! and batten on cold 
bits. [Pushes him away. 

3 Serv. What, will you not? Prithee, tell my mas- 
ter what a strange guest he has here. 

2 Serv. And I shall. [Exit. 

3 Sei-v. Where dwellest thou? 
Cor. Under the canopy. 

3 Serv. Under the canopy? 

Cor. Ay. ' 

•SServ. Where "s that? 

Cor. V the city of kites and crows. 

3 Serv. I' the city of kites and crows?— What an ass 
it is!— Then thou dwellest with daws too? 

Coi'. No, I serve not thy master. 

3 Serv. How, sir? Do you meddle with my master? 

Cor. Ay; 't is an honester service than to meddle 
with thy mistress: Thou prat'st, and prat'st; serve 
with thy trencher, hence! [Beats him away. 

Enter Aufldius and the second Servant. 

Auf. Where is this fellow? 

2 Seii>. Here, sir; I 'd have beaten him like a dog, 
but for disturbing the lords within. 

Aiif. Whence com'st thou? What woulri'st thou? 
Thy name? Why speak'st not? Speak, man: 
What 's th.v name? 

Cor. If, 'Tullus, [unmuffling] not yet thou know'st 
me, and, seeing me, dost not think me for the man I 
am, necessity commands me name myself. 

^Ii(/. What is thy name? [Servants retire. 

Cor. A name unmusical to the Volsclans' ears. 
And harsh in sound to thine. 

Auf. • Say, what 's thy name? 

Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
Bears a command in 't; though thy tackle 's torn. 
Thou show'st a noble vessel: What 's thy name? 

Cor. Piepare thy brow to frown: Know'st thou me 
yet? 

Auf. I know thee not:— Thy name? 

Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done 
To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces, 



SOBNE V.J 



COBIOLANUS. 



297 



Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness mny 
My surname, Coriolanus: The painful sfrvlce, 
The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood 
Shed for my thankless country, are requited 
But with that surname; a good memory, 
And witness of the malice and displeasure 
Which thou should 'st bear mo: only that name re- 
mains; 
The cruelty and envy of the people. 
Permitted by our dastard nobles, wlio 
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; 
And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be 
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extemity 
Hath brought me to thy hearth: Not out of hope. 
Mistake mo not, to save my life: for if 
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
I would have 'voided thee: but in mere spite, 
To be full quit of those my banishers, 
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 
A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge 
Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims 
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee 

straight. 
And make my misery serve thy turn; so use it, 
That my revengeful services may prove 
As benefits to thee; for I will tight 
Against my eanker'd country with the spleen 
Of all the under fiends. But if so be 
Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes 
Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am 
Longer to live most weary, and present 
My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice: 
Which not to cut would show thee but a fool; 
Since I have ever folloWd thee with hate, 
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast. 
And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
It be to <)o thee service. 

Auf. O Marcius, Marcius! 

Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my 

heart 
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
Should from yon cloud speak divine things. 
And say, ' 'T is true,' I 'd not believe them more 
Than thee, all noble Marcius.— Let me twine 
Mine arms about that body, where against 
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke. 
And scarr'd the moon with splintersl Here I clip 
The anvil of my sword; and do contest 
As hotly and as nobly with thy love, 
As ever in ambitious strength I did 
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, 
I lov'd the maid I married; never man 
Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, 
Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart 
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee, 
We have a power on foot; and I had purpose 
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn. 
Or lose mine arm for 't: Thou hast beat me out 
Twelve several times, and I have nightly since 
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me: 
We have been down together in my sleep. 
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, 
And w^ak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Mar- 
cius, 
Had we no other quarrel else to Rome, but that 
Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all 
From twelve to seventy; and, pouring war 
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
Like a bold flood o'erl5eat. O, come, go in. 
And take our friendly senators by the hands; 
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, 
Who am prepar'd against your territories, 
Though not tor Rome itself. 

Cor. You bless me, gods! 

Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou vf lit have 
The leading of thine own revenges, take 
The one half of my commission; and set down,— 
As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st 
Thy country's strength and weakness,— thine own 

ways: 
Whether to knock against the gates of Borne, 
Or rudely visit them in parts remote. 
To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: 
Let me commend thee first to those that shall 
Say, Yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! 
And more a friend than e'er an enemy; 
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand! Most 
welcome! 

[Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius. 

1 Serv. [Advancing.] Here 's a strange alteration! 

2 Serv. By my hand I had thought to have strucken 
him with a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his 
clothes made a false report of him. 

1 Serv. What an arm he has! He turned me about 
with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up 
a top. 

2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was 
something in him: he had, sir, a kind of face, me- 
thought,— I cannot tell how to term it. 

1 Seru. He had so; looking as It were,— 'Would I 
were hanged but I thought there was more In him 
than I could think. 

2 Sei-v. So did I, I '11 be sworn: he is simply the 
rarest man i' the world. 

1 Serv. I think he is: but a greater soldier than he, 
you wot one. 

2 Serv. Who? my master? 

1 Serv. Nay, it 's no matter for that. 

2 Serv. Worth six of him. 

\Serv. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be 
the greater soldier, 

2 Serv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say 
that: for the defence of a town our general is 
excellent. 

1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 

Bc-enter third Servant. 

S Sen'. O, slaves, I can tell you news; news, you 
rascals! 

1 & 2 Serv. What, what, what? let 's partake. 

S SeTn). I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I 
had as lieve be a condemned man. 

1 & 2 Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 

3 Serv. Why, here 's he that was wont to thwack 
our general,— Caius Marcius. 

1 Sei-v. Why do you say thwack our general? 

3 Serv. I do not say thwack our general: but he 
was always good enough for him. 

2 Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends: he was 
ever too hard for him; I have heard hira say so him- 
self. 

1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to say 



the truth on it: before Corioll he scotched him and 
notched him like a carbonado. 

2 Serv. An he had been cannlbally given, he might 
have broiled and eaten him too. 

1 Serv. But, more of thy news? 

3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as If he 
were son and heir to Mars: set at upper end o' the 
table: no question asked him by any of the senators, 
but they stand bald before him: Our general him- 
self makes a mistress of him; sanctifies himself 
with 's hand, and turns up the the white o' the eye 
to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, our 
general is cut i' the middle, and but one half of what 
he was yesterday: for the other has half, by the 
entreaty and grant of the whole table. He 'U go, he 
says, and so wle the porter of Rome gates by the ears ; 
He will mow all down before him, and leave his 
passage polled. 

2 Sci-v. And he 's as like to do 't as any man I can 
imagine. 

3 Serf. Do 't? he will do 't: For, look you, sir, he 
has as many friends as enemies: which friends, sir, 
(as it were) durst not (look you, slr,)show themselves 
(as we term it) his friends whilst he 's In directl- 
tude. 

1 Serv. Directltude! what 's that? 

3 Sei-v. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up 
again, and the man in blood, they will out of their 
burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with 
him. 

1 Serv. But when goes this forward? 

3 Seru. Tomorrow; today; presently. You shall 
have the drum struck up this afternoon; 't is, as it 
were, a parcel Df their feast, and to be executed 
ere they wipe their lips. 

2 Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring world 
again. This peace is nothing but to rust iron, in 
crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 

1 Serv. Let me have war, say I: it exceeds peace 
as far as day does night: it 's sprightly, waking, 
audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, 
lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter 
of more ba'stard children than war 's a destroyer of 
men. 

2 Serv. 'T is so: and as war, in some sort, may be 
said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but 
peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 

1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 

3 Sen;. Reason; because they then less need one 
another. The wars for my money. I hope to see 
Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they 
are rising. 

All. In, in, in. In! [Exeunt. 

Scene VI.— Rome. A public Place. 
Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 

Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; 
His remedies are tame i' the present peace 
And quietness o' the people, which before 
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends 
Blush that the world goes well; who rather had. 
Though they themselves did suffer by 't, beheld 
Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see 
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going 
About their functions friendly. 

Enter Menenius. 

Bru. We stood to 't in good time. Is this Mene- 
nius? 

Sic. 'T is he, 't is he: O, he Is grown most kind of 
late. Hall, sir! 

Men. Hail to you both! 

Sic. Your Coriolanus is not much missed but with 
his friends; the commonwealth doth stand; and so 
would do, were he more angry at it. 

Men. All 's well; and might have been much better, 
if he could have temporised. 

Sic. Where is he, hear you? 

Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife 
hear nothing from him. 

Enter Three or Four Citizens. 

at. The gods preserve you both! 

Sic, Good-e'en, our neighbours. 

Bru. Good-e'en to you all, good-e'en to you all. 

1 Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our 
knees. 
Are bound to pray for you both! 

Sic. Live, and thrive! 

Bru. Farewell, kind neighbour: We wish'd Co- 
riolanus 
Had lov'd you as we did. 

Cit. Now the gods keep you ! 

Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. 

Sic. This Is a happier and more comely time 
Than when these fellows ran about the streets. 
Crying, Confusion. 

Bru. Caius Marcius was 

A worthy officer 1' the war; but Insolent, 
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, 
Self-loving,— 

Sic. And affecting one sole throne, 

Without assistance. 

Men, I think not so. 

Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation. 
If he had gone forth consul, found It so. 

Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome 
Sits safe and still without him. 
Enter JEdiie. 

^d. Worthy tribunes, 

There is a slave, whom we have put in prison. 
Reports, the Volsces with two several powers 
Are enter'dln the Roman territories; 
And with the deepest malice of the war 
Destroy what lies before them. 

Men. "T is Aufidius, 

Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment. 
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world. 
Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, 
And durst not once peep out. 

Sic. Come, what talk you of Marcius? 

Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd.— It cannot be 
The Volsces dare break with us. 

Men. Cannot be! 

We have record that very well it can; 
And three examples of the like have been 
Within my age. But reason with the fellow. 
Before you punish him, where he heard this; 
Lest you shall chance to whip your information, 
And beat the messenger who bids beware 
Of what is to be dreaded. 

Sic. Tell not me: 

I know this cannot be. 

Bru. Not possible. 



Enter a Messsenger. 

JIfess. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going 
All to the senate-house: some news is come 
That turns their countenances. 

Sic. 'T Is this slave;— 

Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes:- his raising! 
Nothing but his report: 

Mesa, Yes, worthy sir. 

The slave's report is seconded; and more. 
More (earful, is deliver'd. 

Sic. What more fearful? 

Jlfess. It Is spoke freely out of many mouths, 
(How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius, 
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome; 
And vows revenge as spacious as between 
The young'st and oldest thing. 

Sic. This Is most llkelyl 

Brxc. Rais'd only that the weaker sort may wish 
Good Marcius home again. 

Sic. The very trick on 't. 

Men. This is unlikely: 
He and Aufidius can no more atone, 
Than violentest contrariety. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Mess. You are sent for to the senate; 
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, 
Associated with Aufidius, rages 
Upon our territories; and have already. 
Overborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took 
What lay before them. 

Enter Cominius. 

Com. O, you have made good work! 

Men. What news? ^hat news? 

Com. You have holp to ravish your ow -daughters, 
and 
To melt the city leads upon your pates; 
To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses;— 

Men. What 's the news? what 's the news? 

Com. Your temples burned in their cement; and 
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confln'd 
Into an auger's bore. 

JIfem. Pray now, your news?— 

You have made fair work, I fear me:— Pray, your 

news? 
If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians,— 

Com. If! 

He is their god; he leads them like a thing 
Made by some other deity than nature. 
That shapes man better: and they follow him, 
Against us brats, with no less confidence 
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, 
Or butchers killing flies. 

Jlfen. You have made good work, 

You, and your apron men; you that stood so much 
Upon the voice of occupation, and 
The breath of garlic-eaters! 

Com. He'll shake your Rome about your ears. 

Men. As Hercules did shake down mellow fruit: 
You have made fair work! 

Bru. But is this true, sir? 

Com. Ay; and you'll look pale 
Before you find it other. AH the regions 
Do smilingly revolt; and, who resist, 
Are maik'd for valiant ignorance. 
And perish constant fools. Who is 't can blame him? 
Your enemies, and his, find something in him. 

Men. We are all undone, unless 
The noble man have mercy. 

Com. Who shall ask It? 

The tribunes cannot do 't forshame; the people 
Deserve such pity of him as the wolf 
Does of the shepherd: for his best friends, if they 
Should say, 'Be good to Rome,' they charg'd him 

even 
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate. 
And therein show'd like enemies. 

Men. 'T is true: 

If he were putting to my house the brand 
That should consume it, I have not the face 
To say, ' Beseech you, cease.'— You have made fair 

hands. 
You and your crafts! you have crafted fair! 

Com. You have brought 

A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
So incapable of help. 

Tri. Say not we brought It. 

Jlfen. How! Was It we? We lov'd him; but, like 
beasts. 
And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters. 
Who did hoot him out o' the city. 

Com. But, I fear, 

They'll roar him in again. TuUus Aufidius, 
The second name of men, obeys his points 
As if he were his officer:— Desperation 
Is all the policy, strength, and defence. 
That Rome can make against them. 

Enter a troop of Citizens. 

Men. Here come the clusters.— 

And is Aufidius with him?— you are they 
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting 
At Coriolanus' exile. Now he 's coming; 
And not a hair upon a soldier's head 
Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs 
As you threw caps up, will he tumble down. 
And pay you for your voices. 'T is no matter; 
If he could burn us all into one coal. 
We have deserv'd It. 

Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news. 

1 Cit. For mine own part. 
When I said, banish him, I said 't was pity. 

2 Cit. And so did I. 

3 Cit. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did 
very many of us; That we did we did for the best; 
and though we willingly consented to this banish- 
ment, yet is was against our will. 

Com. You are goodly things, you voices! 
Men. You have made 

Good work, you and your cry!— Shall us to the 
Capitol? 
Com. O, ay; what else? 

[Exeunt Com. and Men. 
Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'd. 
These are a side that would be glad to have 
This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home. 
And show no sign of fear. 

1 Cit. The gods be good to us! Come, masters, 
let 's home. I ever said we were i' the wrong when 
we banished him. 

[Part 37.] 



298 



CORIOLANUS. 



lACT V. 



2 at. So did we nil. But come, let 's home. 

[Exeunt Citizens. 
Bru. I do not like this news. 
Sic. Nor I. 

Bru. Let 's to the Capitol:— Would half my wealth 
Would buy this for a lie! ,„ 

Sic. Pray, let us go. [Kxeunt. 

Scene VII.— .4 Camp- at a small distance from 
Rome. 

Enter Aufldius and his Lieutenant. 

Ai(f. Do they still fly to the Roman? 

Lieu. I do not know what witcheiaft 's in him; but 
S^our soldiers use him as the prace 'fore meat, 
Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; 
And you are rtarken'd in this action, sir. 
Even by your own. 

Auf. I cannot help it now; 

Unless, by usinu means. I iame the foot 
Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier. 
Even to my person, than I thought he would 
When first I did embrace him; Yet his nature 
In that 's no cliiingeling; and I must excuse 
What cannot be amended. 

• Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, 

(I mean, for your particular,) you had not 
Join'd in commission with him; but either had borne 
The action of yourself, or else to him 
Had left it solely. 

Auf. I understand thee well; and be thou sure. 
When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
What I can urge against liini. Altliough it seems. 
And so lu rhuiks, and is no less apparent 
To the vu ar eye, that he bears ail things fairly. 
And show ;ood husbandry for the Volscian state; 
Flghtsdrai- m-like, and does acliieveas soon 
As draw his swoid: yet he hath left undone 
That which shall break his neck, or hazard mine, 
Whene'er we come to our account. 

Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he '11 carry 
Rome? 

• Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down; 
And the nobility of Rome are his: 
The^enators and patricians love him too: 
The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 

To expel liiiii tlience. I think he '11 be to Rome, 

As is the osprey to the fish who takes it 

By sovereignty of nature. First he was 

A noble servant to them; but he could not 

Carry his honours even: whether 't was pride. 

Which out of daily fortune ever taints 

The happy man; whether defect of judgment. 

To fail in the disposing of those chances 

Which he was lord of; or whether nature, 

Not to be other than one thing, not moving 

From the casque to the cushion, but commanding 

peace 
Even with the same austerity and garb 
As hecontroU'd the war; but one of these 
(As he hath spices of them all, not all. 
For I dare so far free him) made him fear'd, 
So hated, and so banish'd: But he has a merit, 
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
Lie In the interpretation of the time: 
And power, unto itself most commendable, 
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
To extol what it hath done. 
One fire drives out one flre; one nail, one nail; 
Rights by rights fouler, strength by strengths do 

■fail. 
Come, let 's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, 
- Thou-8^>t poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine. 

IJixeunt, 
ACTV. 
Scene I.— Rome. A public Place. 

Enter Menenlus, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, and 
ot Iters. 

Men. No, I '11 not go: you hear what he hath said 
Which was sometime his general; who lov'd him 
III a most dear particular. He call'd me father: 
But what o' that? Go, you tliat banish'd him; 
A mile before his tent fall down, and knee 
The way into his mercy: Nay, if he coy'd 
To hear Cominius speak, I '11 keep at liome. 

Com. He would not seem to know me. 

Men. Do you hear? 

Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name: 
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops 
That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
He would not answer to: forbade all names; 
He was a kind of nothing, titleless. 
Till he had f org'd himself a name o' the flre 
Of burning Rome. 

Men. Why, so; you have made good work: 
A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
To make coals cheap: A noble memory I 

Com. I minded hlra how royal 't was to pardon 
When it was less expected; He replied, 
It was a bare petition of a state 
To one whom they had punish'd. 

Men. Very well; 

Could he say less? 

Com. I offer'd to awaken his regard 
For his private friends: His answer to me was. 
He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
Of noisome musty chaff: He said, 't was folly 
For one poor grain or two to leave unburnt, 
And still to nose the offence, 

il/en. For one poor grain or two? 
lam one of those; his mother, wife, hischild, 
And tills brave fellow too, we are the grains: 
You are the musty cliaCC; and you are smelt 
Above the moon: We must be burnt for you. 

Sic. Nay, pray be patient: If you refuse your aid 
In this so never-needed help, yet do not 
Upurald us with our distress. But, sure, if you 
Would be your country's pleader, yuurgood tongue. 
More than the instant army we can make, 
Might stop our countryman. 

Men. No; I 'U not meddle. 

Sic. Pray you, go to him. 

Men. What should I do? 

Bru. Only made trial what your love can do 
For Rome, towards Marcius. 

Men. Well, and say that Marcius return me, 
As Cominius is return 'd, unlieard; what tlien?— 
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
With his unkiiidness? Say 't be so? 

Sic. Yet your good will 

Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure 
As you Intended well. 



Men. 1 '11 undertake it: 

I think he '11 hear me. Yet, to bite his lip 
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me, 
He was not taken well: he had not din'd: 
The veins unflird, our blood is cold, and then 
We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd 
These pipes, unci these conveyances of our blood, 
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
Than in our priest like fasts, therefore I '11 watch 

him 
Till he be dieted to my request. 
And then 1 '11 set upon liiiii. 

Bini. You know tlio very road into his kindness. 
And cannot lose your way. 

Men. Good faith, I '11 prove him. 

Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge 
Of my success. [A'a;i«. 

Com. He 'U never hear him. 

Sic. Not? 

Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
Red as 't would burn Rome; and his injury 
Tlie gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 
'T was very faintly he said, ' Rise;' dismiss'd me 
Thus, with his speecliless hand: What he would do. 
He sent in writing after me,— what he would not; 
Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions: 
So that all hope is vain, 
Unless his noble mother, and his wife; 
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
For mercy to his country- Therefore, let 's hence. 
And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [Exe. 

Scene IL— ^n advanced Post of the Volscian 

Camp before Rome. The Guard at their stations. 

Enter to them Menenlus. 

1 G. Stay: Whence are you? 

2 G. Stand, and go back. 
3Ien. You guard like men; 't is well: But, by your 

leave, 
I am an officer of state, and come 
To speak with Coriolanus. 

1 G. From whence? 

Men. From Rome. 

1 G. You may not pass, you must return: our 

general 
Will no more hear from thence. 

2 G. You '11 see your Rome embrao'd with flre, be- 

fore 
You '11 speak with Coriolanus. 

Men. Good my friends, 

If you have heard your general talk of Roine, 
And of his friends there, it is lots to blanics 
My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenlus. 

1 G. Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name 
Is not here passable. 

Men. I tell thee, fellow. 

Thy general is my lover: I have been 
The book of his good acts, whence men have read 
His fame unparallel'd, haply amplified; 
For I have ever verified my friends 
(Of whom he 's chief) with all the size that verity 
Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes. 
Like to a bowl upon a subtle gr»und, 
I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise 
Have almost stanip'd the leasing: therefore, fellow, 
I must have leave to pass. 

1 <?. 'Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his 
behalf, as you have uttered words in your own, you 
should not pass here: no, though it were as virtuous 
to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. 

Men. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Mene- 
nlus, always factionary on the part of your general. 

2 G, Howsoever you have been his liar, (as you say 
you have,) I am one that, telling true under him, 
must say you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. 

Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not 
speak with him till after dinner. 
1 G. You are a Roman, are you? 
Men. I am as thy general Is. 

1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can 
you, when you have pushed out your gates the very 
defender of them, and in a violent popular Ignorance 
given your enemy your shield, think to front his re- 
venges with the easy groans of old women, the vir- 
ginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied 
intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem 
to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire 
your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath 
as this? No, you are deceived: therefore, back to 
Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are con- 
demned; our general has sworn you out of reprieve 
and pardon. 

Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he 
would use me with estimation. 

2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. 
3Ien. I mean, thy general. 

1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say; 
go, lest I let forth your half-pint of blood:— back,— 
that 's the utmost of your having;— back. 

Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow,— 

Enter Coriolanus and Aufldius. 

Cor. What 's the matter? 

Men. Now, you companion, I '11 say an errand for 
you; you shall know now that I am in estimation; 
you shall perceive that a jack guardant cannot office 
me from mj- son Coriolanus: guess, but bv my enter- 
tainment witli liim, if thou stand'st not i' the state 
of hanging, or of some death more long in spectator- 
ship, and crueller in suffering; behold now presently, 
and swoon for what 's to come upon thee.— The glo- 
rious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular 
prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old 
father Menenius does! O, my soul my son! thou art 
preparing fire for us; look thee, here 's water to 
quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee: 
but being assured none but myself could move thee, 
I liave been blown out of your gates with sighs: and 
conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary 
countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and 
turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this who, 
like a block, nath denied my access to thee. 

Cor. Away! 

3Ien. How! Away? 

Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs 
Are servanted to others: Though I owe 
My revenge properly, my remission lies 
In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, 
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather 
Thau pity note how much.— Therefore, be gone. 
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than 
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee. 



Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, 

letires a letter. 
And would have sent it. Another word. Menenlus, 
I will not hear thee speak.— This man, Aufldius, 
Was my belov'd In Rome: yet thou behoWst— 
Auf. You keep a constant temper. 

[K.rei(nt Coriolanus and Aufldius. 

1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenlus? 

2 G. 'T is a spell, you see, of mueh power: you 
know the way home again. 

1 G. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping 
your greatness back? 

2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? 
Men. 1 neither care for the world nor your general: 

for such things as you. I can scarce think there 's 
any, you are so slight. He that hath a will to die by 
himself, fears it not from another. Let your general 
do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and 
your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as 
I was said to. Away! [Exit. 

1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 

2 G. The worthy fellow is our general: He is the 
rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. lExeurU, 

Scene HI.— The tent of Coriolanus. 

Enter Coriolanus, Aufldius, andothers. 

Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow 
Set down our host.— My partner in this action. 
You must report to the Volscian lords how plainly 
I have borne this business. 

Auf, Only their ends 

You have respected; stopp'd your ears against 
The general suit of Rome; never admitted 
A. private whisper, no, not with such friends 
That thought them sure of you. 

Cor. This last old man. 

Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, 
Lov'd me above the measure of a fathers 
Nay, godded me. Indeed. Their latt>si refuge 
Was to send him; for whose old love J have 
(Though I show'd sourly to hlml onoe more offer'd 
The flrst conditions whlph they did refuse, 
And cannot now accept, to grace him only 
That thought he could do more; a very little 
I have yielded too; Fresh embassies, and suUa, 
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter 
Will I lenii eftr to,— Ha! what shout is this? 

ISftoMttortMw. 
Shall I be tempted to infringe ray vow 
In the same time 't is made? I will not,— 
Enter VirglUa, Volumnia, leading young Marcius, 

Valeria, and Attendants. 
My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould 
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand 
The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection! 
All bond and privilege of nature break! 
Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.— 
What is that curtsy worth! or those doves' eyes. 
Which can make gods forsworn!— I melt, and am 

not 
Of stronger earth than others.— My mother bows; 
As if Olympus to a molehill should 
In supplication nod: and my young boy 
Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
Great nature cries, ' Deny not.'— Let the Volsces 
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I '11 never 
Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand, 
As if a man were author of himself. 
And knew no other kin. 

Vir. My lord and husband! 

Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. 

Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd 
Makes you think so. 

Cor. I like a dull actor now, 

I have forgot my part, and I am out. 
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, / 

Forgive my tyranny; but do not say. 
For that, ' Forgive our Romans.'— O, a kiss 
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! 
Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip 
Hath virgin'd it e'er since.— You gods! I prate. 
And the most noble mother of the world 
Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knees, i' the earth; 

IKneels. 
Of thy deep duty more Impression show 
Than that of common sons. 

Vol. O, stanc up bless'd! 

Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, 
I kneel before thee: and uiiproperly 
Show duty, as mistaken all this while 
Between the child and parent. [KTieels. 

Cor. What Is this? 

Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 
Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds 
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the flery sun; 
Murd'rlng impossiblity. to make 
What cannot be, slight work. 

Vol. Thou art my warrior; 

I holp to frame thee. Do voii know this lady? , 

Cer. The noble sister of Publlcola, 
The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle, 
That 's curded by the frost from purest snow. 
And hangs on Dian's teriiple: Dear Valeria! 

Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, 
Which, by the interpretation of full time 
May show like all yourself. 

Cor. The god of soldiers. 

With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may 'st prove 
To shame invulnerable, and stick 1' the wars 
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw. 
And saving those that eye thee! 

Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 

Cor. That 's my brave boy. 

Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself. 
Are suitors to you. 

Cor. I beseech you, peace: 

Or, if you 'd ask, remember this before, — 
The things I have forsworn to grant may never 
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
Again with Rome's mechanics:— Tell me not 
Wherein 1 seem unnatural: Desire not 
To allay my rages and revenges with 
Your collier reasons. 

Vol. O, no more, no more! 

You have said you will not grant us anything; 
For we have nothing else to ask but that 
Which you deny already; Yet we will ask; 
That, If you fail in our request, the blame 
May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us. 



Scene hi.] 



VORIOLANUS. 



29& 



Cor. Aufidius, and you Volsces. mark; for we 'H 
Hear nought from Rome in private.— Your request? 

Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our rai- 
ment 
And state of bodies would bewra.v what life 
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself, 
How more unfortunate than all living women 
Are we come hither: since that thy siglit, which 

should 
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with com- 
forts. 
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sor- 
row; 
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
The son, the luishand, and the fatlier, tearing 
His country's bowels out. And to poor we 
Thine enmity'.s most capital: thou barr'st us 
Our pra.vers to the gods, which is a comfort 
That all Imt we enjoy: For how can we, 
Alas! how can we for our country pra.v, 
Whereto we are bound; together with thy victory. 
Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose 
The country, our dear nurse; or else thy person. 
Our comfort in the country. We must find 
An evident calamity, though we liad 
Our wish, which side should win: torelther thou 
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
With manacles through our streets, or else 
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin; 
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed 
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
I purpose not to wait on fortune till 
These wars determine: If I cannot persuade thee 
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts 
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
March to assault thy country than to tread 
(Trust to 't, thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb. 
That brought thee to thU world, 

^'i'. Ay, and mine. 

That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name 
Living to time. 

Boy. A' shall not tread on me: 

I 'II run away till I am bigger, but then I 'U fight. 

Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, 
Eequires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
I have sat too long. [Rising. 

Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 

If it were so that our request did tend 
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn 

us, 
As poisonous of your honour: No; our suit 
Is that you reconcile tliem: while the Vol.sces 
May say, 'This mercy we have show'd;' the Ro- 
mans, 
'This we have receiv'd;' and each in eitherslde 
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, ' Be bless'd 
For making up this peace!" Thou know'st, great 

son, 
The end of war 's uncertain; but this certain, 
That if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
Which thou Shalt thereby reap Is such a name, 
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; 
Whose chronicle thus writ,—' The man was noble 
But with his last attempt he wlp'd it out; 
Destroy'd his country; and his name remains 
To the ensuing age abhorr'a.' Speak to me, son: 
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour. 
To imitate the graces of the gods; 
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air. 
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? 
Thlnk'bt thou it honourable for a noble man 
Still to remember wrongs?— Daughter, speak you: 
He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy: 
Perhaps thy childlsliness will move hin) more 
Than can our reasons.— There is no man in the world 
More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate, 
Like one 1' the stocks. Thou hast never In thy life 
Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy; 
When she, (poor hen!) fond of no second brood, 
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust, 
And spurn me back: But, if it be not so. 
Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee. 
That thou restrain'st from me the duty which 
To a mother's part belongs.— He turns away: 
Down, ladies! let us shame him with our knees. 
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride 
Tlian pity to our prayers. Down: An end: 
This is the last;— So we will home to Rome. 
And die among our neighbours.— Nay, behold us: 
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have. 
33ut kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship. 
Does reason our petition with more strength 
Than thou hast to deny 't.— Come, let us go: 
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; 
His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
Like him by chance:— Yet give us our despatch: 
I am hush'd until our city be afire. 
And then I 'U speak a little. 

Cor. O mother, mother! 

[Holding Volumnia by the hands, silent. 
What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope. 
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene. 
They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! 
You have won a happy victory to Rome; 
But, lor your son,— believe it, O, Iielieve it. 
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, 
If not most mortal to him.— But, let it come; — 
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
I 'U frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
Wei-e you in my stead, would you have heard 
Amother less? or granted less, Aufidius? 

Auf. I was mov'ci withal. 

Cor. I dare be sworn you were: 

And, sir. It is no little thing to make 
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But. good sir. 
What peace you '11 make, advise me: for my part, 
1 '11 not to Rome, I '11 back with you; and pray you. 
Stand to me in this cause. — O mother! wife! 

Auf. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy 
honour 
At difference in thee: out of that I '11 work 
Myself a former fortune. [Aside. 

1 The Ladies makes sign to Coriolanus. 

Cor. Ay, by and by; 

[I'o Volumnia, VlrglUa, Sec. 
But we will drink together; and .you shall bear 
A better witness back than word.s, which we. 
On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
To have a temple built you: all the swords 



In Ital.v, and her confederate arms. 
Could not have made this peace. 



[Exeunt. 



Scene IV.—Rome. A public Place. 
Enter Menenius and Siclnius. 

Men, See you yond' coign o' the Capitol; yond' 
corner stone? 

Sic. Why, what of that! 

Men. If it be possible for you to displace It with 
your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of 
Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. 
But I say there is no hope in 't; our throats are sen- 
tenced, and stay upon execution. 

Sic. Is 't po.ssible that so sliort a time can alter the 
condition of a man''' 

Men. There is differency between a grub and a but- 
terfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius 
is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he 's 
more than a creeping thing. 

Sic. He loved his mother dearly. 

Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers 
his mother now than an eight year old horse. The 
tartness of liis face sours ripe grapes. When he 
walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground 
shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a 
corslet with his e.ye; talks like a knell, and his hum 
is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for 
Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with 
his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eter- 
nity, and a heaven to throne in. 

Sic. Yes, mercv. If you report him truly. 

Meyi. I paint him In the character. Mark what 
mercy his mother shall bring from him: There Is no 
more mercy In him than there is milk in a male tiger; 
that shall our poor city find: and all this Is 'long of 
you. 

Sic. The gods be good unto usi 

Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good 
unto us. When we banished him we respected not 
them: and lie returning to break our necks, they re- 
spect not us. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Sir, if you 'd save your life, fly to your house; 
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune. 
And nale him up and down; all swearing, if 
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, 
They '11 give him death by Inches. 

Enter another Messenger. 

Sic. What 's the news? 

Mess. Good news, good news:— The ladies have 
prevail'd. 
The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone: 
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
No, not the expulsion of the Tarqulns. 

Sic. Friend, 

Art thou certain this is true? Is it most certain? 

Mess. As certain as I know the sun Is fi re: 
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? 
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide. 
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark 
you! 

[Trumpets and hautboys sounded, and drums 
beaten, all together. Shouting also within. 
The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes. 
Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, 
Make the sun dance. Hark you! [Shouting again. 

Men. This is good news: 

I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, 
A city full; of tribunes such as you 
A sea and land full: You have pray'd well to-day; 
This morning, for ten thousand of your throats 
I 'd not have given a dolt. Hark, how they joy! 

tSlwuting and music. 

Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings: 
next. 
Accept my thankfulness. 

Mess. Sir, we ha've all 

Great cause to give great thanks. 

Sic. They are near the city? 

Mess. Almost at point to enter. 

Sic. We will meet them. 

And help the joy. [ Ooing. 

Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patri- 
cians, and People. They pass over the Stage. 

ISen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome: 
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods. 
And make triumphant fires: strew flowers before 

them: 
Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, 
Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; 
Cry,— Welcome, ladies, welcome! — 

All. Welcome, ladies, welcome! 

A flourish with drums and trumpets. 
[Exeunt. 

Scene V. — Antlum. A public Place. 
Enter Tullus Aufidius, loith Attendants. 
Auf. Go tell the lords of the city I am here: 
Deliver them this paper: having read it. 
Bid them repair to the market-place; where I, 
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears. 
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse 
The city ports by this hath enter'd, and 
Intends to appear befoi'e the people, hoping 
To purge himself with words: Dispatch. 

[Exeunt Attendants. 
Enter Three or Four Conspirators of Aufidius' 
faction. 
Most welcome! 

1 Con. How is It with our general? 

Auf. Even so 

As with a man by his own alms empoison'd. 
And with his charity slain. 

2 Con. Most noble sir, 
If you do hold the same Intent wherein 
You wish'd us parties, we '11 deliver you 
Of your great danger. 

Auf. Sir, I cannot tell; 

We must proceed as we do find the people. 

3 Con. Tne people will remain uncertain whilst 
'Tsvixt you there 's difference; but the fall of either 
Makes the survivor heir of ail. 

Auf. I know it: 

And my pretext to strike at him admits 
A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd 
Mine honour for his truth: Who being so heighten'd, 
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery. 
Seducing so my friends: and, to this end. 
He bow'd his nature, never known before 



But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 

3 Con. Sir, his stoutness. 
When he did stand for consul, which he lost. 
By lack of stooping,- 

Aiif. That I would have spoke of: 

Being banish'd for 't, he came unto my hearth; 
Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; 
Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way 
In all his own desires; nay, let hlin choose 
Out of my files, his projects to accomplish. 
My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments 
In my own person; holp to reap the fame. 
Which he did end, all his; and took some prlda 
To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, 
I seem'd his follower, not partner; and 
He wag'd me with his countenance, as if 
I had been mercenary. 

icon. So he did, my lord: 

The army marvell'd at it. And, In the last. 
When he had carried Rome; and that we look'd 
For no less spoil than glory,— 

Auf. There was it;— 

For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
Of our great action: Therefore shall he die. 
And I 'U renew me in his fall. But. hark! 

[Drums and trumpets sound, with great 
shouts of the people. 

1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a post. 
And had no welcomes home; but he returns 
Splitting the air with noise. 

2 Con. And patient fools. 
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear 
With giving him glory. 

3 Con. Therefore, at your vantage, 
Ere he express himself, or move the people 

With what he would say, let him feel your sword, 
Which we will second. When he lies along. 
After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury 
His reasons with his body. 

Auf. Say no more: 

Here come the lords. 

Enter the Lords of the City. 

Lords. You are most welcome home. 
Auf. I have not deserv'd it; 

But, worthy lords, have you with heedperus'd 
What I have written to you? 
Lords. We have. 

1 Lord. And grieve to hear it, 

i What faults he made before the last, I think, 
i Might have found easy fines: but there to end 
1 Where he was to begin, and give away 
The benefit of our levies, answeri^.g us 
With our own chai'ge; making a treaty where 
There was a yielding,— this admits no excuse. 
Auf. He approaches; you shall hear him. 

Enter Coriolanus, u-ith drums and colours; a crowd 
o/ Citizens with him. 

Cor. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; 
No more infected with my country's love 
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
Under your great command. You are to knovf, 
•rhat prosperously I have attempted, and 
With bloody passage led your wars, even to 
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought 

home 
Do more than counterpoise, a full third part. 
The charges of the action. We have made peace, 
With no less honour to the Antiates, 
Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver. 
Subscribed by the consuls and patricians. 
Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
We have compounded on. 

Auf. Read It not, noble lords; 

But tell the traitor, in the highest degree, 
He hath abus'd your powers, 

Cor. Traitor!- How now?— 

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 

Cor. Marcius! 

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: Dost thou think 
I '11 grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name, 
Coriolanus in Corioli? 

Your lords and heads of the state, perfidiously 
He has betray'd your business, and given up, 
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome 
(I say, your city) to his wife and mother: 
Breaking his oath and resolution, like , 

A twist of rotten silk; never admitting 
Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears 
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory; 
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart 
Look'd wondering each at other. 

Cor. Hear'st thou. Mars? 

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears,— 

Cor. Ha! 

Auf. No more. 

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!- 
Pardon me, lords, 't is the first time that ever 
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave 

lords. 
Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion 
(Who wears my stripes impress'd on him, that must 

bear 
My beating to his grave) shall join to thrust 
The lie unto him. 

1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. 
Cor. Cut me to pieces, Volsces: men and lads. 

Stain all your edges on me. -Boy! False hound! 
If you have writ your annals true, 't is there, 
That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
Flutter'd your 'Volscians in Corioli: 
Alone I did it.— Boy! 

Auf. Why, noble lords. 

Win you be put in mind of his blind fortune. 
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 
'Fore your own eyes and ears? 

Con. Let him die for 't. [Several speaTc at once. 

at. [Speaking promiscicously.\ 'Tear him to pieces, 
do it presently. He killed my son;— my daughter;— 
He killed my cousin Marcus;— He killed my father.^ 

2 Lord. Peace, hoi— no outrage;— peace! 
The man is noble, and his fame folds in 
This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us 
Shall have judicious hearing.— Stand, Aufldlus, 
And trouble not the peace. 

Cor. O, that I had him. 

With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe. 
To use my lawful sword! 

Auf. Insolent villain! 



300 



JULIUS C^SAR, 



[Act I. 



Con. Kin, kin, kni, kin, km him! 

fAufidlus and the Conspirators draw, and kill 
Coriolanus, who falls, and Aufldlus stands 
cm him. 
Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold! 

Atif. Jly noble masters, hear ine speak. 

1 Lord. O TuUus,— 

2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will 

weep. 

3 Lord. Tread not upon him.— Masters all, be 

quiet; 
Put up your swords. 



A iif. My lords, when you shall know (as In this rage, 
Provok'd by him, you cannot) the great danger 
Which this man's life did owe you, you '11 rejoice 
That he is thus cut off. Please It vour honours 
To call me to your senate, I '11 deliver 
Myself your loyal servant, or endure 
Your heaviest censure. 

1 Lord. Bear from hence his body, 

And mourn you for him: let him be regarded 
As the most noble corse that ever herald 
Did follow to his uru. 

i Lord. His own impatience 



Takes from Aufldius a great part of blame. 
Let 's make the best of it. 

Aitf. My rage is gone. 

And I am struck with sorrow.— Take nim tip:- 
Help, three o' the ehiefest soldiers; I 'II be one.— 
Beat thou the drum that it speak mournfully: 
Trail your steel pikes.— Though in this city he 
Hath widow'd and unchllded many a one. 
Which to this hour bewail the injury, 
Yet he shall have a noble memorv. 
Assist. \_Exeunt, bearing the body o/ Coriolanus. 

A dead march sounded. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Julius C^sar. 

OcTAVius Cesar, 
jEmil. Lrpidus 
death ot Julius 

Cicero, Publius, 
tors. 



Marcus Antonius, M. 
; triumvirs after the 
Caesar. 
PopiLius Lena; sena- 



Marcus Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Tre- 

BONIUS, LiGARIUS, DeCIUS BrUTUS, 

Metellus Cimber, Cinna; conspii-a- 
tors against Julius Caesar. 

Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. 
Artsmidorus, a sophist of Culdos. 



A soothsayer. 
Poet. 



Cinna, apoef. Another 



LuciLius, TiTiNius, Messala, young 
Cato, and Volumnius; friends to 
Brutus and Cassius. 



Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, 
Lucius, Dardanius; servants to Bru- 
tus. 

Pindarus, servant to Cassius. 

Calphurnia, u-ife to Caesar. 
Portia, wije to Brutus. 



fi 



ACT I. 
Scene I.— Rome. A Street. 
Enter Flavius, Marullus, and a rabble of Citizens. 
Flav. Hence; home, you Idle creatures, get you 
home; 
Is this a holiday? What! know you not, 
Being mechanical, you ought not walk. 
Upon a labouring day, without the sign 
Of your profession?— Speak, what trade art thou? 

1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? 
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?— 
You, sir; what trade are you? 

2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I 
am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 

Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. 

2 Cit. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a 
safe conscience; which is. Indeed, sir, a mender of 
bad soles. 

Flav. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty 
knave, what trade? 

2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: 
yet If yon be out, sir, I can mend you. 

Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou 
saucy fellow? 

2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 

2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: 
I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's 
matters, but with all. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon 
to old shoes; when they are in great danger, 1 re- 
cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's- 
leather have gone upon my handiwork. 

Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? 
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 

2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get 
myself unto more work. But, indeed, sir, we make 
holiday, to see Caesar, and\o rejoice in his triumph. 

Mai: Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings 
he home? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless 

things! 
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft 
Have yon climbed up to walls and battlements. 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your Infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The livelong day, with patient expectation. 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome; 
And when you saw his chariot but appear. 
Have you not made an universal shout. 
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 
To hear the replication of your sounds, 
Made in her concave shores? 
And do you now put on your best attire? 
And do you now cull out a holiday? 
And do you now strew flowers in his way, 
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? 
Be gone! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this ingratitude. 

Tlav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, 
Assemble all the poor men of your sort; 
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears 
Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Ex. Citizens. 
See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you down that way towards the Capitol; 
This way will I: Disrobe the images, 
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 

Mar. May we do so? 
You know It Is the feast of Lupercal. 

Flav. It is no matter; let no images 
Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I '11 about. 
And drive away the vulgar from the streets: 
So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing 
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch. 
Who else would soar above the view of men. 
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. (Exeunt. 

Scene II.— TTie same. A public Place. 
Enter, in procession, with n^vsic, Caesar; Antony , /or 
the course; Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Bru- 
tus, Cassius, and Casca, a great crowd following; 
among them a Soothsayer. 
CcBs. Calpburula,— 
Casca. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks. 

(Mnsic ceases. 
C<Bs. Calphurnia,— 

Cat. Here, my lord. 



Cms. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
Wlien he doth run his course.— Antonius, — 

Ant. Caesar, my lord. 

Cms. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
To touch Calphurnia: for our elders say. 
The barren, touched in this holy chase. 
Shake off their sterile curse. 

Ant. I shall remember: 

When Caesar says, ' Do this,' it is perform'd. 

Cms. Set on; and leave no ceremony out. [Music. 

Sooth. Caesar. 

Ca^. Ha! Who calls? 

Cos. Bid every noise be still:— Peace yet again. 

[Music ceases. 

Cms. Who is it in the press that calls on me? 
I hear a tongue, .shriller than all the music. 
Cry, Ctesar: Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

Cais. What man is that? 

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of 
March. 

Cms. Set him before me; let me see his face. 

Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon 
Caesar. 

Cms. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once 
again. 

Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 

CcES. He is a dreamer; let us leave him;— pass. 

[Senet. Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas. 

Cas. Will you go see the order of the course? 

Bru. Not I. 

Cas. I pray you do. 

Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part 
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; 
I '11 leave you. 

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness. 
And show of love, as I was wont to have: 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 

Be not deceiv'd: If I have vell'd my look, 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, 
Of late, with passions of some difference. 
Conceptions only proper to myself. 
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours; 
But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd; 
(Among winch number, Cassius, be you one;) 
Nor construe any further my neglect. 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war. 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your pas- 
sion; 
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face? 

Br%i. No, Cassius: for the eye sees not itself 
But by reflection, by son-ie other things. 

Cas. 'T is just: 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you liave no such mirrors as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye. 
That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
(Except immortal Caesar,) speaking of Brutus, 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke. 
Have wish'd "that noble Brutus had his eyes. 

Bi-u. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cas- 
sius, 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me? 

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear: 
And, since you know you cannot see yourself 
So well as by reflection, I, your glass. 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus: 
Were I a common laugher, or did use 
To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
To every new protester; if you know 
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard. 
And after scandal them; or if you know 
That I profess myself in banqueting 
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 

[Flourish and shout. 

Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, the 
people 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it? 

Then must I think you would not have It so. 

Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well:— 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
What is it that you would impart to me? 
If it be aught toward the general good. 
Set honour in one eye, and death 1' the other. 



And I will look on both indifferently: 
For, let the gods so speed me as I love 
The name of lionour more than I fear death. 

Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favour. 
Well, honour is the subject of my story. — 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life; but. for my single self, 
I had as lief not be as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Caesar; so were you: 
We both have fed as well; and we can both 
Endui'e the winter's cold as well as he: 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me, ' Dar'st thou, Cassius, now. 
Leap in with me into this angry flood. 
And swim to yonder point?'— Upon the word. 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
And bade him follow: so, indeed, he did. 
The torrent roar'd; and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
Caesar cried, ' Help me, Cassius, or I sink.' 
I, as .ffineas, our great ancestor. 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber 
Did I the tired Cfesar: And this man 
Is now become a god; and Cassius is 
A wretched creature, and must bend his body 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
How he did shake: 't is true, this god did shake; 
His coward lips did from their colour fly; 
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world 
Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: 
Ay, and that tongue ot his that bade the Romans 
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
Alas! it cried, 'Give me some drink, Titinius,' 
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world. 
And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish. 

Bru. Another general shout! 
I do believe that these applauses are 
For some new honours that are heaped on Caesar. 

Cc^. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow- 
world. 
Like a Colossus; and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates: 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars. 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus, and Ctesar: What should be in that Caesar? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. [Shout. 
Now in the names of all the gods at once. 
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
■That he grows so great?— Age, thou art sham'd! 
Roipe, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood. 
But it was fam'd with more than with one man? 
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
That her wide walls encompass'd but one man? 
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough. 
When there is in it but one only man. 
O! you and I have heard our fathers say. 
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 
As easily as a king. 

Bru. 'That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; 
What you would work mo to, I have some aim; 
How I have thought ot this, and of these times, 
I shall recount hereafter; for this present, 
I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
Be any further mov'd. What you have said, 
I will consider: what you have to say, 
I will with patience hear: and find a time 
Both meet to hear and answer such high things 
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this; 
Brutus had rather be a villager. 
Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
Under these hard conditions as this time 
Is like to lay upon us. 

Cos. I am glad that my weak words 
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. 

Reenter Caesar, and his Train. 

Bru. The games are done, and Caesar Is returning. 
Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; 
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 



Scene ii. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



301 



¥ 



What hath procecleri worthy note today. 

Bru. I will do so:— But, look you, Casslus, 
The anffiy spot doth glow on Ca;sar's brow. 
And all the rest look like a chidden train: 
Calphurnla's cheek is pale; and Cicero 
Looks with such ferret and snch flery eyes. 
As we have seen hlni in the Capitol, 
BeinK cross'd in conference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter Is. 

Cccs. .\ntonius. 

Ant. Cfesar. 

C<es. Let me have men about me that are fat; 
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights: 
Vond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look; 
He thinks too much; such men are d.angerous. 

Ant. Fear him not, Ccesar, he 's not dangerous; 
He Is a noble Roman, and well given. 

Ctes. 'Would he were fatter:— But I fear him not; 
Yet if ray name were liable to feai\ 
I do not know the man I should avoid 
So soon as that spare Casslus. He reads much; 
He is a great observer, and he looks 
Quite through the deeds of men; lie loves no plays, 
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music: 
Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort 
As if he moek'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
That could be mov'd to smile at anything. 
Such men as he be never at heart's ease. 
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves; 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd. 
Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. 
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 

[Exe. Csesar and his Train. Casca stays behind. 

Casca. You puU'd me by the cloait: Would you 
speak with me? 

Bru. Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanc'd today, 
That Cjesar looks so sad? 

Ca.Ka. Why, you were with him, were you not? 

Brtt. I should not then ask Casca what had chanc'd. 

Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him: and 
being offered him, he put it bj' with the back of his 
hand, thus: and then the people fell a shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Cas. They shouted thrice: What was the last cry 
for? 

Ca.'ica. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown ofter'd him thrice? 

Casca. Ay, marry, was 't, and he put it by thrice, 
every time gentler than other; and at every putting 
by, mine honest neighbours shouted. 

Cas. Who ofler'd him the crowu? 

Casca. Why, Antony. 

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Ca3ca. I can as well be hanged as tell the manner 
of it: it was mere foolery. I did not mark it. I saw 
Mark .\ntony offer him a crown;— yet 't was not a 
crown neither, 't was one of these coronets;— and, as 
I told you, he put it by once; but for all that, to 
my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he 
offered It to him again; then he put it by again: 
but, to my thinking, he was very loth to lay his fin- 
gers off it. -ind then he offered it the third time; he 
put it the third time by: and still as he refused it, 
the rabblement hooted, and clapped their chapped 
hand, and threw up their sweaty nightcaps, and 
uttered such a deal of stinking breath oecause 
Csesar refused the crovm, that it had almost chok'd 
Cjesar; for he swooned, and fell down at it: And for 
mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening 
my lips and receiving the bad air. 

Cas. But, soft, I pray you; What? Did Caesar 
swoon? 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 

Bru. 'T is very like: he hath the falling sickness. 

Cas. No, Ccesar hath it not; but you, and I, 
And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that; but I 
am sure Cssar fell down. If the tag-rag people did 
not clap him, and hiss him, according as ne pleased 
and displeased them, as they use to do the playersin 
the theatre, I am no true man. 

Bru. What said he when he came unto himself? 

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he per- 
ceived the common herd was glad he refused the 
crown, lie plucked me ope his doublet, and offered 
them his throat to cut.— An I had been a man of 
any occupation, if I would not have taken hint at 
a word. I would I might go to hell among the 
rogues:— and so he fell. %Vhen he came to himself 
again, he said, if he had done or said anything 
amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his 
infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, 
cried ' Alas, good soul!'— and forgave him with all 
their hearts: But there 's no heed to be taken of 
them; if Csesar had stabbed their mothers they 
would have done no less. 

Bru. And after that he came, thus sad, away? 

Casca. Ay. 

Cas. Did Cicero say anything? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek, 

Cos. To what effect? 

Casca. Nay, an I tell you that I '11 ne'er look you i' 
the face again: But those that understood him smiled 
at one another, and shook their heads: but, for mine 
own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell vou more 
news too: Marullus and Flavlus, for pulling scarfs 
off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. 
There was more foolery yet, if I could remember It, 

Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca? 

Casca. No, I am promised forth. 

Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and 
your dinner worth the eating. 

Cas. Good; I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so: farewell both. [Exit Casca. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be! 
He was quick mettle when he went to school. 

Cas. So he is now, in execution 
Of any bold or noble enterprise. 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit. 
Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
With better appetite. 

Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you: 
To-morow, it you please to speak with me, 
I will come home to you; or, it you will. 
Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 

Cas. I will do so:— till then, think of the world. 
,„ \£xit Brutus. 

Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see 



Thy honourable metal may be wrought 

From that it is disnos'd: 'Tiierefore 't is meet 

Tliat noble minds keep ever with their likes: 

For who so Arm that cannot be seduc'd? 

Caesar doth bear me hard: But he loves Brutus: 

It I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 

He should not humour me. I will this night. 

In .sev'eral hands, in at his windows throw, 

As If they came from several citizens. 

Writings, all tending to the great opinion 

That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely 

Ccesar's ambition shall be glanced at- 

And, after this, let Cffisar seat him sure; 

For we will shake him, or worse days endure. {Exit. 

Scene III.— The same. A Street. 

Thunder and lightning Enter, from opposite sides, 
Casca, with his sword drawn, aniiCicero. 

Cic. Good even, Casca: Brought you Caesar home? 
Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? 

Casca Are you not mov'd, when all the sway of 
earth 
Shakes like a thing unflrm' O Cicero, 
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
Have riv'd the knotty oaks; and I have seen 
The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds: 
But never till to-night, never till now. 
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 
Either there is a civil strife in heaven; 
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
Incenses them to send destruction. 

Cic. Why, saw you anything more wonderful? 

Casca. A common slave (you know him well by 
sight) 
Held up his left hand, which did flame and bum 
Like twenty torches join'd; and yet his hand. 
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
Besides, (I have not since put up my sword,) 
Against the Capitol I met a lion, 
Who glared upon me, and went surly by 
Without annoying me: and thei'e were drawn 
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women. 
Transformed with their fear; who swore they saw 
Men all in fire walk up and down the streets, 
jind, yesterday, the bird of night did sit, 
Even at noon-day, upon the market-place. 
Hooting and shrieking. Wlien these prodigies 
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 
' These are their reasons,— They are natural;' 
For, I believe, they are portentous things 
Unto the climate that they point upon. 

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time: 
But men may construe things, after their fashion. 
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
Comes C«sar to the Capitol to-morrow? 

Casca. He doth; for he did bid Antonius 
Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. 

Cic. Good night then, Casca: this disturbed sky 
Is not to walk iii. 

Casca. Farewell, Cicero. \Exit Cicero. 

Enter Casslus. 

Cas. Who 's there? 

Casca. A Roman. 

Cas. Casca, by your voice. 

Casca. Your ear is good. Casslus, what night is 
this? 

Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. 

Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? 

Cas. Those that have known the earth so full of 
faults. 
For my part, I have walk'd about tlie steets, 
Submitting me into the perilous night; 
And, thus unbrac'd, Casca, as you see. 
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone: 
And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open 
The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
Even in the aim and very flash of it. 

Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the 
heavens? 
It is the part of men to fear and tremble. 
When the mos; mighty gods, by tokens send 
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 

Cas. Your are dull. Casca; and those sparks of life 
That should be in a Roman you do want, 
Or else you use not: You look pale, and gaze, 
And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder. 
To see the strange impatience of the heavens: 
But if you would consider the true cause 
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts. 
Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind; 
Why old men, fools, and children calculate; 
Why all these things change from their ordinance, 
Their natures, and preformed faculties. 
To monstrous quality, — why, you shall find. 
That heaven hatli infus'd them with these .spirits, 
To make them instruments of fear and warning 
Unto some monstrous state. 
Now could I, Casca. name to thee a man 
Most like this dreadful night; 
That thunders, lightens, open graves, and roars 
As doth the lion in the Capitol: 
A man no mightier than thyself, or me. 
In personal action; yet prodigious grown. 
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 

Casca. "I is Caesar that you mean: Is It not, Cas- 
sius? 

Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now 
Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors. 
But, woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, 
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; 
Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. 

Casca. Indeed they say the senators to-morrow • 
Mean to establish Caesar as a king: 
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land. 
In every place, save here in Italy. 

Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then; 
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius. 
■Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; 
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat: 
Nor stony cower, nor walls of beaten brass. 
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit: 
But life, being weary of these wordly bars, 
Never lacks power to dismiss Itself. 
If I know this, know all the world besides. 
That part of tyranny that I do bear 
I can shake off at pleasure. [Thunder still. 

Casca. So can I: 

So every bondman in his own hand bears 
The power to cancel his captivity. 

Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then? 



Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf. 
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: 
He were no lion were not Romans hinds. 
Those that with haste will make a mighty flre 
Begin it with weak straws: What trash is Rome, 
What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves 
For the base matter to illuminate 
So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O, grief! 
Where hast thou led me' I. perhaps, speak this 
Before a willing bondman: then I know 
My answer must be made: But I am arm'd, 
And dangers are to me indifferent. 

Casca. You speak to Casca; and to such a man 
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand: 
Be factious for redress of all these griefs; 
And I will set this foot of mine as far 
As who goes farthest. 

Cas. There 's a bargain made. 

Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans, 
To undergo with me an enterprise 
Of honourable-dangerous consequence; 
And I do know by this they stay for me 
In Pompey's porch: For now, this fearful night. 
There is no stir or walking in the streets; 
And the complexion of the element 
In favor 's like the work we have in hand. 
Most bloody, flery, and most terrible. 

Enter Cinna. 

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one In 
haste. 

Cas. "T is Cinna, I do know him by his gait; 
He is a friend.— Cinna, where haste you so? 

Cin. To find out you: Who 's that? Metellus Clra- 
ber? 

Cas. No, it is Casca; one incorporate 
To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna? 

Cin. I am glad on 't. What a tearful night is this! 
There 's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 

Cas. Am I not staid for? Tell me. 

Cin. Yes, you are. 

O, Cassius, if you could but win the noble Brutus 
To our party- 
Cos. Be you content: Good Cinna, take this paper. 
And look you, lay it in the praetor's chair. 
Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this 
In at his window; set this up with wax 
Upon old Brutus' statue: all this done, 
j Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
Is Decius Brutus, and Treboniustliere? 

Cin. All, but Metellus Cimber; and he 's gone 
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie. 
And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 

Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 

fExit Cinna. 
Come, Casca, you and I will yet, ere day. 
See Brutus at his house: three parts of him 
Is ours already; and the man entire. 
Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. 

Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts: 
And that which would appear offence in us. 
His countenance, like richest alchymy. 
Will change to virtue and to worthiness. 

Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need of 
him. 
You have right well conceited. Let us go. 
For It is after midnight; and ere day 
We will awake him, and be sure of him. {Exeunt. 

ACT II. 
Scene I.— The same. Brutus's Orchard. 
Enter Brutus. 
Bru. What. Lucius! ho! 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars. 
Give guess how near to day.— Lucius, I say!— 
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.— 
When, Lucius, when! Awake, I say! What, Lucius! 
Enter Lucius. 
Luc. Call'd you, my lord? 
Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: 
When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Bru. It must be by his death: and, for my part, 
I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 
But for the general. He would be crown'd:— 
How that might change his nature, there 's the 

question. 
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; 
And that craves wary walking. Crown him?— 

That;— 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him. 
That at his will be may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins 
Remorse from power: And, to speak truth of 

Caesar, 
I have not known when his affections sway'd 
More than his reason. But 't is a common proof 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face: 
But when he once attains the upmosi round. 
He then unto the ladder turns his back. 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend: So Csesar may; 
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
Will bear no colour for the thing he i.s. 
Fashion it thus, that what he is, augmented. 
Would run to these and these extremities: 
And therefore think him as aserpent's egg, 
Wlilch, hatch'd, would as his kind grow mischiev- 
ous; 
And kill him In the shell. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Lvc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
Searching the window for a "flint, I found 
This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure. 
It did not lie there when I went to bed. 

Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day. 
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? • 

Luc. I know not, sir, 

Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 

Luc. I will, sir. lExit. 

Bru, The exhalations, whizzing in the air. 
Give so much light that I may read by them. 

[Opens the letter, and reads. 
'Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake, and see thyself. 
Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress! 
'Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake!- ' 
Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
Where I have took them up. 
' Shall Rome, &c.' Thus must I piece it out; 



892 



JULIUS CMSAR, 



lAcT ir_ 



Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What! 

Rome? 
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
'Speak, strike, redress;'— Am I entieated 
To speak, and strike.' O Rome! I make thee pro- 
mise, 
If the redress will follow, thou receives! 
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! 
Re-enter Lucius. 
Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. 

fiCnocfc within. 
Bru. 'T is good. Go to the gate: somebody knocks. 

IKxit Lucius. 
Since Casslus first did whet me against Csesar 
1 have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream; 
The genius and the mortal instruments 
Are then in council; and the state of a man, 
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. 

Be-enter Lucius. 
LiM. Sir, 't is your brother Casslus at the door. 
Who doth desire to see you. 
Bru. Is he alone? 

Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 
Bru. Do you know them ? 

Luc. No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about their 
ears. 
And half their faces burled In their cloaks. 
That by no means I may discover them 
By any mark of favour. 
iSi-u. Let them enter. 

\_Exit Lticius. 
They are the faction. O Conspiracy! 
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, 
When evils are most free? O, then, by day 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none. Con- 
spiracy; 
Hide it in smiles and affability: 
For if ihou path thy native semblance on, 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 

©iterCassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus Cimber, 
and Trebonlus. 
Ccui. I think we are too bold upon your rest: 
Good morrow, Brutus. Do we trouble you? 

Bru. I have been up this hour; awake all night. 
Know I these men that come along with you? 

Cos. Yes. every man of them; and no man here 
But honours you: and every one doth wish 
You had but that opinion of yourself 
Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonlus. 
Bru. ECe Is welcome hither. 

Cas. This Decius Brutus. 
Bru. He is welcome too. 

Cas. This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus 

Cimber. 
Brii. They are all welcome. 
What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night? 
Cas. Shall I entreat a word? \They whisper. 

Dec. Here lies the east: Doth not the day break 

here? 
Casca. No. 

Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines 
That fret the clouds are messengers of da.y. 

Casca. You shall confess that youarebothdecelv'd. 
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises; 
Which is a great way growing on the south, 
Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
Some two months hence, up higher toward the north 
He first presents his fire; and the high east 
Stands, as the Capitol, directl.v here. 
Brn. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 
Cos. And let us swear our resolution. 
Bru. No, not an oath: If not the face of men. 
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
And every man hence to his idle bed; 
So let high-sighted tyranny range on. 
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour 
The melting spirits of wo)nen; then, countrymen. 
What need we any spur but our own cause 
To prick us to redress? what other bond, 
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, 
And will not palter? and what other oath, 
Than honesty to honesty engag'd. 
That this shall be, or we will fall for It? 
Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous. 
Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls 
That welcome wrongs: unto bad causes swear 
Such creatures as men doubt: but do not stain 
"The even virtue of our enterprise, 
Northe insuppressive metal of our .spirits. 
To think that, or our cause, or our performance. 
Did need an oath; when every drop of blood 
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 
Is guilty of a several bastardy. 
If he do break the smallest particle 
Of any promise that hath passed from him. 

Cas. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him? 
I think he will stand very strong with us. 
Casca. Let us not leave him out. 
Cin. No, by no means. 

Met. O let us have him; for his silver hairs 
Will purchase us a good opinion, 
Aud buy men's voices to commend our deeds: 
It shall be said his judgment rui'd our hands; 
Our youths, and wlidness, shall no whit appear, 
But all be buried In his gravity. 

Bru. O, name him not; let us not break with him; 
For he will never follow anything 
That other men begin. 
Cas. Then leave hira out. 

Casca. Indeed, he is not fit. 

Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? 
Ca^. Decius, well urg'd:— I think it Is not meet, 
Mark Antony, so well ISeiov'd of Caesar, 
Should outlive Caesar: We shall find of him 
A shrewd contriver; and you know his means. 
If he lmpi"ove them, may well stretch so far 
As to annoy us all: which to prevent, 
Ijet Antony and Caesar fall together. 

Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Calus Cassias, 
To cut the head off, and then back the limbs; 



Like wrath In death, and envy afterwards: 
For Antony Is but a limb of Caesar. 
Let us be sncrillcers, but not butchers, Calus. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar; 
.Vnd In the spirit of men there is no blood: 
O, that we then could come by Ca>sar's spirit. 
And not dismember Ceesar! But, alas, 
Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends. 
Let 's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; 
Let 's carve him as a dish fit for the god.s, 
Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds: 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do. 
Stir up their servants to an act of rage. 
And after seem to chide them. This shall make 
Our purpose necessary, and not envious: 
Which so appearing to tlie common eyes. 
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 
And for Mark Antony, think not of him; 
For he can do no more than Cajsar's arm. 
When Caesar's head is off. 

Cas. Yet I fear him; 

For in the Ingrafted love he bears to Caesar,— 

Bru. Alas, good CassiusI do not think of him: 
If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
Is to himself,— take thought, and die for Caesar: 
And that were much he should; for he is given 
To sports, to wildness, and much company. 

Trei>. There is no fear in him; let him not die; 
For lie will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 

[Clock strikes. 

Bru. Peace! count the clock. 

Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 

Treb. 'T is time to part. 

Cas. But it is doubtful yet 

Whether Ccesar will come forth to-day, or no; 
For he is superstitious grown of late; 
Quite from tlie main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams, and cei'emonies; 
It may be, these apparent prodigies. 
The unaccustom'd teiTor of this night. 
And the persuasion of his augurers. 
May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 

Dee. Never fear that: If he be so resolv'd 
I can o'ersway him; for he loves to hear 
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees. 
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, 
Lions with toils, and men with flatteries: 
But when I tell him he hates flatterers. 
He says he does; being then most flattered. 
Let me work: 

For I can give his humour the true bent; 
And I will bring him to the Capitol. ~- 

Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. 

Bru. By the eighth hour: Is that the uttermost? 

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 

Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Cajsar hard. 
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey; 
I wonder none of you have thought of him. 

Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him; 
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; 
Send him but hither, and I '11 fashion him. 

Cas. The morning comes upon us: We '11 leave you, 
Brutus:— 
And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember 
What you have said, and show yourselves true Ro- 
mans. 

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily; 
Let not our looks put on our purposes; 
But bear it as our Roman actors do. 
With untir'd spirits and formal constancy: 
And so, good-morrow to you every one. 

[E.x-ennt ill btct Brntns. 
Boy! Lucius!— Fast asleep! It is no matter; 
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 
Thou hast no figures, nor no fantasies. 
Which busy care draws in the brains of men: 
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 

Enter Portia. 

For. Brutus, my lord! 

JJi-u. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you 
now? 
It is not for your health thus to commit 
Your weak condition to the raw-colu morning. 

For, Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, 
Brutus, 
Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper, 
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, 
Musing and sighing, with your arms across: 
And ^vhen I asked you what the matter was. 
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks: 
I urg'd .vou further; then you scratch'd your head. 
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot: 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not; 
But, with an angry wafture of your hand. 
Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did; 
Fearing to strengthen the impatience 
Which seem'd coo much enkindled; and, withal, 
Hoping it was but an effect of humour. 
Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep; 
And, could it work so much upon your.snape. 
As it hath much prevaii'd on your condition, 
t should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord. 
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 

Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 

For. Brutus is wise, arid were he not in health. 
He would embrace the means to come by it. 

Bru. Why, so I do:— Good Portia, go to bed. 

For. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical 
To walk unbraced, and suck up the humours 
Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick; 
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed. 
To dare the vile contagion of the night, 
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; 
You have .some side offence within your mind, 
Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
I ought to know of; And, upon my knees, 
I charm you, by my once commended beauty. 
By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one. 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half. 
Why you are heavy; and what men to-night 
Have had resort to you: for here have been 
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
E>"en from darkness. 

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

For. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it excepted I should know no secrets 
That appertain to you? Am I yourself 
But, as ic were, in sort or limitation; 
I To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed. 



And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but In the sub- 
urbs 
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Bru. You are my true and honourable wife;. 
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 

For. If this were true, then should I know thts! 
secret. 
I grant I am a woman; but, withal, 
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife: 
I grant I am a woman: but, withal, 
A woman well-reputed,— Cato's daughter. 
Think you I am no stronger than my sex. 
Being so father'd, and so hu.sbanded: 
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them: 
I have made strong proof of my constancy. 
Giving myself a voluntai v wound 
Here, in the thigh: Can I bear tliat with patience. 
And not my husband's secrets? 

Bru. O ye gods, 

Render me worthy of this noble wife! 

[Knocking ivithin. 
Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a sviiile; 
And by and by thy bosom shall jjartake 
The secrets of my heart. 

All my engagements I will construe to thee. 
All the charactery of ni.y sad brows:— 
Leave me with haste. [Ettf Portia. 

Enter Lucius and Ligarius. 

Lucius, who 's that knocks? 

Luc. Here is a sick niau that would speak with 
you. 

Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.— 
Boy, stand aside.— Caius Ligarius! how? 

Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. 

Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave 
Caius, 
To wear a kerchief! 'Would j'ou were not sick. 

Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have In hand 
Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 

Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 

Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before, 
I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! 
Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins! 
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run. 
And I will strive with things impossit>le; 
Yea, get the better of them. What 's to do? 

Bru. A piece of work that will make sick men 
whole. 

Lig. But are not some whole that we must make 
sick? 

Bru. That must we also. What It is, my Caius, 
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going 
To whom it must be done. 

Lig. Set on your foot; 

And, with a heart new flr'd, I follow you, 
To do I know not what: but it sufflceth 
That Brutus leads me on. 

Bru. 1 ollow me then. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — The same. A Room in Caesar's Palace. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Caesar, in his 
nightgown. 

Cccs. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace 
to-nisht: 
Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, 
' Help, ho! They murther Caesar! Who 's witliin.'' 
Enter a Servant. 

Serv. .My lord ? 

Ctes. Go bid the priests dapresent sacrifice. 
And bring me their opinions of success. 

Serv. 1 will, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Calphurnia. 

Cal. What mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk 
forth? 
You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 

CoiS. Ceesar shall forth: The thing that ihreaten'd 
me 
Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see 
The face of Caesar, they are vanished. 

Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies. 
Yet now they fright me. There is one witliin. 
Besides the things that we have heard and seen. 
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
A lioness hath whelped in the streets; 
And graves have yawn'd and yielded up their dead: 
Fierce flery warriors fight upon the clouds. 
In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war. 
Which drizzled Llood upon the Capitol: 
Tlie noise of battle hurtled in the air, 
Horses do neigh, and dying men did groan; 
And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. 
O Caesar! these things are beyond all use. 
And I do fear them. 

Cxs. What can be avoided ' 

-Whose -jnd Is purpos'd by the mighty goil.s? 
Yet Caesar shall go forth: for these predictions 
Are to the world in general, as to Ceesar. 

Cal. When beggar* die, there are no comets seen; 
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of 
princes. 

Ca^s. Cowards die many times before their deaths; 
The valiant never taste of death but once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
It seems to me most strange that men should fear; 
Seeing that death, a neces.sary end, 
Will come when it will come. 

Re-enter a Servant. 

What say the augurers? 

Serv. They would not have you to stir fortli to- 
day. 
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth. 
They could not find a heart within tlie beast. 

Cces. The gods do this in shame of cowardice: 
Caesar should be a beast without a heart. 
If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
No, Cfesar shall not: Danger knows full well 
That Caesar is more dangerous than he. 
We are two lions litter'd in one day. 
And I the elder and more terrible; 
And Caesar shall go forth. 

Cal. Alas, my lord. 

Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
Do not go forth to-day: Call it my fear 
That keeps you in the house, and not your o^vIl. 
We 'II send Mark Antony to the senate-house; 
And he shall say you are not well today: 
Let me, upon my knee, prevail In this. 



Scene ii.| 



JULIUS VMSAR. 



303 



Cms. Mark Antony shall sav I am not well; 
And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. 

Enter Decins. 
Here 's Deeins Brutus, he shall tell thom so. 

Dec. Caesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy 
Csesar: 
I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 

Cccs. And you are come in very happy time. 
To bear my greeting to the senators, 
And tell them that I will not come to-dav: 
■Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser; 
I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius. 

Cal. Say he is sick. 

Cks. Shall Caesarsend a lie? 

Have I in conquest strctch'd mine arm so far, 
To be afear'd to tell gn-ybeards the truth? 
Decius, go tell thom Coesar will not come. 

hec. Most mighty Ciiesar, let me know soraecause, 
Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. 

Cces. The cause is in my will, I will not come; 
That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
But, for your private satlsfactioil. 
Because I love you, I will let you know.; 
Calphurniii here, my wife, stays me at home: 
She dreamt to-night she saw my statue. 
Which like a fountain, with an hundred spouts. 
Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans 
Came smiling, and did liatlie their hands in it. 
And these does she apply for warnings and portents, 
And evils imminent; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd that 1 will stay at home today. 

Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted; 
It was a vision fair and fortunate; 
Vour statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
In which so many smiling Roman's'batli'd, 
Signifies thai from you great Rome shall suck 
Reviving blood; and that great men shall press 
For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. 
This by Calphurnia's dream is signified. 

Cce-t. And this way have you well expounded it. 

Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say; 
And know it now; the senate have concluded 
To give, this day, a crown to mighty Csesar. 
If you shall send them word you will not come. 
Their minds ma.y change. Besides, it were a mock 
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say, 
' Break up the senate till another time. 
When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.' 
If Ccesar hide himself, shall they not whisper, 
'Lo, Caesar is afraid-" 

Pardon me, Caesar: for my dear, dear love 
To your proceeding bids me tell you this; 
And reason to my love is liable. 

Cces. How foolish do your fears seem now, Cal- 
phurnia! 
1 am ashamed I did yield to them.— 
Give me my robe, for I will go:— 
Enter Publlus, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, 

Trebonius and Cinna. 
And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 

Pith. Good morrow, Csesar. 

Cces. Welcome, Publius.- 

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? 
Good morrow, Casea.— Caius Ligarius, 
Csesar as ne'er so much your enemy 
As that same ague which hath made you lean. — 
What is 't o'clock? 

Bi-u. Csesar, 't Is strucken eight. 

Cces. I thank you for your )ains and courtesy. 
Enter Antony. 
See! Antony, that revels long o' nights. 
Is notwithstanding up: Good morrow, Antony. 

Ant. So to most noble Csesar. 

Cces. Bid Ihera prepare within:— 
I am to blame to be thus waited for.— 
Now, Cinna:— now, Metellus:— What, Trebonius! 
I have an hour's talk In store for you; 
Remember that you call on me to-day: 
Be near me, that I may remember you. 

Treb. Csesar, I will:— and so near will 1 be, \Aside. 
That your best friends shall wish I had been further. 

Cces. Good friends, g© in, and taste some wine with 
me; 
And we, like friends, vvill straightway go together, 

Bru. That evei'y like is not the same, O Caesar, 
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon! [Exe. 

Scene Ml.— The same. A Street near the Capitol. 
I Enter Artemidorus, reading a paper. 

Art. ' Cfesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of 
Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to 
Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus 
Cimber; Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast 
wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind In 
all these men, and it is bent against Csesar. If thou 
beest not immortal, look about- you: Security gives 
way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! 
Thy lover, AUTEMJDOBVS," 

Here will I stand till Csesar pass along, 
And as a suitor will I give him this. 
My heart laments that virtue caunot live 
Out of the teeth of emulation. 
If thou read this, O Caesar, thou may'st live: 
If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit. 

Scene T7.—The same. Another part of tJie same 
Street, before the Bouse o/ Brutus. 

Enter Portia and Lucius. 

Por. I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; 
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: 
Why dost thou stay? 

Luc, To know my errand, madam. 

Por. I would have had thee there, and here again. 
Ere I can tell thee what thou should'st do there.— 

constancy, be strong upon my side! 

Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! 

1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
How hard it is for women to keep counsel!— 
Art thou here yet? 

Lnc. Madam, what should I do? 

Run to the Capitol, and nothing el.se? 
And so return to you, and nothing else? 

Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look 
well. 
For he went sickly forth; And take good note 
W'hat Csesar doth, what suirors press to him. 
Hark, boy! what noise is that? 
' Luc. 1 hear none, madam. 

Por. Prithee, listen well; 

I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray. 
And the wind brings it from the CapitoL 



Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 
Enter Soothsayer. 

Por. Come hither, fellow. 

Which way hast thou been? 

Sooth. At mine own house, good lady. 

Por. What is 't o'clock? 

Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. 

Por. Is Csesar yet gone to the Capitol? 

Sooth. Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand. 
To .see him pass on to the Capitol. 

Por. Tnou has't some suit to Ctesar, hast thou not? 

Soolh. That I have, lady, if it will please Caesar 
To be so good to Csesar as to hear mc, 
I shall beseech him to Lcfrieud himself. 

Por. Why, know'st thou any harm 's intended to- ; 
wards him? i 

Sootli. None th:\t I know will be, much that I fear 
may chance i 

Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: ] 
•The throng that follows Csesar at the heels, | 

Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, i 

Will crowd a feeble man almost to death: 
I '11 get me to a place more void, and there i 

Speak to great Csesar as he comes along. [Exit. I 

Por. I must go in.— Ay, nu"' how weak a thing 
The heart of woman is! O Brutus! 
The lieavens speed thee in (hine enterprise! 
Sure, the boy heard me:— Brutus hath a suit 
Th.at Caesar will not grant —O. I grow faint: — 
Riui, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; 
Say I am merry: come to me again. 
And bring me word what he doth say to thee. [Exe. 

ACT III. 

Scene I.— The same. The Capitol; the Senate 
sitting. 

A crowd of people in the street leading to the Capi- 
tol; amojig (/icm Artemidorus and ?7ie Soothsayer. 
Flourish. Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, 
Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, Antjny, Lepi- 
dus, Popjlius, Publius, and others. 

Cces. The ides of March are come. 

Sooth. Ay, Csesar; but not gone. 

Art. Hail, Csesar! Read this schedule. 

Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read. 
At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 

Art. O, C^sar, read mine first; for mine 's a suit 
That touches Caesar nearer; Read it, great Csesar. 

Cces. What touches us ourself shall be last serv'd. 

Aj-t. Delay not, Csesar; read it instantly. 

Cces. What, is the fellow mad? 

Pub. Sirrah, give place. 

Cas. What, urge you your petitions In the street? 
Come to the Capitol. 

Csesar enters the Capitol, the rest folloiving. All 
the Senators rise. 

Pop. I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. 

Cas. What enterprise, Popilius? 

Pop. Fare you well. 

[Advances to Caesar. 

Bru. What said Popilius Lena? 

Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. 
1 fear our purpose is discovered. 

B)u. Look, how he makes to Caesar: Mark him. 

Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. — 
Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, 
Cassius or Csesar never shall turn back. 
For I will slay myself. 

Bru. Cassius, be constant: 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; 
For, look, he smiles, and Csesar doth not change. 

Cos. Trebonius knows his time; for look you, Bru- 
tus, 
He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 

[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. Csesar and 
the Senators take their seats. 

Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go. 
And presently prefer his suit to Csesar. 

JJru. Heis address'd: press near, and second him. 

Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. 

Cct's. Are we all ready? what is now amiss? 
That Csesar, and his senate, muse redress? 

Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant 
Csesar, 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
An humble heart:— [Kneeling. 

Cces. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 

These couchings, and these lowly courtesies, 
Might fire the blood of ordinary men; 
And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree, 
Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood. 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
With that which melteth fools; I mean sweet words. 
Low crooked curtsies, and base spaniel fawning. 
Thy brother by decree Is banish'd; 
If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn, for him, 
I spurn thee, like a cur, out of my way. 
Know, Csesar doth not wrong: nor without cause 
Will he be satisfied. 

Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own. 
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear. 
For the repealing of my banisli'd brother? 

Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar; i 
Desiring thee thafPublius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 

Cces. What, Brutus! 

Cas. Pardon, Cassar; Csesar, pardon: 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. 
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

Cces. I could be well mov'd it I were as you; 
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: 
But I am constant as the northern star. 
Of whose true fix'd and resting quality 
There is no fellow in the firmament. 
Tile skies are painted with iinnumber'd sparks, 
Tney are all fire, and every one doth shine; 
But there 's but one in all cloth hold his place: 
So, in the world: 'T is furnish'd well with men. 
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; 
Yet, in the number, I do know but one 
That unassailable holds on his rank, 
Unshak'd of motion: and, that I am he. 
Let me a little show it, — even in this, 
Tliat I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, 
And constant do remain to keep him so. 
Cin. O Csesar,- 

Cces. Hence! wilt thou lift up Olympus? 
Dec. Great Csesar, — 
Ca.-s. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? 



Casca. Speak, hands, for me. 

[Casca stabs Caesar in the neck. Csesar catches 
hold of his arm. He is then stabbed by several 
other Conspirators, and at la.it by Marcus Bru- 
tus. 

Cces. Et tn, BmleT—'Vhen fall, Caesar. 
[Dies. The senators and people retire in confusion. 

Cin. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!— 
Bun hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 

Cfis. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out, 
'Liberty, freedom, and enfranchiseuient!' 

Bru. People, and senators! be not affrighted; 
Fly not; stand still:— ambition's debt Is paid. 

Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 

Dec. And Cassius too. 

Bru. Where 's Publius? 

Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 

Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of 
Caesar's 
Should chance- 

Bru. Talk not of standing;— Publius, good cheer; 
There is no harm intended to your person. 
Nor to no Roman else: so tell them, Publius. 

Cas. And leave us, Publius; lest that the people. 
Rushing on us, should do your age some ml.-ichief. 

Bru. Do so;— and let no man abide tills deed 
But we the doers. 

Re-enter Trebonius. 

Cas. Where is Antony? 

Tre. Fled to his house amaz'd: 
Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run. 
As it were doomsday. 

Bru. Fates! we will know your pleasures:— 
That we shall die we know; 't is but the time. 
And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 

Casca. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life 
Cuts oft so many years of fearing death. 

Bru. Grant that, and tlien is death a benefit: 
So are we Csesar's friends, that have abridg'd 
His time of fearing death.— Stoop, Romans, stoop. 
And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: 
Then walk we forth, even to the market place; 
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads. 
Let 's all cry. Peace, Freedom, and Liberty! 

Cas. Stoop then, and wasli.— How many ages hence 
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over. 
In states unborn, and accents yet unknown' 

Bru. How many times shall Csesar bleed in sport. 
That now on Pompey's basis lies along. 
No worthier than the dust! 

Cas. So oft as that shall be, 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave their country liberty. 

Dec. What, shall we forth? 

Cas. Ay, every man away: 

Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels 
With the most boldest and best hearts ot Rome. 
Enter a Servant. 

Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's. 

Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel; 
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down; 
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: 
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest: 
Csesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: 
Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him; 
Say, I fear'd C^sar, honour'd him, and lov'd him. 
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 
May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
How Csesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar deacl 
So well as Brutus living; but will follow 
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus, 
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state. 
With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 

Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; 
I never thought him worse. 
Tell him, so please him come unto this place. 
He shall be satisfied; and, by my' honour, 
Depart untouch'd. 

Serv. I '11 fetch him presently. [Exit. 

Bru. I know that we shall have him well to friend. 

Cas. I wish we may: but yet have I a mind 
That fears him much; and my misgiving still 
Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 

Re-enter Antony. 

Bi-u. But here comes Antony. — Welcome, Mark 
Antony. 

Ant. O mighty Csesar! Dost thou lie so low? 
.Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils. 
Shrunk to this little measure?— Fare thee well.— 
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend. 
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank: 
If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
As Caesar's death's hour; nor no Instrument 
Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich 
With the most noble blood of all this world. 
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard. 
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke. 
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
I shall not find myself so apt to die: 
No place will please me so, no mean of death. 
As here by Csesar, and by you cut off. 
The choice and master spirits of this age. 

Bru. O Antony! beg not your death of us. 
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel. 
As, by our hands and this our present act. 
You see we do, yet see you but our hands. 
And this the bleeding business they have done: 
Our liearts you see not, they are pitiful; 
And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
(As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity) 
Hath done this deed on Csesar. For your port. 
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: 
Our arms, in strengtli ot malice, and our hearts. 
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 

Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's 
In the disposing of new dignities. 

Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
The multitude, beside themselves with fear; 
And tlien we will deliver you the cause. 
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him. 
Have thus proceeded. 

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 

Let each man render me his bloody hand: 
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; 
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; 
Now, Decius Brutus, yours;--now yours, Metellus; 
Yours, Cinna;— and, my valiant Casca, yours; — 
'fhough last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius, 
Gentlemen all,— alas! what shall I say? 



S04 



JULIUS CJESAH, 



lAcT ni. 



My credit now stands on such slippery ground. 

That one of two bad wnys you must conceit me, 

Either a coward or a flatterer.— 

That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 't Is true: 

If then thy spirit look upon us now. 

Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy deatb, 

To see thy Antony malcing his peace. 

Shaking the bloody fingers of tliy foes. 

Most noi)le! In the presence of thy corse? 

Had 1 as many eyes as thou hast wounds. 

Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood. 

It would become me better than to close 

In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 

Pardon me, Juliusl— Here wast thou bay'd, brave 

hart; 
Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, 
SIgn'd in thy spoil, and crim.son'a in thy lethe. 

world! thou wast the forest to this hart; 
And this indeed, O'world! the heart of thee. — 
How like a deer, stricken by many princes, 
Dost tliou here lie! 

Cos. Mark Antony, — 

Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius; 

The enemies of Cfesar shall say this; 
Then in a friend it is cold modesty. 

Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so; 
But what compact mean you to have with us? 
Will you be pr ck'd in number of our friends; 
Or shall we on, and not depend on you? 

Ant. Therefore I took your hands; but was, indeed, 
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. 
Friends am I with you all, ami love you all; 
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons 
Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle. 
Our reasons are so full of good regard. 
That were you, Antony, the sou of Caesar, 
You should be satisfted. 

Ant. That 's all I seek: 

And am moreover suitor that I vnny 
Produce his body to the market-place; 
And in the pulpit as becomes a friend. 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 

Cas. Brutus, a word with you.— 

You know not what you do: Do not consent \_Aside. 
That Antony speak In his funeral: 
Know you how much the people maybe mov'd 
By that which he will utter? 

Bru. By your pardon;— 

1 will myself into the pulpit first. 

And show the reason of our Caesar's death: 
What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
He speaks by leave and by permission; 
And that we are contented Caesar shall 
Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. 
It shall advantage more than do us wrong. 

Cas. I know not what may fall; I like It not. 

Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. 
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us. 
But speak all good you can devise of Caesar; 
And say you do 't by our permission; 
Else you shall not have any hand at all 
About his funeral: Aud you shall speak 
In the same pulpit whereto I am going. 
After my speech is ended. 

Ant. Be it so; 

I do desire no more. 

Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 

[Exeunt all but Antony. 

Ant. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth. 
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! 
Tliou art the ruins of the noblest man 
That ever lived in the tide of times. 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy,— 
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips. 
To teg the voice and utterance of m.y tongue, — 
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; 
Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife. 
Shall cumberall the parts of Italy: 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use. 
And dreadful objects so familiar, 
That mothers shall but smile when they behold 
Their infants ( jarter'.l ivir>- the hands <it 'va" 
All pity ch( '. H ith custom of fell deeds: 
And Caesar pirii "ging for revenge, 
With Ate t^ ^is sii..., „ome hot from liell. 
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, 
Cry ' Havock,' and let slip the dogs of war; 
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
With carrion men groaning for burial. 

Enter a Servant. 
You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? 

Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 

Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. 

Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming: 
And bid me say to you by word of mouth,— 
O Caesar!— \Seeing the body. 

Ant. Thy heart is big; get thee apart and weep. 
Passion, I see, is catciiing; for mine eyes. 
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine. 
Began to water. Is thy master coming? 

Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of 
Rome. 

Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath 
chanc'd: 
Here Is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; 
Hio hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile; 
Thou Shalt not back till I have borne this corse 
Into the market-place: there shall I try. 
In my oration, how the people take 
The cruel issue of these bloody men; 
According to the which thou shalt discourse 
To young Octavius of the state of things. 
liCUd me your hand. [Exeunt, with Caesar's body. 

Scene II.— The same. The Forum. 
Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. 

at. We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied. 

Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, 
friends.— 
Cassius, go you into the other street, 
And part the numbers.— 

Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Caesar's death. 

1 at. I will hear Brutus speak. 

2 at, I will hear Cassius; and compare their rea- 

sons, 



When severally we hear them rendered. 

[Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens, 
Brutus goe.t into the Rostrum. 

3 at. The noble Brutus Is ascended: Silence! 

Bru. Be patient till the last. 
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my 
cause; and be silent, that you may hear: believe 
me for mine honour; and have respect to mine hon- 
our, that you may believe censure me in your wis- 
dom; and awake your senses, that you may the 
better judge. If there be any in this assembly, any 
dear friend of Cassar's, to him I say, that Brutus' 
love to Caesar was no less than his. If then that 
friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this 
is my answer.— Not that I loved Cassar less, but that 
I loved Rome more Had you rather Caesar were 
living, and die all slaves; than that Caesar were dead, 
to live all freemen? As Caesar loved me, I weep for 
him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was 
valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I 
slew him: There Is tears, for his love; joy, for his 
fortune; honour, for his valour; and death, for his 
ambition. Who is here so base that would be a bond- 
man? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who 
is here so rude that would not be a Roman? It any, 
speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile 
that will not love his country? If any, speak; for 
him have I offended. I pause for a reply. 

at. None, Brutus, none. 

[Several speaking at once. 

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no 
more to Cassar than you shall do to Brutus The 
question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his 
glory not extenuated, wlierein he was worthy: nor 
ills offences euforc'd, for which he suffered death. 

Enter An tony and others, with Caesar's body. 
Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: 
who, though he had no iiand in his death, shall re- 
ceive the benefit of his dying, a place in the com- 
monwealth: As which of you shall not' With this I 
depart: That, as I slew my best lover for the good 
of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it 
shall please nty country to need my death. 
at. Live, Brutus, live! live! 

1 at. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 

2 at. Give him a statue Vfith his ancestors. 

3 at. Let him be Caesar. 

4 at. Caesar's better parts 
Shall be cro%vn'd In Brutus. 

1 at. We '11 bring him to his house with shouts and 

claniours. 
Bru. My countrymen,— 

2 at. Peace; silence! Brutus speaks. 
1 at. Peace, ho! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony: 
Do grace ti, Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
Tending to Ceesar's glories; which, Mark Antony, 
By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart. 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 

1 at. Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony. 

3 at. Let him go up into the public chair; 
We '11 hear him; Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you. 

4 at. What does he say of Brutus'^ 

3 at. He says for Brutus' sake, 
He finds himself beholding to us all. 

4 at. ' T were best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 

1 at. This Caesar was a tyrant 

3 at. Nay, that 's certain: 

We are bless'd that Rome is rid of him. 

2 at. Peace; let us hear what Antony can say. 
Ant. You gentle Romans,— 

at. Peace, ho! let us hear him. 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your 
ears. 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do lives after them; 
Tlie good is oft interred with their bones; 
So let it be with Ctesar. The noble Brutus 
Hatli told you CaBsar was ambitious: 
If it were f">, it wa" a ;:'ievous fault; 
.\.nu gjievou„;> ham Cjesar answer'd It. 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
(For Brutus Is an honourable man. 
So are they all, all honourable men,) 
Come I to speak in Cassar's funeral. 
He was my friend, faithful and just to me: 
But Brutus says, he was ambitious; 
And Brutus is an honourable man. 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransoms lid the general coffers fill: 
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? 
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious; 
And Brutus is an honourable man. 
You all did see tliat on the Lupercal 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown. 
Yet he did thrive refuse. Was this ambition? 
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious; 
And, sure, he is an honourable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You ail did love him once, not witliout cause; 
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? 

judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
And men have lost their reason!— Bear with me; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Cfesar, 

And I must pause till it come back to me 

1 at. Methinks there is much reason in his say- 

ings. 

2 at. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
CaBsar has had great wrong 

3 at- Has he, masters? 

1 fear there will a worse come in his place. 

4 at. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take 

the crown ; 
Therefore, 't is certain he was not ambitious. 

1 at. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 

2 at. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weep 

ing. 

3 at. There 's not a nobler man in Rome than 

Antony. 

4 at. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 

Have stood against the world: now lies he there, 
And none so poor to him reverence. 

masters! if I were dispos'd to stir 

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong. 
Who, you all know, are honourable men: 



I will not do them wrong; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you. 

Than I will wrong such honourable men. 

But here 's a parchment, with tlie seal of Caesar, 

I found It In his closet, 't is his will: 

Let but the commons hear this testament, 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds. 

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 

And, dying, mention it within their wills. 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy. 

Unto their issue. 

4 at. We '11 hear the will: Read it, Mark Antony. 

at. The will, the will! we will hear Caesar's will. 

Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not 
read It; 
It Is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you. 
You ai'e not wood, you are not stones, but men; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Cae.sar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad: 
'T Is good you know not that you are his heirs; 
For if you should. O, what would come of It! 

at. Read the will, we '11 hear it, Antony; you shall 
read us the will; Caesar's will. 

Ant. Will you be patient? Will you stay a while? 
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of It. 
I fear I wrong the honourable men 
Whose daggers have stabb'd Cjesar: I do fear it. 

4 at. They were traitors; Honourable men! 

CtY. The will! the testament! 

2 at. They were villains, murderers: The will! 
read the will! 

Ant. You will compel me then to read the will? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend' and will you give me leave? 

at. Come down. 

2 at. Descend. 

[He comes down from, the pulpit. 

3 at. You shall have leave. 
at A ring; stand round. 

1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 

2 Cit. Room for Antony;— most noble Antony. 
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off. 
at. Stand back! room! bear back! 

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle. I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on: 
'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent. 
That day he overcame the Nervil:— 
Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through: 
See. what a rent the envious Casca made: 
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; 
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Cfesar foUow'd it. 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: 
Juige, O you gods, how dearly Caasar lov'd him! 
This was the most unkindest cut of all: 
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab. 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms. 
Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; 
And, in ins mantle muffling up his face. 
Even at the base of Pompey's .statue. 
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
O, what a fail was there, my countrymen! 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down. 
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity; these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, 
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 

1 at. O piteous spectacle! 

2 at. O noble Caesar! 

3 at. O woeful day! 

4 at. O traitors, t'lllains! 

1 at. O most bloody sight! 

All. We will be revenged; revenge; about,— seek, — 
burn,-^flre,— kill,— slay:— let not a traitor live. 
Ant. Stay, countrymen. .. 

1 at. Peace there:— Hear the t 'tony. 

2 Cit. We '11 hear him, we '11 f n, we '11 die 
with him. 

Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir 

you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They that have done this deed are honourable; 
What private griefs they have, alas! I know not. 
That made them do it; they are wise aud horiour- 

able. 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; 
I am no orator, as Brutus is; 
But as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
That love my friend; aud tnac they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
For I nave neither wit, nor words, nor worth. 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech. 
To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; ' 

I teil you that which you yourselves do know; 
Siiow you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb 

mouths. 
And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of C»sar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
Cit. We '11 mutiny! 

1 Cit. We '11 burn the house of Brutus! 

3 at. Away then; come, seek the conspirators! 
Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me 

speak. 
at. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 
Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not 
what: 
Wherein hath Ceesar thus deserv'd your lovesy 
Alas, you know not— I must tell you then: — 
You have forgot the will I told you of. 
at. Most true; tlie will:— let 's stay, and hear the 

will. 
Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen he gives. 
To ever.v several man, seventy-flve drachmas. 

2 at. Most noble C^sar!- we '11 revenge his death. 

3 at. O royal Caesar! 

Ant. Hear me with patience. 

at. Peace, ho! 

Ant. Moroeover, he hath left you all his walks. 
His private arbours, and new-planted orchards. 
On this side Tiber; he hath left tliein you, 
Aud to your heirs for ever; common pleasures. 



Scene ii.J 



JULIUS CAOSAR. 



305 



To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Ctesar! When comes such another? 

1 at. Never, neverl— Come, away, away; 
We '11 burn his body in the holy place. 

And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
Take up the body. 

2 at Go, fetch fire. 

3 Cit. Pluck down benches. 

4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, anything. 

1 7'..ic»»i^ Citizens, with the body. 
Ant. Now let It work! Mischief, thou art afoot, 
Take thou what course thou wiltl— How now, fellow? 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Sir, Octavlus Is already come to Rome. 

Ant. Where is he? 

Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 

Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him: 
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry. 
And in this mood will give us anything. 

Serv. t heard him say, Brutus and Casslns 
Are rid like madmen throush the K^tes of Rome. 



Cln. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 

2 Cit. It Is no matter, his name 's CInna; pluck but 
his name out of his heart, and turn him gomg. 

3 Cit. Tear him, tear him! Come, bi-ands, ho! fire- 
brands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. Some to 
Declus' house, and some to Casca's; some to Liga- 
riu9':away; go! [Exeunt. 

ACT IV. 
ScENB I— A Room in Antony's House. 
Antony, Octavlus, and Lepidus, seated at a table. 
Ant. These many then shall die; their names are 

prlck'd. 
Oc-f. Your brother too must die: Consent you, 

Lepidus? 
Lep. I do consent— 

Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 

Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live. 
Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 
Ant. He shall not live: look, with a spot I damn 
htm. 



Onr best friends made, our means stretch'd; 
And let us presently go sit in council. 
How covert matters may l)e best disclos'd. 
And opci> perils surest ansvver'd. 

Oct. Let us do so: for we are at the stake. 
And bay'd about with many enemies; 
And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, 
Millions of mischiefs. [A'.<'e'mt. 

Scene II.— Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp near 
Sardis. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Lnclllus, Lucius, and Sol- 
diers: Titinlus and Findarus meeting them. 

Bra. Stand, ho! 

Lite. Give the word, ho! and stand. 

Bru. 'What now, Lucilius! is Cassius near? 

Luc. He is at hand; and Pindrrns is come 
To do you salutation from his master. 

fPindarus gives a letter to Brutus. 

Bru. He greets me well.— Your master, Plndarus, 
In his own change, or by 111 ofHcers, 




[ACT IV. — SCENE m.! 



Cos. Here is my dagger, and here my naked breast. * * * * Strike, as thou didst at Caesar. 



Ant. Belike they had some nptice of the people. 
How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavlus. 

[ixeunt. 
Scene HI.— The some. A Street. 
Enter Clnna, the Poet. 
Cin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast with Csesar, 
And things unluckily charge my phantasy: 
I have no will to wander forth of doors. 
Yet something leads me forth. 

Enter Citizens. 

1 Cit. What Is your name? 

2 Cit. Whither are you going? 

3 Cit. Where do you dwell? 

1 Cit. .4re you a married man, or a bachelor? 

2 Cit. Answer evei'y man directly. 

1 Cit. Ay, and briefly. 

4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 

3 Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 

Cin. What is my name? Whither am I going? 
Where do I dwell? Am I a married man or a bache- 
lor? Then, to answer every man directly, and brief- 
ly, wisely, and truly; wisely I .say, I am a bachelor. 

2 Cit. That 's as much as to say thev are fools that 
marry: You '11 bear me a bang for that, I fear. Pro- 
ceed; directly. 

Cin. Directly, I am going to Caesar's funeral. 

1 Cit. As a friend, or an enemy? 
Cin. As a friend. 

2 Cit. That matter is answered directly. 

4 Cit. For your dwelling,— briefly. 
Ciii. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 

3 Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 
Cin. Truly, my name is Clnna. 

1 Cit. Tear him to pieces, he is a conspirator. 
Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. 

4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his 
bad verses. 



But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house; 
Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine 
How to cut off some charge In legacies. 

Lep. What, shall I find you here? 

Oct. Or here, or at the Capitol. [Exit Lepidus. 

Ant. This Is a slight unmeritable man, 
Meet to be sent on errands: Is it flt. 
The three-fold world divided, he should stand 
One of the three to share it? 

Oct. So you thought him; 

And took his voice who should be prlck'd to die, 
In our black sentence and proscription. 

Ant. Octavlus, 1 have seen more days than you: 
And though we lay these honours on this man. 
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, 
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold. 
To groan and sweat under the business. 
Either led or driven, as we point the way; 
And having brouglit our treasure where we will, 
Then take we down his load, and turn him off, 
Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears. 
And graze in commons. 

Oct. You may do your will; 

But he 's a tried and valiant soldier. 

Ant. So is m.v horse, Octavlus; and, for that, 
I do appoint him store of provender. 
It is a creature that I teach to fight. 
To wind, to stop, to run directly on; 
His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so; 
He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth: 
A barren spirited fellow; one that feeds 
On objects, arts, and imitations. 
Which, out of use, and stal'd by other men. 
Begin his fashion: Do not talk of him. 
But as a property. And now, Oetavius, 
Listen great things.— Brutus and Cassius 
Are levying powers: we must straight make head: 
Therefore, let our alliance be combln'd, 



Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, undone: but it he be at hand 
I shall be satisfled. 

Pin. I do not doubt 

But that my noble master will appear 
Such as he is, full of regard and honour. 

Bru. He is not doubted.— A word, Lucilius; 
How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 

Luc. With courte.sy, and with respect enough. 
But not with such familiar instances. 
Nor with such free and friendly conference. 
As he hath used of old. 

Bru. Thou hast describ'd 

A hot friend cooling: Ever note, Lucilius, 
When love begins to sicken and deca.v. 
It useth an enforced ceremony. 
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith: 
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand. 
Make gallant show and promise <}f their mettle; 
But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
The.v fall their crests, and, liki deceitful jades, 
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? 

Luc. The.v mean this night in Sardis to be quar- 
ter'd; 
The greater part, the horse in general. 
Are come with Cassius. [March within. 

Bru. Hark, he Isarriv'd:— 

March gently on to meet him. 

Enter Cassius and Soldiers. 

Cas. Stand, ho! 

Bru. Stand, ho! Speak the word along. 

Within. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Within. Stand. 

Cas. Jlost noble brother, you have done me wrong 

Bru. Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine enemies? 
And, If not so, how should I wrong a brother? 

[Part S8.J 



306 



JULIUS CJhJSAR. 



[Act IV. 



Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs; 
And when you do them— 

Brtt. Casslus, be content; 

Spenk your griefs softly,— I do know you well:— 
Before the eves of botii our armies here. 
Which sho\ild perceive nothing but love from us, 
Let us not wrangle: liid them move away; 
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
And I will give you audience. 

Cas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground. 

Bru. Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man 
Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. 
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunt. 

Scene 111.— Within the Tent o/Brutus. 

Lucius and Tltlnlus at some distance from it. 

Enter Brutus and Cassius. 

Cos. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in 
this: 
You have eondemn'd and noted Lucius Pella, 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians; 
Wherein my letters, praying on his side. 
Because 1 knew the man, were slighted off. 

Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. 

Cas. In such a time as this it is not meet 
That every nice offence should hear his comment. 

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
Are much eondemn'd to have an itching palm; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 
To undeservers. 

Cos. I an Itching palm? 

You know that you are Brutus that speak this. 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

Brxi. The nameof Cassius honours this corruption, 
And chastisement doth therefore hide bis bead. 

Cas. ChastisementI 

Bru. Remember March, the Jdes of March remem- 
ber! 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? 
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab. 
And not for justice? What, shall one of us. 
That struck the foremost man of all this world 
But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
Contaminate our lingers with base bribes. 
And sell the mighty space of our large honours 
For so much trasii as may be grasped thus? 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the nioou, 
Than such a Koiuau. 

Cas. Brutus, bait not me; 

I'll not endure it; you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in; I am a soldier, 1, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Brti, Go to; you are not, Cassius. 

Cas. I am. 

Brv. 1 say you are not 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
Have mind upon your health, tee^t me no further. 

Bru. Away, slight man! 

Cos. Is 't possible? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 

Must I give way and room for your rash choler? 
Shall I oe frighted w'^-n a madman stares? 

Cas. O ye gods! ye gLdal Must I endure all this? 

Bru. All this? ay, more: Fret, till your proud heart 
break; 
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? 
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humour? By the gods. 
You shall diKest the venom of your spleen, 
Though it do split you' tor, from this day forth, 
I '11 use you for my mirth, yea, or my laughter. 
When you are waspish. 

Cas. Is it come to this? 

Bru. You say, yoll are a better soldier: 
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true. 
And it shall please me well For mine own part, 
i shall lie glad to learn of noble men 

Cas. You wrong me every way: you wrong me, 
Brutus; 
I said an elder soldier, not a better: 
Did I say better? 

Bru. It you did. I care not. 

Cas. When Caesar Ijv'd be durst not thus have 
mov'd me. 

Bru. Peace, peace: you durst not so have tempted 
him. 

Cas. I durst not? 

Bru. No. 

Cas What? durst not tempt him' 

Bru. For your life you durst not. 

Cos. Do not presume too much upon my love; 
I may do that 1 shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You liave done that you should be son-y for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty. 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not 1 did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;— 
For I can raise no money by vile means: 
By heaven, 1 had raliier coin my heart, 
And drop my blood fur drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trasb 
By any indirection: 1 did send 
To you for gold to pay my legi jns, 
'VVhicli you denied me Was that done like Cassius'/ 
Should 1 have answer'd CaUis Cassius so? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
To look sufli rascal counters from his friends, 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
Dash him to pieces! 

Cns. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not: he was but a fool 

That brought my answer back. —Brutus hath rlv'd 

my heart: 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities. 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they arc. 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Bru. ' I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come. 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world: 
Hate<l by <me he loves; brav'd by his brother; 
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd 
set in a note book, learn'd and conn'd by rote. 



To cast into my teeth, O, I could weep 

My spirit from mine eyes!- There is my dogger. 

And here ny naked breast; within, a heart 

Dearer than Piutus' mine, richer than gold: 

If that thou beest a Roman, take It forth; 

I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: 

Strike, as tliou didst at Ceesar; for, I know. 

When thou didst hate him worse, thou lov'dst hira 

better 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheath your dagger- 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; 
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire; 
Who, much enforc'd, shows a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 

Cos. Hath Cassius llv'd 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood illtemper'd, vexeth him? 

Bru. When I spoke that I was illtemper'd too. 

Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. 

B>~u. And my heart too. 

Cas. O, Brutus!- 

Bru. What 's the matter? 

Cas. Have not you love enough to bear with me. 
When that rash humour which my mother gave me 
Makes me forgetful? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, 

When you are over earnest with your Brutus, 
He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. 

[Noise ivithin. 

Pbet. [ Within. ] Let me go in to see the generals; 
There Is some grudge between them, 't is not meet 
They be alone. 

Luctl. [IVithin] You shall not come to them. 

Poet, [withinl Nothiug but death shall stay me. 
Enter Poet. 

Cas. How now? What 's the matter? 

Poet. For shame, you generals: What do you mean? 
Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; 
For t have seen more years, I am sure, than ye. 

Cos. Ha, ha! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! 

Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence! 

Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; t Is his fashion. 

Bru. I '11 know bis humour, when be knows his 
time: 
What should the wars do with tbese jigging fools? 
Companion, hencel 

Cos. Away, away, begone! [Exit Poet. 

Enter Lucilius and Titinius,^ 

Bru. Lucllliis and Titinius, bid the commanders 
Prepare to lodge their companies to night. 

Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messaia with 
you. 
Immediately to us. 

[Exextnt Lucilius and Titinius 

Bi-u. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 

Cos. I did not think you could have been so angry. 

Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 

Cos. Of your philosophy you make no use. 
If you give place to accidental evils. 

Bru. No man bears sorrow better:— Portia is dead. 

Cas. Ha! Portia? 

Bru. She is dead. 

Cos. How 'scaped J killing when I cross'd you so?— 

insupportable and touching loss!-- 
Upon what sickness? 

Bi-u. Impatient of my absence; 

And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
Have made themselves so strong;— for with her 

death 
That tidings came:— With this she fell distract, 
And, her attendants absent, swallow'<l fire. 

Cas. And died so? 

Bru. Even so. 

Cas. O ye immortal gods! 

Enter Lucius, with wine and tapers. 

Bru. Speak no more of her.— Give me a bowl of 
wine-- 
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. 

Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge:— 
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; 

1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [D7-inks. 

Re enter Titinius with Me.ssala. 

Bru. Come in, Titinius —Welcome, good Messaia.— 
Now sit we close about this taper here. 
And call in (juestlon our necessities. 

Cas. Portia, art thou gone? 

Bru. No more, I pray you.— 

Messaia, I have here received letters. 
That young Octavius and Mark Antony 
Come down upon us with a mighty power. 
Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 

Mes. Myself have letters of the self same tenor. 

Bru. With what addition? 

Mes That by proscription and bills of outlawry, 
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
Have put to death an hundred senators. 

Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree; 
Mine speak of seventy senators that died 
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 

Cas. Cicero one? 

Mes. Cicero is dead. 

And by that order of pro.scription.— 
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? 

B)~u. No, Messaia. 

3Ies. Nor nothing in your letters writof her? 

Bru. Nothing, Messaia. 

Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 

Bru. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in 
yours? 

Men. No, my lord. 

Bru. Now. as you are a Roman, tell me true. 

Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: 
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 

Bru. Why, farewell, Portia.— We must die, Mes 
sala; 
With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mes. Even so great men great losses should en- 
dure. 

Cas. I have as much of this in art as you. 
But yet my nature could not bear it so. 

Bi-u. Well, to our work alive. What do you think 
Of inarching to Philippi presently? 

Cas. I do not think it good. 

Bru. Your reason? 

Cns. This It is: 

'T is better that the enemy seek us: 
So shall he.waste his means, weary his soldiers, 



Doing himself offence: <vhilst we, lying still. 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to 
, better. 
The people, 'twlxt Philippi and this ground. 
Do stand but in a forc'd affection; 
For they have .rudg'd us contribution: 
The enemy, marching along by them. 
By them shall make a fuller number up. 
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and eneourag'dj 
From which advantage shall we cut him off. 
If at Philippi we do face him there. 
These people at our back. 

Cas. Hear me, good brother. 

Bru. Under your pardon.— You must note bes'de. 
That we have tried the utmost of our friends. 
Our legions are brimful, our cause is ripe: 
The enemy increaseth every day. 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There Is a tide in the affairs on men. 
Which, taken at the ,ood, leads on to fortune; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound In shallows and in miseries. 
On such a full sea are we now afloat; 
And we must take the current when it serves. 
Or lose our venture. 

Cas. Then, with your will, go on: 

We '11 along ourselves and meet them at Philippi. 

Bru. The deep of night has crept upou our talk. 
And nature must obey necessity; < 
Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
There is no more to say? 

Cos. No more. Good night: 

Early to-morrow we will rise, and hence. 

Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Eri't Lucius, j Farewell, 
good Messaia; 
Good night, Titinius:— Noble, noble Cassius, 
Good night, and good repose. 

Cos. O my dear brother! 

This was an ill beginning of the night: 
Never come such division 'tween our souls! 
Let it not, Brutus. 

Bru. Everything Is well. 

Cas. Good night, my lord. 

Brit. Good night, good brother. 

Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. 

Bi"U. Farewell, every one. 

[Exeunt Cas. Tit. and Mes. 
Re-enter Lucius with the gown. 
Give me the gown. Where is thy Instrument? 

Luu. Here in the tent. 

Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? 

Poor knave, I blame thee not: thou art o'er-watch'd. 
Call Claudius, and some other of my men: 
1 '11 have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 

Luc. Varro, and Claudius! 

£nter Varro and Claudius. 

Far. Calls my lord? 

Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie In my tent and sleep; 
It may be, I shall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassius. 

Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your 
pleasure. 

Bru. I will not have It so: He down, good sirs; 
It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. 
Look, Lucius, here 's the book I sought for so: 
I put it in the pocket of my gown. 

[Servants lie down. 

Lite. I was sure your lordship did not give it me. 

Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. 
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile. 
And touch thy instrument a strain or two? 

Lue. Ay, r.iy lord, au it please you. 

Bru. It does, my boy: 

I trouble thee too much, but thtju art willing. 

Lue. It is my duty, sir. 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; 
I know young bloods look for a time of rest. 

Luc. .1 have slept, my lord, already. 

Bru. It was well done; and thou shalt sleep again; 
I will not hold thee long; if I do live, 
I will be good to thee. | ilfusic, and a Song. 

This is a sleepy tune:— O murd'rous slumber! 
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon ray boy. 
That plays thee music? -Gentle knave, good night; 
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; 
I '11 take it from thee: and, good boy, good night. 
Let me see, let me see:— Is not the leaf turii'd down 
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. 

[Hestts douyn. 
Enter <he Ghost of Cjesar. 
How ill this taper burns!— Ha! who comes here? 
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me:— Art thou anything? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
Thatmak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare? 
Speak to me what thou art. 

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. , 

Bru. Why com'st thou? 

. Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. 

Bru. Well: Then I shall see thee again? 

Ghost. Ay, at Philippi, [Qhoat vanishes 

Bru. Why, I will see thee at; Philippi then.— 
Now I have taken heart thou vanishest: 
inspirit, I would hold more talk vith thee. — 
BoyT Lucius!- Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake!— 
Claudius! 

Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 

Bru. He thinks he still is at his instrument.— 
Lucius, awake! 

Luc. My lord. 

Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so 
criedst out? 

Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 

Bru. Yes, that thou didst: Bkist thou see any- 
thing? 

Lue. Nothing, my lord. 

Bru. Sleep again, Lucius.- Sirrah, Claudius! 
Fellow thou! awake! 

Var. My lord. 

Clau. My lord. 

Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep? 

Far. Clau. Did we, my lord? 

Bru. Ay; saw you anything' 

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 

Clau. Nor I, my lord. 

Bru. Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius; 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
And we will follow. 

Var, Clau. It shall be done, my lord. 

[Exeunt. 



Scene i.l 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



307 



ACT V. 
Scene T.—The Plains o/Pliillppi. 
Enter Octavius, Antony, a iirf their Army. 

Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered: 
You said the enemy would not come down. 
But keep the hills and upper regions: 
It proves not so: their battles are at hand: 
They mean to warn us at Phillppi liere. 
Answering before we do demand of them. 

Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know 
Wherefore they do it: they could be content 
To visit other places: and come down 
With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face. 
To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage; 
But 't is not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Miss. Prepare you, generals; 

The enemy comes on in gallant show; 
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out. 
And something to be done Immediatel.v. 

Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on. 
Upon the left hand of the even field. 

Oct. Upon the right hand I. keep thou the left. 

Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? 

Oct. I do not cross you; but I will do so. \3farch. 

Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army; 
Liicilius, Titinius, Messala, and others. 

Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 

Cas. Stand fast, Titinius: We must out and talk. 

Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? 

Ant. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge. 
Make forth; the generals would have some words. 

Oct. Stir not until the signal. 

Bru. Words before blows: Is it so, countrymen? 

Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 

Brti. Good words are better than bad strokes, 
Octavius. 

Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
words: 
Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart, 
Crying, ' Long live! hail Caesar!' 

Cas. Antony, 

The posture of your blows are yet imknown; 
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, 
And leave them honeyless. 

Ant. Not stingless too. 

Bru. O, yes, and soundless too; 
For you have stolen their buzzing, Antony, 
And, very wisely, threat before you sting. 

Ant, Villains, you did not so, when your vile 
daggers 
Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar: 
You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like 

hounds. 
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet; 
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind. 
Struck Csesaron the neck. O you flatterers! 

Cas. Flatterers!— Now, Brutus, thank yourself: 
This tongue had not offended so to-day. 
If Cassius might have rul'd. 

Oct. Come, come, the cause: If arguing make us 
sweat. 
The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
Look; I draw a sword against conspirators; 
When think you that the sword goes up again? — 
Never, till Cjesar's threeand-thirty wounds 
Be well aveng'd; or till another Caesar 
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 

Bru. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands. 
Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 

Oct. So I hope; 

I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 

Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain. 
Young man, thou couldst not die more honorably. 

Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such 
honour, 
Join'd with a masker and a reveller. 

Ant. Old Cassius still! 

Oct. Come, Antony; away.— 

Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth: 
If you dare flglit today, come to the field; 
If not, when you have stomachs. 

[Exinint Octavius, Antony, and their Army. 

Cas. Why now, blow, wind; swell, billow; and 
swim, bark! 
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 

Brit. Ho! Lucilius; hark, a word withyou. 

inc. My lord. 

[Brutus and Lucilius converse apart. 

Cas. Messala,— 

Mes. What says my general? 

Cas. Messala, 

This is my birthday; as this very day 
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: 
Be thou my witness that, against my will. 
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
Upon one battle all our liberties. 
Vou know that I held Epicurus strong. 
And his opinion: now I change my mind. 
And partly credit things that do presage. 
Coming from Sardis. on our former ensign 
Two mighty eagles fell; and there they perch'd, 
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands. 
Who to Phillppi here consorted us; 
This morning are they fled away, and gone; 
And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites, 
Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us, 
As we were sickly prey; their shadows seem 
A canopy most fatal, under which 
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 

Mes. Believe not so. 

Cas. I but believe it partly; 

For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd 
To meet all perils very constantly, 

jBiH. Even so, Lucilius. 

Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 

The gods to day stand friendly; that we may. 
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! 
But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain, 
Let 's reason with the worst that may befall. 
If we do lose this battle, then is this 
The very last time we shall speak together: 
What are you then determined to do? 

Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy 
By which I did blame Cato for the deatn 
Which he did give himself :— I know not how. 
But I do find It cowardly and vile. 
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
The time of life:— arming myself with patience. 
To stay the providence of some high powers, 
That govern us below. 



Cas. Then, If we lose this battle. 

You are contented to be led in triumph 
Thorough the streets of Rome? 

Bru. No. Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman, 
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; 
He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
Must end that work the ides of March begun; 
And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
Therefore our everlasting farewell take:— 
Forever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! 
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; 
If not, why then this parting was well made. 

Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus! 
If we do meet again, we '11 smile indeed; 
If not, 't is true this parting was well made. 

Bru. Why then, lead on.— O, that a man might 
know 
The end of this day's business ere It come: 
But it sufticeth that the day will end. 
And then the end is known.— Come, ho! away! 

\Exeunt. 
Scene II.— I7ie sawie. The Field of Battle. 
Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. 

Brn. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills 
Unto the legions on the other side: [Loud alarum. 
Let them set on at once; for I perceive 
! But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing. 
And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. [Exe. 

Scene US.— The same. Another Part of the Field. 
Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 

Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly! 
Myself have to mine own turned enemy: 
This ensign here of mine was turning back; 
I slew the coward, and did take it from him. 

Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early 
Who, having some advantage on Octavius, 
Took it too eagerly; his soldiers fell to spoil, 
Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd. 
Enter Pindarus. 

Pin. Fly further off, ray lord, fly further off; 
Mark Antony is In your tents, my lord! 
Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly tar off. 

Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius; 
Are those my tents where I perceive the fire? 

Tit. They are, my lord. 

Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me, 

Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him, 
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops. 
And here again; that I may rest assur'd 
Whether yonder troops are friend or enemy. 

Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. 

[Exit. 

Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill. 
My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius. 
And tell me what thou not'st about the field.— 

\Exit Pindarus. 
This day I breathed first: time is come round. 
And where I did begin there shall I end; 
My life is run his compass.— Sirrah, what news? 

Pin. [Above.] O my lord! 

Cas. What news? 

Pin. Titinius is enclosed round about 
With horsemen that make to him on the spur; 
Yet he spurs on.— Now they are almost on him: 
Now, Titinius!- Now some 'light:— O, he 'lights 

too: 
He 's ta'en:— and hark! they shout for Joy. [Shout. 

Cas. Come down, behold no more.— 
O, coward that I am, to live so long. 
To see my best friend ta'en before my face. 

Enter Pindarus. 
Come hither, sirrah: 
In Parthia did I take thee prisoner; 
And then I swore thee, saving of thy life. 
That whatsoever 1 did bid thee do 
Thou should'st attempt it. Come now, keep the 

oath! 
No w be a freeman ; and with this good sword. 
That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. 
Stand not to answer: Here, take thou the hilts; 
And, when my face is cover'd, as 't is now. 
Guide thou the sword.— Caesar, thou art reveng'd. 
Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 

Pin. So. I am free; yet would not so have been. 
Durst I have done my will. O Cassius! 
Far from this country Pindarus shall run. 
Where never Roman shall take note of him. [IMt. 
Re-enter Titinius, viith Messala. 

Mes. It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius 
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, 
As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 

Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 

Mes. Where did you leave him? 

Tit. All disconsolate, 

With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 

Mes. Is not that he that lies upon the ground? 

Tit. He lies not like the li%-ing. O my heart! 

Mes. Is not that he? 

Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 

But Cassius is no more.— O setting sun! 
As in thy red rays thou dost sink tonight, 
So In his red blood Cassius' day is set; 
The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; 
Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are 

done! 
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 

Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed, 
O hateful error, melancholy's child! 
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
The things that are not? O error, soon coneeiv'd. 
Thou never com'st unto a happy birth. 
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. 

Tit. What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus? 

Mes. Seek him, Titinius: whilst I goto meet 
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
Into his ears: I may say, thrusting it; 
For piercing steel, and darts envenomed, 
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus 
As tidings of this sight. 

Tit. Hie you, Messala, 

And I will seek for Pindarus the while. 

[Exit Messala. 
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? 
Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they 
Put on my brows this wreath of victory. 
And bid me give 't thee? Didst thou not hear 

their shouts? 
Alas, thou hast misconstrued everything. 
But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; 



Thy Brutus bid me give It thee, and I 
Will do his bidding.- Brutus, come apace. 
And see how I regarded Calus Cassius.— 
By your leave, gods:— This is a Roman's part: 
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. 

[Dies. 
Alarum. Re enter Messala, irith Brutus, young CatO, 
Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius. 

Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie? 

Mes. Lo, yonder; and Titinius mourning It. 

Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 

Cato. He Is slain. 

Bru. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet! 
Th}' spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
In our own proper entrails. [Low alarums. 

Cato. Brave Titinius! 

Look, who 'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius! 

Bru Are yet two Romans living such as these?— 
The last of all the Remans, fare tnee well! 
It is impossible that ever Rome 

Should breed thy fellow.- Friends, I owe more tears 
To this dead man than you shall see me pay. — 
I shall find time. Cassius, I shall find time.— 
Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body; 
His funerals shall not be In our camp. 
Lest it discomfort us.— Lucilius, come;— 
And come, young Cato; let us to the field.— 
Labeo, and Flavlus, set our battles on:— 
T is three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night 
We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. 

Scene TV.— Another Part of the Field. 
Alarum. Enter, fighting. Soldiers of both Armies; 
then Brutus, Cato, Lucilius, and others. 
Bru. Yet, countrymen, Oyet hold up your heads! 
Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go with 
me? 
I will proclaim my name about the field:— 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! 
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend; 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! 

[Charges the enemy. 
Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; 
Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus. 
[Exit, charging the enemy. Cato t's overpowered, 
andfalls. 
Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? 
Why, now thou dlest as bravely as Titinius; 
And may'st be honour'd, being Cato's son. 
1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 

Luc. Only I yield to die: 

There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight; 



[Offering money. 
ide ■ 



Kill Brutus, and be honour'd In his death. 

1 Sold. We must not.— A noble prisoner! 

2 Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 

1 Sold. I '11 tell the news.— Here comes the gen- 
eral:— 

Enter Antony. 
Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 

Ant. Where is he? 

Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough; 
I dare assure thee that no enemy 
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus: 
The gods defend him from so great a shame! 
When you do find him, or alive or dead. 
He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 

Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you, 
A prize no less in worth: keep this man safe. 
Give him all kindness: I had rather have 
Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on. 
And see whe'r Brutus be alive, or dead: 
And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent. 
How everything is chanc'd. [ExeuTit. 

Scene v.— Another Part of the Field. 

Enter Brutus, Dardanlus, Clitus, Strato, and 
Volumnius. 
Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this 

rock. 
Cli. Statilius show'd the torchlight; but, my lord. 
He came not back; he is or ta'en, or slain. 

Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus: Slaying is the word; 
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clltus.- 



[Whispering. 

all r ■ ■ 



Cli. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world. 

Bru. Peace then, no words. 

Cli. I '11 rather kill myself. 

Bru. Hark thee, Dardanlus.— [TFTiispers him. 

Dar. Shall I do such a deed? 

Cli. O, Dardanius! 

Dar. O. Clitus! 

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? 

Dar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. 

Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief. 
That it runs over even at his eyes. 

Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word. 

Vol. What says my lord? 

Bru. Why, this, Volumnius: 

The ghost of Caasar hath appeared to me 
Two several times by night: at Sardis, once; 
And, this last night, here in Phillppi fields. 
I know my hour is come. 

VbL Not so, my lord. 

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
Thou seest the world, Velumnlus. how it goes; 
Our enemies have beat us to the pit: 
It is more worthy tj leap in ourselves, 
■Than tarry till they push us. Good % olumnias. 
Thou knoiv'st that we two went to school together; 
Even for that our love of old,- 1 prithee. 
Hold thou my sword hilts, whilst I run on it. 

Vol That 's not an office for a friend, my lord. 

[Alarum still. 

Cli. fly, fly, my lord; there is no tarrying here. 

Bru. Farewell to you— and you;— and you, Volum- 
nius.- 
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; 
Farewell to thee too, Strato.— Countrymen, 
My heart doth joy that yet, in all my life, 
I found no man but he was true to me. 
I shall have glory by this losing day. 
More than Octavius and Mark Antony 
By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
So, fare you well at once; for Brutus' tongue 
Hath almost ended his life's history: 
Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest. 
That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 

[Alarum. Cry within; Flv, fly, fly! 

Cli. Fly, my lord, fly! 

Bru. Hence; I will follow. 

[Exeunt Clitus, Dardanlus, and Volumuius. 



s, 



3(V? 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



lAcT r. 



I nrltlicp. Stinto, stay thou by tliy lord; 
Tlion art a t't'llow of a t;"0(l n'spi'ct; 
Thy lirr h.uh had some snatch of honour In It: ' 
Hold ihcn my sword, and turn awav thy face, 
Whilf 1 do run upon If. Wilt thou. Strato? 
Sha. Give me vour hand first: Fare you well, my 

lord. 
Dm. Farrwfll, pood S'rato.— Caesar, now be still: 
I klll'd nut ihee with half so pood a will. 

I He itxns on his nword, and dies. 
Alarum. Retreat. JJnfc)' Octavlus, Antony, 
Messala. Lucilius, and their anny. 
Oct. What man Is that? 

Jlfcs. JIv master's man.— Strato, where Is thy mas- 
ter? 



Stra. Free from the bondage you are In, Messala; 
The conquerors can but make a fire of him; 
For Brutus only overcame himself, 
And no man else hath honour by his death. 

Liic. So Brutus should be found.— I thank thee, 
Brutus, 
That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. 

Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them. 
Fellow, wilt tliou bestow thy time with me? 

Strn. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 

Oct. Do so, good Messala. 

Mes. How died my master, Strato? 

Strn. J held the sword, and he did run on it. 

Mes. Octavius, then take him to.follow thee. 



That did the latest service to my master. 

Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all: 
All the conspirators, save only he. 
Did that they did in envy of great Csesar; 
He only, in a general honest thought, 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle; and the elements 
So mixed in him that Nature might stand up. 
And say to all the world, 'This was a man!' 

Oct, According to his virtue let us use liim. 
With all respect and rites of burial. 
Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie, 
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably.— 
So, call the field to rest: and let 's away. 
To part the glories of this happy day. [i'xeuiif. 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



M. Antony, Octavius C^sar, M. jEmil. | 
Lepidi S; trumrir.i. 

SKXTIIS POMI'KIIJS, 

DoMiTius ENOB.^nBUR, Ventidius, Eros, 
ScARUs. Dehcetas, Demetrius, Philo; i 
/i-ifiifis o/ Antony. 

Meo;enas, .\0Riy'rA, Dolabella, Pro- 
ci'i,Eius, Thvrbus. Gallus; friends of 
Caesar. I 



Mexas, Mknecrates, Varius; /Wejufs of 
Pompey. 

Taurus, lieutenant-general to Caesar. 

Camdius, lieutenant-general to An- 
tony. 

SiLius, an officer in Ventldius's army. 



Euphronius, an ainba^sador from \ 
Antony to Caesar. 

Alexas, Mardian, Seleucus, and Dio- 

medes; attendants on Cleopatra. 
A Soothsayer. i 

A Clown. 

Cleopatra, Queen o/ Egypt. I 



OcTAVTA, sister to Caesar, and wife to 

Antony. 
Crarmian, and Iras, attendants on 

Cleopatra. 

Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and 

other Attendants. 
SCEHE.— Dispersed; in sevei al parts of 
the Roman Empire. 



ACT I. - 

Scene I.— Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra's Pa- 
lace. 

Enter Demetrius and Philo. 

Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's, 
O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes. 
That o'er the tiles and musters of the war 
Have glow'il like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, 
The offlce and devotion of their view 
Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart. 
Which in the scuffles of gr eat fights hath burst 
The buclcles on his breast, reneagues all temper; 
And is become the bellows, and the fan. 
To cool a gip.sy's lust. Look, where they cornel 
Flowish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with their 

Trains; Eunu'chs fanning her. 
Take but good note, and you .shall .see In him 
Tile triple pillar of the world transform 'd 
lui» a strumpet's fool: belK.ld and .see. 

Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 

Ant. There 's beggary in the love that can be 
reckon'd. 

Cleo. I '11 set a bourn how far to be belov'd. 

Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 
new eurtli. 

Enter an Attendant. 

Att. News, my good lord, from Rome— 

Ant. Grates me:— The sum. 

Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony: 
Fulvla, perchance, is angry; Or, who knows 
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent 
His powerful mandate to you, 'Do this, or this; 
Take In that kingdom, <ind enfranchise chat; 
Perform 't, or else we damn thee.' 

Ant. How, my love! 

Cleo. Perchance,— nay, and most like. 
You must not stay here longer, your dismission 
Is come from Caesar: therefore hear it, Antony.— 
Where 's Fulvia's process? Caesar's, I would say. 

— Both.— 
Call in the messengers.— As I am Egypt's queen, 
"Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine 
Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays shame 
When shrill tougued Fulvia scolds.- The messen- 
gers. 

Ant. Let Rome in Tiber melt! and the wide arch 
Of the rang'd empire talll Here is my space. 
Kingdoms are clay, our dungy earth alike 
Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of lite 
Is, to do thus; when such a mutual pair. 
And such a twain can do 't, in which I bind, 
On pain of punishment, the world to weet 
We stand up peerless. 

Cleo. Excellent falsehood! 

Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?— 
I '11 seem the fool I am not; Antony 
Will be himself— 

Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra.— 

Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours. 
Let 's not confound the time with ccmference harsh: 
There 's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
Without some pleasui-e now: What sport to-night? 

Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 

Ant. Fie, wrangling queen! 

Whom everything becomes, to tliide, to laugh, 
To weep; whose every passion fully strives 
To make Itself, In thee, fair and adjnir'd! 
No messenger; but thine and all alone. 
To night we '11 wander througli the streets, and note 
The qualities of people. Come, my queen; 
Last night you did desire it:— Speak not to us. 

[Eceunt Ant. and Cleop., with their Train- 

Dem. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so slight? 

Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he Ls not Antony, 
He comes too short of that great property 
Which still should go witli Antony. 

Dem, I 'm full sorry 

That he approves the common liar, who 
Thus speaks of him at Roiue: But I will hope 
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy! [i,mt. 

SCE.N'E II.— ITie same. Another Room. 

Enter Charmlan, Iras, Alexa.« and a Soothsayer. 

Chnr. Ijord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything 
Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas where 's the 
EoOihsayer that you praised so to the queen? O, 
that I knew tills husband, which, jou say, must 
cli>inKe Ills borus with garlauds! 



Alex. Sootlisayer. 

Sooth. Your will? 

Char. Is this the man?— Is 't you, sir, that know 

things? 
Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy 
A little I can read. 
Alex. Show him your hand. 

Enter Enobarbus. 

Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough 
Cleopatra's health to drink. 

Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 

Sooth, I make not, but foresee. 

Char, Pray then, foresee me one. 

Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 

Char. He means in flesh. 

Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. 

Char. Wrinkles forbid! 

Alex. Vex not his prescience: be attentive. 

Char, Hush! 

Sooth. You shall be more belovfng than belov'd. 

Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 

Alex. Nay, hear him. 

Char. Good now, some excellent fortune! I^et 
me be married to three kings in a forenoon, and 
widow them all: let me have a child at fifty, to 
whom Herod of Jewry may do homage: find me to 
marry me with Oetavius Caesar, and companion me 
with my mistress. 

Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. 

Chat. O excellent! I love long life better than figs. 

Sooth. You have seen and prov'd a fairer former 
fortune 
Than that which is to approach. 

Char. Then, belike my children shall have no 
names: Prithee, how many boys and wenches must 
I have? 

Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb. 
And fertile every wish, a million. 

Char. Out, fool! 1 forgive thee for a witch. 

Alex. You think none but your sheets are privy to 
your wishes. 

Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers. 

Alex. We 'II know all our fortunes. 

Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 
shall be— drunk to bed. 

Iras. There 's a palm presages chastity, if nothing 
else. 

Char. Even as the o'erflowlng Nllus presageth 
famine. 

Jias. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. 

Char. N«y, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog 
nostication, I cannot scratcli mine ear. Prithee, tell 
her but a worky-day fortune. 

Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 

Irai. But, how, but how? give me partlculai's. 

Sooth. I have said. 

Jins. Am I not an Inch of fortune better than .she? 

Char. Well, if you were but an incli of fortune bet- 
ter than I, whert would you choose it? 

Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 

Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas, 
— come, his fortune, his fortune;—©, let him marry 
a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! 
And let her die too, and give him a worse! and let 
worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him 
laughing to his grave, fifty -fold a cuckold! Good Isis, 
hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a matter 
of more weight, good Isis, I beseech thee! 

Iras. Amen, Dear goddess, hear that prayer of 
the people! for, as It is a heart-breaking to see a 
handsome man loose-wived, so It is a deadly sorrow 
to behold a foul knave imeuckolded: Therefore, 
dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accord- 
ingly! 

Char. Amen. 

Alex. Lo, now! it it lay in their hands to make me 
a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but 
they'd do 't. 

Eno. Hush, here comes Antony. 

Char. Not he; the queen. 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Cleo. Saw you my lord? 

Eno. No, lady. 

Cleo. Was he not here? 

Char. No, madam. 

Cleo. He was dispos'd to mirtli; but on the sudden 
A Roman thought hatli struck him.— Enobarbus,— 

Eno. Madam. 

Cleo. Seelc him, and bring him hither. Where 's 
Alexas? 



Alex. Here, at your service.— My lord approaches. 

Enter Antony, with a Messenger, and Attendants. 

Cleo. We will not look upon him: Go with us. 

iExeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, Iras, 
Charmian, Soothsayer, and Attendants. 

JIfess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 

Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 

Jtfess. Ay: 

But soon that war had end, and the time 's state 
Made friends of them, joluting their force 'gainst 

Caesar; 
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, 
Upon the first encounter, drave them. 

Ant. Well, what worst? 

Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller. 

Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward.— On: 
Things that are past are done with me.— 'T Is thus: 
Who tells me true, though in his tale He death, 
I hear him as he flatter'd. 

ilfess. Labienus 

(This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force, 
Extended Asia from Euphrates; 
His conquering banner shook from Syria 
To Lydia and to Ionia; 
Whilst— 

Ant. Antony, thou would'st say,— 

Mess. O, my lord! 

Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
tongue; 
Nami Cleopatra as she 's called in Rome: 
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults 
With such full licence as both truth and malice 
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds 
When oui quick winds He still; and our ills told us 
Is as our earing. Fare thee well a while. 

Me.'!S. At your noble pleasure. [Exit. 

Ant. From Sicyon how the news? Speak there. 

1 Att. The man from Sicyon.— Is there such an 

one? 

2 Att. He stays upon your will. 

Ant. Let him appear. — 

These strongEgyptian fetters I must break. 

Enter another Messenger. 
Or lose myself In dotage.- What are you? 

2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 

Ant. AVhere died she? 

2 Mess. In Sicyon: 
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious 
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a letter. 

Ant. Forebear me.— [E.vit Mess. 

There 's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it: 
What our contempts do often hurl from us. 
We wish it ours again; the present pieasiu'e 
By revolution lowering, does become 
The opposite of itself; she 's good, being gone; 
The hand could pluck her back that shov'd her on. 
I must from this enchanting queen break off; 
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,, 
My Idleness doth hatch.— How now! Enobarbus' 
Enter Enobarbus. 

Eno. What 's your pleasure, sir? 

Ant. I must witii haste from hence. 

Kno. Wliy, then, we kill all our women: We see 
how mortal an unkindness is to them; if they suffer 
our departure, death 's the word. 

Ant. I must be gone. 

Eno. Under a compelling occasion, let women die: 
It were pity to cast them away for notliiug; though, 
between tiiem and a great cause, they should be 
esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the 
least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her 
die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do 
think there is mettle in death, which commits some 
loving act upon her, she liath such a celerity in 
dying. 

Ant. She Is cunning past man's thought. 

Eno. Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of no- 
thing but the finest part of pure love: We cannot 
call her winds and watere, sighs and tears; they are 
greater storms and tempests than almanacs can re- 
port: this cannot be cunning in lier; if it be, she 
makes a shower of rain as well as Jove. 

Ant. 'Would I had never seen her! 

Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful 
piece of work; which not to have been blessed 
withal, would have discredited your travel. 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Sir? 

Ant. Fulvia is dead. 

Eno. Fulvia? 



SCENB 11.1 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



809 



If 



Ant. Dead. 

Kno. Why, Rir, k1v(> tlie Roris a thankful sacrifice. 
When it pleascth their deities to take the wife of a 
man from him, it shows to man tlie tailors of the 
earth; conitnitinpr therein, tliiil when old rohes are 
worn out tliere arc meml>ers to ni:ike new. If tliei'e 
were no more wonien but Fnlvia, (hei hiul you in 
deed a cut, and tlie ease to be lamented; lliis grief is 
crowned with consolation; your old smoek brings 
forth a new petticoat:— and, indeed, tlie tears live 
in an onion that should water this sorrow. 

AnI. The business she hath broached in the state 
Cannot en<lure mjk' absence. 

i?iio. And the l)Usinessyou have broached here can- 
not be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, 
which wholly depends on your abode. 

Ant. No nioie light answers. Let our officers 
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break 
The cause of our expedience to the queen, 
And get lier love to part. For not ilone 
The (leath of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, 
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters too 
Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
Petition us at home; Sextus Ponipeius 
Hath given the dare to Csesar, and commands 
The empire of the sea: our slippery people 
(Whose love isnever link'd to tlie aeserver 
Till his deserts are pasl 1 to throw 
Pompey the great, and all his dignities. 
Upon his son; who high in name and power. 
Higher than both in blood anil life, stands us 
For the main .soldier: whose quality, going cm. 
The sides o' the world may dailger; JLuch is breed- 
ing 
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, 
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure. 
To such whose place is under us, requires 
Our quick remove from hence. 

Eno. 1 shall do "t. [Exeunt. 

Scene HI. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Where is he? 

Char. I did not see him since. 

Cleo. See where he is, who 's witli him, what he 
does:— 
I did not send you:— If .yon tlnd him sad, 
Say I am dancing; if in mirlh, report 
Say I am sudden sick; Quick, and return. 

[KrifAIex. 

Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dear- 
I.V, 
You do not hold the method to enforce 
The like from him. 

Cleo. What should I do I do not/ 

Char. In each thin^ give liim way, cross him in 
nothing. 

Cleo. Thou teuchest like a fool: the way to lose 
him. 

Char. Tempt him not so too far: I wish, forbear; 
In lime we hate that wliich we often fear. 

Enter Antony. 
But here comes Antony. 

Cleo. I am sick and sullen. 

Ant. I am sorry to give hreatliing to my purpose. — 

Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I snaU fall; 
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
Will not sustain it. 

Ant. Now, my dearest queen,— 

Cleo. Pray you stand tanner from me. 

Ant. What 's the matter? 

Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there 's seme good 
news. 
What says the married woman?— You may go; 
'Would she had never given you leave toconie! 
Let her not say 't is I that keep you here, 
1 have no power upon you; hers you are. 

>lnf. The gods best know,— 

Cleo. O, never was there queen 

So mightily betray'd! Yet, at the first, 
I saw the treasons planii.d. 

Artt. Cleopatra,— 

Cleo. Wh.v should I think you can be mine, and 
true. 
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, 
Wiio have been false to Fulvia? Riotous niiulness. 
To be entangled witli those mouth-made vows, 
Which break themselves in swearingl 

Ant. Most sweet queen,— 

Cleo. Nav, pray yon, seek no colour for your going. 
But bid farewell, and go: wlien you sued staying. 
Then was 1 he time for words: No going then;— 
Eternity was in our lips and eyes; 
BUss in our lirows' bent; none our parts so poor. 
But was a race of heaven: They are so still. 
Or thoti, the greatest soldier of the world. 
Art turu'U the greatest liar. 

Ant. How now, l.idy! 

Cleo. I would I had thy inches; thou should'st 
know 
There were a heart in Egypt. 

AnI. Hear me, queen: 

Tlie strong necessity of time commands 
Ourserviues a Willie; but my full lieart 
Kemains in use with you. Our Italy 
Shines o'er with civil swords: Scxlus Pompeius 
JIakes his approaches to the port of Rome: 
Equality of two domestic powi is 
Breeds scrupulous faction; The hated, grown to 

strength. 
Are newly grown to love: the condemned Pompey, 
Rich ill his tatliei's liiniour, creeps iirace 
Into the hearts of such as h.ive not lluiv'd 
Upon the present st;ite whose numbers threaten; 
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge 
By any desperate change: Ily more particul;ir, 
And th.nt which most with you should sate my going. 
Is Fulvia's death. 
Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me 
freedom. 
It does from cliildlshness:— Can Fulvia die? 

Ant. Slie 's dead, my qiiceu; 
Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read 
The gaiboils slieawak'd; at the last, best; 
See when and where she died. 

Cleo. O most false love! 

Where be the sacred vials thou should'st fi.l 
With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see. 
In Fulvia's deatii how mine rccciv'd sli;ill be. 

Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to knov/^ 
The purposes I bear; wl.Icli are, or cc.nsc. 

As you shall give tl!o advice: Dy the fire 
That quickeas Kilus' slime, I go from hence, 



Thy soldier, servant; making peace or war 
Asthou alfect'st. 

CIm. Cut mv lace, Charmian, come;— 

But let it be.— 1 am quickly ill, and well, 
So Antony loves. 

Ant. Mv precious queen, forbear; 

And give true evidence to his love, which stands 
An honourable trial. 

Cleo. So Fulvia told me. 

I prithee, turn aside, and weep for her; 
Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears 
Belong to Egypt: Good now, play one scene 
Of excellent dissembling; and let It look 
Like perfect honour. 

.Int. You '11 heat my blood: no more. 

Cleo. You can do better yet; but this Is meetly. 

Ant. Now, by my sword,— 

Cleo. And target,— Still he mends; 

But this is not the best: Look, prithee, Cliarmlan, 
How this Herculean Roman does become 
The carriage of his chafe. 

Ant. I '11 leave you, lady. 

Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 
Sir, you and I must part,— but that 's not It: 
Sir, you and I have lov'd,— but there 's not It; 
That you know well: Something It Is I would,— 
O, my oblivion is a very Antony, 
And I am all forgotten. 

Ant. But that your royalty 

Holds idleness your subject, I should take you 
For idleness itself. 

C7fo. 'T is sweating labour 

To bear such idleness so near the heart 
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me; 
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
Eye well to you: Your honour calls you hence; 
Therefore be deaf to my unpitlert folly. 
And ail the gods go with you! Upon your sword 
Sit laurel victory, and smooth success 
Be strew'd before your feet! 

Ant. Let us go. Come: 

Our separation so abides, and flies. 
That thou, residing here, go'st .vet with me. 
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. 
Away. I Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— Rome. An Apartment in Caesar's 
House. 

Enter Octavlus Caesar, Lepidus, and Attendants. 

Cces. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth knov7 
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate 
Our great competitor: from Alexandria 
This is the news: He fishes, drinks, and wastes 
"The lamps of night ii revel: Is not more manlike 
Than Cleopatra; nor the queen of Ptolemy 
More womanly than he: hardly gave audience, 
Or vouchsat'd to think he had partners: You shall 

find there 
A man who is the abstract of all faults 
That all men follow. 

7>p. I must not think there are 

Evils enow to darken all his goodness: 
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven, 
More fiery by night's blackness: hereditary. 
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change, 
Than what he choo.ses. 

Cces. You are too Indulgent: Let 's grant It is not 
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy; 
•I'o give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit 
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave; 
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet 
With knaves that smell of sweat; say, this becomes 

him, 
(As his composure must be rare indeed 
Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must An- 
tony 
No way excuse his soils, when we do bear 
So great weight in his lightness. It he flU'd 
His vacancy with his voluptuousness. 
Full surfeits, and th' dryness of his bones. 
Call on him for 't: but, to confound such time. 
That drums him from his sport, and speaks so loud 
As his own state, and ours,— 't is to be chid. 
As we rate boys; who, being mature in knowledge. 
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure. 
And so rebel to judgment. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Lep. Here 's more news. 

Mess. Thy biddings have been done; and every 
hour. 
Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report 
How 't is aliroad. Pompey is strong at sea; 
And It appears he is belov'd of those 
That only have fear'd Caasar: to the ports 
The discontents repair, and men's reports 
Give him muchwrong'd. 

Cces. I should have known no less:— 

It hath been taught us f'om th primal state. 
That he which is was vvish'd until he were: 
And tlie ebb'd man. ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth love, 
Comes fear'd by being lack'd. This common body. 
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream. 
Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
"To rot itself with motion. 

Mess. Csesar, I bring thee word, 

Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, 
ilake the sea serve them; wliich they ear and wound 
With Iteels of every kind- Many hot inroads 
They make in Italy; the borders maritime 
Lack blood to think on 't, and flush youth revolt; 
No vessel can peep forth but *t is as soon 
Taken as seen; for Pompp.v's name strikes more 
Than could his war resisted. 

Ca;s. Antony, 

jjcave thv lascivious vassails. When thou once 
W:ist beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
Ilirtius and Pansa, consuls, at tliy heel 
Dill f.imine follow; whom thou fought'st against. 
Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
Than savages could sutTer: Thou didst drink 
The stale of hor.ses, and the gilded puddle 
Wliich beasts would cough at: thy palate then did 

deign 
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge: 
Yea, lilie the stag, when snow the pasture sheets. 
The barks of trees thou browsed'st; on the Alps 
It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh, 
Wliich some did die to look on: And all this 
(It wounds thy honour that I speak it now) 
\7as borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek 
So much as lank'd not. 

Lci>. 'T is pity of him. 

Ca's. Let his shames quickly 



Drive him to Rome: 'T Is time we twain 
Did show ourselves I' the field; and, to that end, 
Assemliie me immediate council. Pompey 
Thrives in our idleness. 

Lep. To-morrow, Caesar, 

I shall be furnished to inform you rightly 
Both what by sea and land I can be able. 
To front this present time. 

Ca'S. Till which encounter. 

It is mv business too. F'arewell. 

Lep. Farewell, my lord: What you shall know 
meantime 
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir. 
To let me be partaker. 

Cais. Doubt not, sir; 

I knew It for my bond. [Exeunt. 

Scene V.— Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardlan. 

Cleo. Charmian,— 

Char. Madam. 

Cleo. Ha, ha!— 

Give me to drink mandragora. 

Char. Why, madam? 

Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of time 
My Antony Is away. 

Char, You think of him too much. 

Cleo. O, 't Is treason! 

Char. Madam, I trust not so. 

Cleo. Thou, eunuch! Mardlan! 

Mar. What 's your highness' pleasure? 

Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure 
In aught an eunuch has; 'T is well for thee. 
That, being unsemlnar'd, thy freer thoughts 
May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections? 

Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 

Cleo. Indeed? 

Mar. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing 
But what indeed Is honest to be done: 
Yet I have fierce affections, and think 
What 'Venus did with Mars. 

Cleo. O Charmian, 

Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits 

he? 
Or does he walk? or is he on his horse? 
O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! 
De bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou 

mov'st? 
The demi' Atlas of this earth, the arm 
And burgonet of men.— He 's speaking now. 
Or murmuring, ' Where 's my serpent of old Nile?" 
For so he calls me: Now I feed myself 
'VVith most delicious poison:— Think on me. 
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black. 
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, 
When thou wast here above the ground, I was 
A morsel for a monarch; and great Pompey 
Would stand, and make his eyes grow In my brow; 
There would he anchor his aspect, and die 
With looking on his life. 

Enter Alexas. 

Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail! 

Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! 
Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath 
With his tinct gilded thee.— 
How goes it with m.v brave Mark Antony? 

Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen. 
He kiss'd,— the last of many doubled kisses. 
This orient pearl:— His speech sticks in my heart. 

Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 

Alex. Good friend, quoth he. 

Say, ' The firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot. 
To mend the petty present. I will piece 
Her opulent throne with kingdoms: All the east. 
Say thou, ' shall call her mistress.' So he nodded. 
And soberly did mount an arm gaunt steed. 
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke 
Was beastly dumb'd by him. 
Cleo. What, was he sad, or merry? 

Alex. Like to the time o' the year between the 
extremes 
Of hot and cold; he was nor sad nor merry. 

Cleo. O well-divided disposition!— Note him. 
Note him, good Charmian, 't Is the man; but note 

him: 
He was not sad; for he would shine on those 
That make their looks by his: he was not merry; 
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay 
In Egypt with his joy: but between both: 

heavenly mingle!— Beest thou sad, or merry, 
■The violence of either thee becomes; 

So does it no man else.— Mett'st thou my posts? 

Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers: 
Why do you send so thick? 

Cleo. Who 's born that day 

When I forget to send to Antony, 
Shall die a beggar.— Ink and paper, Charmian. — 
Welcome, my good Alexas.— Did I, Charmian, 
Ever love Csesar so? 

Char. O that brave Caesar! 

Cleo. Be chok'd with such another emphasis! 
Say, the brave Antony. 

Char. The valiant Caesar! 

Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth. 
If thou with Caesar paragon again 
My man of men! 

Char. By your most gracious pardon, 

1 sing but after you. 

Cleo. My salad days! 

When I was green in Judgment, — cold In blood. 
To say as I said then!— But come, away; 
Get me ink and paper: he sliall have every day 
A several greeting, or I '11 unpeople Egypt. [Exe- 

ACT IL 

Scene X.— Messina. A Room in Pompey's House, 
Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas. 

Pom. If the great gods be jHst, they shall assist 
The deeds of justest men. 

Mene. •. Know, worthy Pompey, , 

That what they do delay they not deny. 

Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays 
The tiling we sue for. 

Mene. We, ignorant of oureelves. 

Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
Deny us for our good; so And we profit. 
By losing of our prayers. 

Pom. I shall do well: 

The people love me, and the sea is mine; 
My power 's a crescent, and my auguring hope 
Says It will come to the full. Mark Antony 



310 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act n. 



In Epypt sits at dinner, and will make 

No wars without tloors: Crpsar Rets money where 

He loses hearts: Lepiflus tlallers both, 

Of both is Hatter'd; but he neither loves. 

Nor eitlier cares for him. 

Men. Ofpsar and I^epidus 

Are in the field; a miglity strength they carry. 

Pwn. Where have you this? 't is false. 

Min. From Silvlus, sir. 

itoni. He dreams; I know they are in Rome to- 
gether. 
Looking for Antony: But all the charms of love. 
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd llpl 
Let witchcraft join with bejinty, lust with both! 
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts; 
Keep his brain fuming; Epicurean cooks 
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite; 
Tliat sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour 
Even till a Lethe'd dulness.— How now, Varrlus'' 
Enter Varrius. 

Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver: 
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome' 
Expected; since he went from Egypt, 't is 
A space for farther travel. 

Pom. I could have given less matter 

A better ear.— Menas, I did not think 
This amorous surfelter would have donn'd his helm 
For such a petty war: his soldiership 
Is twice the other twain: But let us rear 
The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
The ne'er lust-wearied Antony. 

Men. I cannot hope 

Cfesar and Antony shall well greet together: 
His wife that 's dead did trespasses to Caesar; 
His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think, 
Not mov'd by Antony. 

Pom. I know not, Menas, 

How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
Were "t not that we stand up against them all, 
'T were pregnant they should square between them 

selves; 
For they have entertained cause enough 
To (haw their swoi-ds: but how the fear of us 
May cement their divisions, and bind us 
The petty ditterence, we yet not know. 
Be it as our gods will have it! It only stands 
Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. 
Come, Menas. [Kxetmt. 

Scene II.— Rome. A Room in the House of 
Lepidus. 

Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. 

Le}i. Good Enobarbus, 't Is a worthy deed, 
And shall become you well, to entreat your captain, 
Til soft and gentle speech. 

Kno. I shall entreat him 

To answer like himself: it Caesar move him, 
Let Antony look over Caesar's head. 
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
I would not shave 't to-day! 

Lep. 'T is not a time 

For private stomaching. 

Eno. Every time 

Serves for the mfttter that Is then bom in It. 

Lep. But small to greater matters must give way. 

Eno. Not If the small come first. 

Lep. Your speech is passion: 

But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes 
The noble Antony. 

Enter Antony and Ventidius. 

£710. And yonder Caesar. 

Enter Caesar, Mectenas, and Agrlppa. 

Ant. If we compose well here, to Parthia: 
Hark, Ventidius. 

Cm^. I do not know, Mecaenas; ask Agrippa. 

Z/cp. Noble friends. 
Thai; which combin'd us was most great, and let not 
A leaner action rend us. What 's amiss. 
May it be gently: When we debate 
Our trlval difference loud, we do commit 
Murtiier in healing wounds: Then, noble partners, 
(The rather, for I earnestly beseech,) 
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms. 
Nor ourstness grow to the matter. 

Ant. 'T is spoken well: 

Were we before our armies, and to fight. 
I should do thus. 

Coes. Welcome to Rome. 

Ant. Thank you. 

CCES. Sit. 

Ant. Sit, sir. 

Cobs Nav then. 

Ant. I learn you take things 111 which are not so; 
Or, being, concern you not. 

Cees. I must be laugh'd at. 

It, or for nothing, or a little, I 
Should say himself offended; and with yoti 
Chiefly i' the world: more laugh'd at, that I should 
Once name you derogately, when to sound your 

name 
It not concern'd me. 

Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar, 

What was 't to you? 

Caes. No more than my residing here at Rome 
Might be to you in Egypt: Yet if you there 
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 
Might be my question. 

Ant. How intend you, practls'd? 

Cws. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent 
By what did here befall me. Your wife and brother 
Made wars upon me; and their contestation 
Was theme for you, you were the word of war. 

AlU, You do mistake your business; ray brother 
never 
Dldlurge me in his act: I did inquire it; 
And have my learning from some true reports. 
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather 
Discredit my authority with yours; 
And make the wars alike against my stomach, 
Having alike your cause? Of this m.v letters 
Before did satisfy you. If you '11 patch a quarrel. 
As matter whole you have to make it with, 
It mvist not be with this. 

Cces. You praise yourself by laying defects of judg- 
ment to me; but you patch'd up your excuses. 

Ant. Not so, not so; 
I know you could not lack, I am certain on 't. 
Very necessity of this thought, that I, 
Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought, 
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 



Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, 
I would you had her spirit in such another: 
The third o' the world is yours; 

Which with a snaffle, you may pace easy, but not 
such a wife. 
Eno. 'Would we had all such wives, that the men 
might go to wars with the women! 

Ant. So much uncurable her garboUs, Caesar, 
Made out of her impatience, (which not wanted 
Shrewdness of policy too.) I grieving grant 
Did you too much <iisqulet: for that, you must 
But say I could not help it. 

CcFS. I wrote to you 

When rioting in Alexandria; you 
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
Did gibe my missive out of audience. 

Ant. Sir, 

He fell upon me, ere admitted; then 
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want 
Of what I was i' the morning: but, next day, 
r told him of myself; which was as much 
As to have ask'd him pardon: Let this fellow 
Be nothing of our strife; if we contend. 
Out of our question wipe him. 

Cces. You have broken 

The article of your oath; which you shall never 
Have tongue to charge me with. 
Lep. Soft, Caesar. 

Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak; 
The honour is sacred which he talks on now 
Supposing that I lack'd it: But on, Caesar; 
The article of my oath,— 
Cws. To lend me arms and aid when 1 requlr'd 
them: 
The which you both denied. 

Ant. Neglected, rather; 

And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up 
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
I '11 pay the penitent to you; but minehonesty 
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power 
Work witliout it: Truth is, that Fulvia, 
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here; 
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
So far ask pardon as befits mine honour 
To stoop in such a case. 
Lep. 'T is nobly spoken. 

Mec. It it might please you to enforce no further 
The griefs between ye; to forget them quite. 
Were it to remember that the present need 
Speaks to atone you. 
iep. Worthily spoken, Mecaenas. 

Eno. Or, If you borrow one another's love for the 
instant, you may, when you hear no more words of 
Pompey, return it again: you shall have^time of 
wrangle in when you have nothing else to do. 
Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more. 
Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost for 
got. 

Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak no 
more. 
Eno. Go to, then; your considerate stone. 
CcBS. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
The manner of his speech: for it cannot be 
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions 
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge 
O' the world I would pursue it. 
Agr. Give me leave, Caesar,— 

Cces. Speak, Agrippa. 

Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, 
Admir'd Octavia: great Mark Antony 
Is now a widower. 

Cces. Say not so, Agrippa; 

If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
Were well deserv'd of rashness. 

Ant. I am not married, Caesar! let me hear Agrippa 
further speak. 

Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity. 
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts 
With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
Octavia to his wife: whose beauty claims 
No worse a husband than the best of men; 
Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak 
That which none else can utter. By this marriage. 
All little jealousies, which now seem great. 
And all great fears, which now import their dangers. 
Would then be nothing: truths would be tales. 
Where now half tales be truths: her love to both 
Would, each to other, and all loves to both. 
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke: 
For 't is a studied, not a present thought, 
By duty ruminated. 
Ant., Will Caesar speak? 

Cues. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
With what is spoke already. 

Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 

If I would say, 'Agrippa, be it so,' 
To make this good? 

Cces. The power of Caesar, 

And his power unto Octavia. 

Ant. May I never 

To this good purpose, that so fairly shows. 
Dream of impediment!— Let me have thy hand: 
Further this act of grace; and, from this hour. 
The heart of brothers govern in our loves. 
And sway our great designs! 

Cces. There 's my hand. 

A sister I bequeath you, whom no bi'Other 
Did ever love so dearly: Let her live 
To join our kingdoms, and our hearts: and never 
Fly oft our loves again! 
Lep. Happily, amen! 

Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pom- 
pey; 
For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great. 
Of late upon me: I must thank him only. 
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; 
At heel of that, defy him. 

Lep. Time calls upon us: 

Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
Or else he seeks out us. 
Ant. Where lies he? 
Cces. About the Mount Mlsenum. 
Ant. What is his strength by land? 
Cces. Great and increasing: 
But by sea he is an absolute master. 

Ant. So is the fame. 
'Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it: 
Yet, ei'e we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
The business we have talk'd of. 

Cms. With most gladness; 

And do invite you to my sister's view 
Whither straight I '11 lead you. 
Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 



Not lack your company. 

iep. Noble Antony, 

Not sickness sliould detain me. 

[Flourish. E.reiinl Caesar, Ant., and Lepidus; 

Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 

Eno. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas!— 
my honorable friend, Agrippa!- 

Agr. Good Enobarbus! 

Mec. We have cause to be glad that matters are so 
well digested. You stayed well by it in Egypt. 

Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance 
and made the night light with drinking. 

Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a break- 
fast, and but twelve persons there: Is this ti'ue? 

Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle: we had 
much more monstrous matter of feasts, which 
■worthily deserved noting. 

Mec. She 's a most triumphant lady, if report be 
square to her. 

Eno. When she flrst met Mark Antony, she pursed 
up his heart, tipon the river of Cydnus. 

Agr. There she appeared indeed; or my reporter 
devised well for her. 

^nc. I will tell you; 
The bai-ge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne. 
Burnt on the water: the poop was beaten gold; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 
The winds were love sicK with them: the oars were 

silver; 
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
The water, which they beat, to follow faster. 
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person. 
It beggar'd all description: .she did lie 
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissvie,) 
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see 
The fancy outwork nature: on each side her 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
With divers-col our'd fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
And what they undid, did. 

Agr. O, rare for Antony! 

Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, 
And made their bends adornings: at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle 
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands. 
That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
Of the adjacent whaj-fs. The city cast 
Her people out upon her; and Antony, 
Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone. 
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, 
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too. 
And made a gap in nature. 

Agr. Rare Egyptian! 

Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her. 
Invited her to supper; she replied. 
It should be better he became her guest; 
Which she entreated: Our courteous Antony, 
Whom ne'er the word of ' No ' woman heard speak 
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast; 
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart. 
For what his eyes eat only. 

Agr. Royal wench! 

She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed; 
He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 

Eno. I saw her once 

Hop forty paces through the public street: 
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted. 
That she did make defect, perfection. 
And, breathless, power breathe forth. 

Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 

Eno. Never; he will not; 
Age cannot wither her. nor custom stale 
Her infinite variety: Other women cloy 
The appetites they feed; but she makes hungry 
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things 
Become themselves in her; that the holy priests 
Bless her when she is rlggish. 

Mec. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle 
The heart of Antony, Octavia is 
A blessed lottery to him. 

Agr. Let us go.— 

Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest. 
Whilst you abide here. 

Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank you. [Exe. 

Scene III. — The same. A Rcmm in Caesar's House. 

Enter Caesar, Antony, Octavia between them. Atten- 
dants, and a Soothsayer. 

Ant. The world, and my great office, will some- 
times 
Divide me from your bosom. 

Octa. All which time 

Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers 
To themforyou. 

Ant. Good night, sir.— My Octavia, 

Read not my blemishes in the world's report: 
I have not kept my square; but that to come 
Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear 
lady.— Good night, sir. 

Cas. Good night. [E.veunt Caesar ond Octavia. 

Ant.-^ow, slriah! you do wish yourself in Egypt? 

Sooth. 'Would I had never come from thence, nor 
you thither! 

Ant. If you can, your reason? 

Sooth. I see it in my motion, have it not In mjr 
tongue: But yet hie you to Egypt again. 

Ant. Say to me, 
Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine? 

Sooth. Caesar's. 
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side: 
Thy daemon (that thy spirit which keeps thee) is 
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable. 
Where Caesar's is not; but near him thy angel 
Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd; therefore 
Make space enough between you. 

Ant. Speak this no more. 

Sooth. To none but thee: no more, but when to 
thee. 
If thou dost play with him at any game. 
Thou art sure to lose; and, of that natural luck, 
He beats thee 'gainst the odds; thy lustre thickens 
When he shines by: I say again, thy spirit 
Is all afraid to govern thee near him; 
But, he away, 't is noble. 

Ant. Get thee gone: 

Say to Ventidius I would speak with him: — 

[Exit Soothsayer. 
He shall to Parthia.— Be It art, or hap. 
He hath spoken true: The very dice obey him; 
And in our sports my better cunning faints 
Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds; 
His cocks do win the battle still of mine, 



SCKNE ll.l 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



311 



When it Is all to nought; and his quails ever 
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odd. 1 will to Egypt: 
And though I make this marriage tor my peace, 

i^rn^fr Ventidius. 
r the east my pleasure lies:— O, come. Ventldlus, 
You must to Parthla; your commission 's ready: 
Follow me, and receive it. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— r/ie same. A Street. 
Enter Lepklus, Meceenas, aiui Agrlppa. 

Lep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you 
hasten 
Your generals after. 

Agr. Sir, Mark Antony 

Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we Ml follow. 

Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress. 
Which will become you both, farewell. 

Mec. We shall, 

As I conceive the journey, be at the Mount 
Before you, Lepidus. 

Lep. You way Is shorter; 

My purposes do draw me much about; 
You '11 win two days upon me. 

Mee. Agr. Sir, good success! 

Lep. Farewell. ' [Exeunt. 

Scene V.— Alexandria. .4 Room in the Palace. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 
Cleo. Give me some music;music, moody food 
Of us that trade in love. 
Atterul. The music, hoi 

Enter Mardian. 
Cleo. Let it alone; let us to billiards: 
Come, Charmian. 
Char. Jly arm is sore, best play with Mardian. 
Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd 
As with a woman:— Come, you '11 play with me, sir? 
Mar. As well as I can, madam. 
Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though 't 
come too short. 
The actor may plead pardon. I '11 none now: — 
Give me mine angle,— we '11 to the river: there. 
My music playing far off, I will betray 
Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce 
Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up, 
I 'II think them every one an Antony, 
And say. Ah, ahl you 're caught. 

Char. 'T was merry when 

You wager'd on your angling; when your diver 
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he 
With fervency drew up. 

Cleo. That time!— O times!— 

I laugh'd him out of patience; and that night 
1 laugh'd him into patience; and next morn, 
Ere the ninth hnur, I drunk him to his bed; 
They put my tires and mantles on him, whilst 
I wore his sword Philippan. O! from Italy; 

Enter a Messenger. 
Kam thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, 
That long time have been barren. 
Mess. Madam, madam,— 

Cleo. Antony 's dead?— 
If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress: 
But well and free. 

If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
My bluest veins to kiss; a hand that kings 
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 
Mesa. First, madam, he 's well. 

Cleo. Why, there 's more gold. But, sirrah, mark; 
we use 
To say the dead are well: bring it to that. 
The gold I give thee will I melt, and pour 
Down thy ill-uttering throat. 
Mess. Good madam, hear me. : 
Cleo. Well, go to, I will; 

But there 's no goodness in thy face, if Antony 
Be free and healthful:— so tart a favour 
To trumpet such good tidings! It not \vell. 
Thou should'st come like a fury crowned with 

snakes, 
Not like a formal man. 
Mess. Will 't please you hear me? 

Cleo. 1 have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st; 
Yet, if thou say Antony lives, is well. 
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him, 
I '11 set thee in a shower of gold, and liail 
Rich pearls upon thee. 
3Iess. Madam, he 's well. 

Cleo. Well said. 

Mess. And friends with Csesar. 
Cleo. Thou 'rt an honest man. 

Mess. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever. 
Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 
Mess. - But yet, madam,— 

Cleo. I do not like ' but yet,' it does allay 
The good precedence: fle upon ' but yet:' 
' But yet ' IS as a gaoler to bring forth 
Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend. 
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear. 
The good and bad together: He 's friends with 

Caesar; 
In state of health thou say'st; and thou say'st free. 
Mess. Free, madam! no; I made no such report: 
He 's bound unto Octavia. 
Cleo. For what good turn? 

Mess. For the best turn i' the bed. 
Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 

Mess. Madam, he 's married to Octavia. 
Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! 

[StHkes him down. 
Mess. Good madam, patience. 

Cleo. What say you?— Hence, 

[Strikes him again. 
Horrible villain! or I '11 spurn thine eyes 
Like balls before me; I 'II unhair thy head; 

[She hales him up and doivn. 
Thou Shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in 

brine. 
Smarting in ling'ring pickle. 

Mess. Gracious madam, 

I that do bring the news made not the match. 

Cleo. Say, 't is not so, a province I will give thee. 
And make thy fortunes proud: the blow thou hadst 
Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage; 
And I will boot tliee with what gift beside 
Thy modesty can beg. 
Mess. He 's married, madam, 

Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. 

[liraws^a dagger. 
Mess. Nay, then I 'U run: — 
What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. 

ff.Wf. 



Char. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself; 
The man is Innocent. 

Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.— 
Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures 
Turn all to serpents!— Call the slave again; 
Though I am mad, I will not bite him:— Call. 

Char. He is ateard to come. 

Cleo. I win not hurt him:— 

These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
A meaner than myself; since I myself 
Have given myself the cause. Come hither, sir. 

Reenter Messenger. 
Though It be honest, it Is never good 
lo bring bad news: Give to a gracious message 
An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell 
Themselves, when they be felt. 

Mess. I have done my duty. 

Cleo. Is he married? 
I cannot hate thee worser than 1 do 
If thou again say. Yes. 

Mess. He Is married, madam. 

Cleo. The gods confound thee! dost thou hold there 
still? 

Mess. Should I lie, madam? 

Cleo. O, I would thou didst; 

So half my Egypt were submerg'd, and made 
A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence: 
Hadst thou Narcissus In thy face, to me 
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married? 

Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. 

Cleo. He Is married? 

Mess. Take no offence that I would not offend 
you: 
To punish me for what you make me do 
Seems much unequal: He is married to Octavia. 

Cleo. O, that his fault should make a knave of thee. 
That art not what thou 'rt sure of!- Get thee hence; 
The merchandise which thou hast brought from 

Rome 
Are all too dear for me; lie they upon thy hand. 
And be undone by 'em! [Exit Messenger. 

Char. ' Good your highness, patience. 

Cleo. In praising Antony, I have disprais'd Caesar. 

Char. Many times, madam. 

Cleo. I am paid for 't now. 

Lead me from hence; 

1 faint; O Iras, Charmian.— 'T is no matter:— 
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him 
Report the feature of Octavia, her years. 
Her inclination; let hira not leave out 
The colour of her hair:— bring me word quickly.— 

[Exit Alexas. 
Let him for ever go:— Let him mot— Charmian, 
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
The other way 's a Mars:— Bid you Alexas 

[To Mardian. 
Bring me word how tall she is.— Pity me, Charmian, 
But do not speak to me.— Lead me to my chamber. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI.— iVear Miseneum. 

Enter Pompey and Menas at one side, with drum and 
trumpet: at another Caesar, Lepidus, -intony, Eno- 
barbus, Mecaenas, with Soldiers marching. 

Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine; 
And we shall talk before we light. 

Coes. Most meet 

That first we come to words; and therefore have we 
Our written purposes before us sent; 
Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know 
It 't will tie up thy discontented sword; 
And carry back to Sicily much tall youth. 
That else must perish here. 

Pom. To you all three. 

The senators alone of this great world. 
Chief factors for the gods,— I do not know 
Wherefore my father should revengers want. 
Having a son, and friends; since Julius Caesar, 
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted. 
There saw you labouring for him. What was it 
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? -4.nd what 
Made the all-honour'd honest Roman Brutus, 
With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous free- 
dom. 
To drench the Capitol; but that they would 
Have one man but a man? And that is it 
Hath made me rig my navy: at whose burthen 
The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant 
To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome 
Cast on my noble father. 

Cces. Take your time. 

Ant. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy 
sails. 
We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'st 
How much we do o'ercount thee. 

Pom. — t land, indeed. 

Thou dost o'ercount me of my father's house; 
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself. 
Remain in 't as thou mayst. 

Lep. Be pleased to tell us 

(For this is from the present) how you take 
The offers we have sent you. 

Cees. There's the point. 

-flnf. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
What it is worth embrac'd. 

Cces. And what may follow. 

To try a larger fortune. 

Pom. You have made me offer 

Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must 
Rid all the sea of pirates; then, to send 
Measures of wheat to Rome: 'This 'greed upon. 
To part with unback'd edges, and bear back ' 
Our targes uiidinted. 

Cces., Ant., Lep. That 's our offer. 

Pom. Know then 

I came before you here, a man prepar'd 
To take this offer: But Mark Antony 
Put me to some impatience:— Though I lose 
The praise of it by telling, you must know. 
When Caesar and your brother were at blows. 
Your mother came to Sicily, and did find 
Her welcome friendly. 

Ant. I have heard it Pompey; 

And am well studied for a liberal thanks. 
Which I do owe you. 

Pom. Let me have your hand: 

I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 

Ant. The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to 
you. 
That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither; 
For I have gain'd by it. 

Ca;s. Since I saw you last, 

There is a change upon you. 



Potn. Well, I know not 

What counts harsh Fortune casts upon my face; 
But In my bosom shall she never come. 
To make my heart her vassal. 

Lep. Well met here. 

Pom. I hope so, Lepidus.— Thus we are agreed; 
I crave our composition may be written, 
And seal'd between us. 

Cces. That 's the next to do. 

Pom. We '11 feast each other ere we part; and let 
us 
Draw lots who shall begin. 

Ant. That will I, Pompey. 

Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first 
Or last, your flue Egyptian cookery 
Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar 
Grew fat with feasting there. 

Ant. You have heard much. 

PoiH. I have fair meanings, sir. 

Ant. And fair words to them. 

Pom. Then so much have I heard :— 
And I have heard, ApoUodorus carried— 

Kno. No more of that:— He did so. 

Pom. What, I pray you? 

Eno. A certain queen to Caesar In a mattress. 

Pom. I know thee now: Howfar'st thou, soldier? 

£710. Well; 

And well I 'm like to do; for I perceive 
Four feasts are toward. 

Pom. Let me shake thy hand; 

I never hated thee: I have seen thee fight, 
When I have envied thy behavior. 

Eno. Sir, 

I never lov'd you much; but I have prals'd you. 
When you have well deserv'd ten times as much 
As I have said you did. 

Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 

It nothing ill becomes thee.— 
Aboard my galley I invite you all: 
Will you lead, lords? 

Cces., Ant., Lep. Show us the way, sir. 

Pom, Come. 

[Exeunt Pompey, Caesar, Antony, Lepidus. 
Soldiers, and Attendants. 

Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made 
this treaty.— reside.]— You and I have known, sir; 

Eno. At sea, I think. 

Men. We have, sir. 

Eno. You have done well by water. 

Men. And you by land. 

Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me; 
though it cannot be denied what I have done by 
land. 

Men. Nor what I have done by water. 

Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own 
safety; you have been a great thief by sea. 

Men. And you by land. 

Eno. There I deny my land service. But give me 
your hand, Menas: if our eyes had authority, here 
they might take two thieves kissing. 

Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their 
hands are. 

Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true 
face. 

Men. No slander; they steal hearts. 

Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 

ilfen. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a 
drinking. Pompey doth this day lavigh away his 
fortune. 

Eno. If he do, sure he cannot weep it back again. 

Men. You have said, sir. We looked not for Mark 
Antony here. Pray you, is he married to Cleopatra? 

Eno. Caesar's sister is called Octavia. 

Jlfcn. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Mar- 
cellus. 

Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. 

Men. Pray you, sir? 

Eno. 'T is true. 

Men. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit to- 
gether. 

Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I 
would not prophesy so. 

Men. I think the policy of that purpose made 
more in the marriage than the love of the parties. 

Eno. I think so too. But you shall find the band 
that seems to tie their friendship together will be 
the very strangler of their amity: Octavia is of a 
holy, cold, and still conversation. 

Men. who would not have his wife so? 

Eno. Not he, that himself is not so; which is Mark 
Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again: then 
shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Caesar; 
and, as I said before, that which is the strength of 
their amity shall prove the immediate author of their 
variance. Antony will use his affection where it is; 
he married but his occasion here. 

Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you 
aboard? I have a health for you. 

Eno. 1 shall take it, sir; we have used our throats 
in Egypt. 

Men. Come; let 's away. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII.— On. board Pompey's Galley, lying near 

Misenum. 
Music. Enter Two or Three Servants, with a ban- 
quet. 

1 Sei-v. Here they '11 be, man: Some o' their plants 
are ill-rooted already, the least wind i' the world will 
blow them down. 

2 Serv. Lepidus is high-coloured. 

1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 

2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the disposi- 
tion, he cries out ' no more;' reconciles them to his 
entreaty, and himself to the drink. 

1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between him 
and his discretion. 

2 Serv. Why this it is to have a name in great men's 
fellowship: I had as lief have a reed that will do me 
no service, as a partizan I could not heave. 

1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not 
to be seen to move in 't, are 'he lioTes where eyes 
should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. 
A senet sounded. Enter Caesar, .\ntony, Pompey, 

Lepidus, Agrlppa, Mecfenas, Enobarbus, Menas, 

with other Captains. 

Ant. Thus do they, sir: [To Caesar.] They take the 
flow o' the Nile 
By certain scales i' the pyramid; they know. 
By the height, the lowness. or the mean, if dearth 
Or foison follow: The higher Nilus swells. 
The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman 
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his gain. 
And shortly comes to harvest. 

Lep. You have strange serpents there. 



313 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act iiL 



Ant. Ay, Lepldus. 

Lep. Your serpent of Egypt Is bred novv of your 
mud by the operation of your sun: so is your croco- 
dile. 

Ant. Tliey are so. 

Pom. Sit,— and some wine. A health to Lepldus. 

Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I ^11 ne'er 
out. 

Kno. Not till you have slept; I fear me you'll be In 
till then. 

Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolmies' 
pyramiscs are very goodly things without contradic- 
tion, I have heard that. 

JIfen. Pompey, a word. {Aside. 

Pom. Say In mine ear: what Is 't? 

Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain, 

{Aside. 
And hear me speak a word. 

Pom. Forbear me till anon.— 

This wine for Lepldus. 

Lep. What manner o' thing Is vour crocodile? 

Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad 
«s it hath breadth: it is just so high as it is, and 
moves with Its own organs: 't lives by that which 
nourlsheth it: and the elements once out of It, it 
transmigrates. 

Lep. What colour is it of? 

Ant. Of its own colour too. 

i>p. 'T is a strange serpent. 

Ant. 'T is so. And the tears of It are wet. 

Cces. Will this description satisfy him? 

Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him: else 
he is a very epicure. 

Pom. [To Menas a.'dde.] Go hang, sir, hang! Tell me 
of that? away! 
Do as I bid you.— Where 's this cup I call'd for? 

Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me. 
Else from thy stool. {Aside. 

Pom. I think thou 'rt mad. The matter? 

[Risen, and walks aside. 

Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. 

Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith. What 
's else to say? 
Be Jolly, lords. 

Ant. These quicksands, Lepldus, 

Keep off them, for you sink. 

Men. Witt thou be lord of all the world? 

Pom. What say'st thou? 

Meti. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That 's 
twice. 

Pom. How should that be? 

Men. But entertain it; 

And though thou think me poor, I am the man 
Will give thee all the world. 

Pom. Hast thou drunk well? 

Men. No, Pompej-, I have kept me from the cup. 
Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove: 
Whate'er the ocean pales, or sky luclips, 
Is thine, if thou wilt have 't. 

Pom. Show me which way. 

Men. These three world-sharers, these competitors, 
Are in thy vessel: Let me cut the cable; 
And, when we are put off, fail to their throats: 
All there is thine. 

Pom. Ah, this thou should'st have done, 

And not have spoken on "t! In me, 't is villainy; 
In thee it had been gobd service. Thou must know, 
'T is not my profit that does lead mine honour; 
Mine honour, it. Eepent, that e'er thy tongue 
Hatli so betray'd thine act: Being done unknown, 
I should have found it afterwards well done; 
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 

Me7i. For this, [Aside. 

I 'U never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. — 
Who seeks, and will not take, when once 't is offer'd. 
Shall never find it more. 

Pom. This health to Lepldus. 

Ant. Bear him ashore.— I '11 pledge it for him, 
Pompey. 

Eno. Here 's to thee, Menas. 

Men. Enobarbus, welcome. 

Pom. Fill till the cup be hid. 

£no. There 's a strong fellow, Menas. 

[Pointing to the Attendant who carries 
off Lepldus. 

Men. Why? 

Jino. A bears the third part of the world, man: 
Seest not? 

ilfen. The third part then is drunk: 'Would it were 
all. that it might go on wheels! 

Eno. Drink thou; Increase the reels. 

Men. Come. 

Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 

Ant. It ripens towards it.— Strike the vessels, ho! 
Here Is to Csesar. 

Cces. I could well forbear It. 

It 's monstrous labour when I wash my brain 
And it grows fouler. 

Ant. Be a child o" the time. 

Cces. Possess it, I 'II make answer: 
But I had rather fast from all four days, 
Than drink so much in one. 

Eno. Ha, my brave emperor! [To Antony. 

Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
And celebrate our drink? 

Pom. Let 's ha 't, good soldier. 

Ant. Come, let us all take hands: 
Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense 
In soft and delicate Lethe. 

Enu. All take hands.— 

Make battery to our ears with the loud music:— 
The while, 1 '11 place you. Then the boy shall sing; 
The holding every man shall bear, as loud 
As his strong sides can volley. 

\3Iusic plays. Enorbarbus places tliem 
hand in hand. 
SONG. 
Come, thou monarch of the vine, 
Plumpy Bacchus, with pinkeyne: 
\\\ thy vats our cares be drown'd, 
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd; 
Cup us, till the world go round; 
Cup us, till the world go round! 

Cats. What would you more?— Pompey ,good night. 
Good brother. 
Let me xequest you off: our graver business 
Frowns at this levity.— Gentle lords, let 'a part: 
You see we have burnt our cheeks: strong Eno- 

barbe 
Is weaker than the wine; and mine own tongue 
Splits what It speaks: the wild disg;uise hath almost 
.Vntick'd us all. What needs more words? Good 
night.- 



Good Antony, your hand. 
Pom, I '11 try you o' the shore. 

Ant. And shall, sir; give 's your hand. 
Pom. O, Antony, you have my father-house,- 
But what? we are friends: Come, down into the 
boat. 
Eno. Take heed you fall not.- Menas I 'II not on 

shore. 
[Kxennt Pompey, Caesar, Antony, and Attendants. 
Men. No, to my Cabin.— 
These drums!— these trumpets, flutes! What! — 
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
To these great fellows. Sound, and be hang'd. sound 
out! 

[A flourish of trumpets with drums. 
Eno. Ho, says 'a!— There 's my cap. 
Men. Ho!— noble captain! Come. [Exeunt. 

ACT HI. 

Scene I.— A Plain in Syria. 

Enter Ventidius, as it were in triumph, with Sillus 

and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the 

dead body o/Pacorus borne before him. 

Ven. Now, darting Parthla, art thou struck; and 
now 
Pleas'd fortune docs of Marcus Crassus' death 
Make me revenger.— Bear the king's son's body 
Before our army; Thy Pacorus, Orodes, 
Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 

Sit. Noble Ventidius, 

Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm. 
The fugitive Partliians follow: spur through Media, 
Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither 
The routed fly; so thy grand captain .\ntony 
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and 
Put garlands on thy head. 

Ven. Sillus, Silius, 

I liave done enough: A lower place note well, 
May make too great an act: For learn this, Silius, 
Better to leave undone, than by our deed 
Acquire too high a fame, when him we serve 's 

away. 
Caesar, and Antony, have ever won 
More in their officer than person: Sossiug, 
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant. 
For quick accumulation of renown. 
Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favour. 
Who does i' the wars more than his captain can. 
Becomes his captain's captain: and ambition, 
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss. 
Than gain, which darkens him. 
I could do more to do Antonius good. 
But 't would offend him; and in his offence 
Should my performance perish. 

Sil. Thou hast, Ventidius, that 

Without the which a soldier, and his sword. 
Grants scarce distinction. 'Thou wilt write to An- 
tony? 

Ven. I 'U humbly signify what in his name. 
That magical word of war. we have effected; 
How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks. 
The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
We have jaded out o' the fleld. 

Sil. Where is he now? 

Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither with what 
haste 
The weight we must convey with us will permit, 
We shall appear before him.— On there; pass along. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Home. An Ante-Chamber in 

Caesar's House. 
Enter Agrlppa and Enobarbus, meeting. 

Agr. What, are the brothers parted? 

Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he is 
gone; 
The other three are sealing. Oetavia weeps 
To part from Rome; Caesar is sad; and Lepidus, 
Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
With the green sickness. 

Agr. 'T is a noble Lepidus. 

Eno. A very flue one: O, how he loves Caesar! 

Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! 

Eno. Ceesar? Why, he 's the Jupiter of men. 

Agr. What 's Antony ? The god of Jupiter. 

Eno. Spake you of Ctesar? How ? the nonpareil! 

Agr, O Antony! O thou Arabian bird! 

Eno. Would you praise Caesar, say,— Caesar;— go no 
further. 

Agr. Indeed, he plied them both with excellent 
praises. 

Eno. But he loves Caesar best:--Yet he loves An- 
tony: 
Ho! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, 

cannot 
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho!— 
His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, 
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 

Agr. Both he loves. 

Etio. They are his shards, a nd he their beetle. So,— 

[i rumpets. 
This is to horse- Adieu, noble Agrippa. 

Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier: ana farewell. 
Enter Caesar, Antony, Lepidus, and Oetavia. 

Ant. No further, sir. 

Cces. You take from me a great part of myself; 
Use me well in it.— Sister, prove sucli a wife 
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest band 
Shall pass on thy approof . — Most noble Antony, 
Let not the piece of virtue which Is set 
Betwixt us, as the cement of our love. 
To keep it builded, be the ram to batter 
The fortress of it: for better miglit we 
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts 
This be not cherish'd. 

AnI. Make me not offended 

In your distrust. 

Cces. I have said. 

An t. You shall not find, 

Though you be therein curious, the least cause 
For what you seem to fear: So, the gods keep you. 
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends! 
We will here part. 

Cces. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well. 
The elements be kind to thee, and make 
Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well. 

Octa. My noble brother!— 

Ant. The .\pril 's ill her eyes: It Is love's spring, 
And these the showers to bring it on.— Be cheerful. 

Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house; and— 

C(KS. What, 

oetavia? 



Oct. I '11 tell you In your ear. 

Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can 
Her heart inform her tongue: the swan's down 

feather. 
That stands upon the swell at the full of tide. 
And neither way incline.s. 

Eno. Will Caesar weep? [Aside to Agrippa. 

Agr. He ha<! ,-v clmiil l:i 's face. 

Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse; 
So is he, being a man. 

Agr. Why, Enobarbus? 

When Antony found Julius Caesar dead. 
He cried almost to roaring: and he wept. 
When at Philippi lie founil Brutus slain. 

Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a 
rheum; 
What willingly he did confound he wail'd. 
Believe 't, till I wept too. 

Cass. No, s"eet OctnvI.T 

You shall hear from me stiii; the time shall not 
Out-go my thinking on you. 

Ant. Come, sir, come; ! 

I 'II wrestle with you in my strength of love: 
Look, here I have you; thus I let you go. 
And give you to tl.e gods. 

Ca's. Adieu; be happy! 

Lev. Let all the number of the stars give light 
To thy f.<iir way! 

Cces. Farewell, farewell! [Kisses Oetavia. 

Ant. Farewell!- 

[Ti'umpefs sound. Exeunt. 

Scene III.— Alexandria. A Boom in the Palace. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 

Cleo. Where Is the fellow? 

Alex. Half afe.Trd to come. 

Cteo. Go to, go to-- Come hither, sir. 
Enter a Messenger. 

Alex. Good majesty, 

Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you. 
But when you are well pleas'd. 

Cleo. That Herod's head 

I '11 have; But how? when Antony is gone 
Through whom I might command it.— Come thou 
near. 

Mess. Most gracious majesty,— 

Cleo. Didst thou behold 

Oetavia? 

Mess. Ay, dread queen. 

Cleo. Where? 

Mess. Madam, in Rome 

I look'd her in the face; and saw her led 
Between her brother and Mark Antony. 

Cleo. Is she as tall as me? 

Mess. She Is not, madam. 

Cleo. Didst hear her speak? issheshrill-tongu'd,or 
low? 

Mess. Madam, I heard her speak; she Is low- 
voic'd. 

Cleo. That 's not so good :— he cannot like her long. 

Char. Like lier? O Isis! 't is impossible. 

Cleo. I think so, Charmian: Dull of tongue, and 
dwarfish!— 
What majesty is in her gait? Reniember, 
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 

Mess. She creeps: 

Her motion and her station are as one: 
She shows a body rather than a life; 
A statue, than a breather.. 

Cleo. Is this certain? 

Mess. Or I have no observance. 

Char. Three In Egypt 

Cannot make better note. 

Cleo. He 's very knowing, 

I do perceive 't:— There 's nothing in her yet:— 
The fellow has good Judgment. 

Char. Excellent. 

Cleo. Guess at her years, I prithee. 

Mess. Madam, 

She was a widow. 

Cleo. Widow?— Charmian, hark. 

Mess. And I do think she 's thirty. 

Cleo. Bear'st thou her face In mind? Is 't long or 
round? 

Mess. Round even to fanltiness. 

Cleo. For the most part too, they are foolish that 
are so. 
Her hair, what color? 

Mess. Brown, madam: And her forehead 
As low as she would wish it. 

Cleo. There 's gold for thee. 

Thou must not take my former sharpness ill:— 
I will employ thee back again; I find thee 
Most fit for business: Go, make thee ready: 
Our letters are prepar'd. {E.%-it Messenger 

Char. A proper man. 

Cleo. Indeed, he is so; I repent me much 
That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him. 
This cieature 's no such thing. 

Char. Nothing, madam. 

Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and should' 
know. 

Char. Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend. 
And serving you so long! . 

Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good 
Charmian: 
But 't is no matter; thou shalt bring him to me 
Where I will write: All may be well enough. 

Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— Athens. A Room in Antony's 

House. 

Enter Antony and Oetavia. 

Ant. Nay, nay, Oetavia, not only that,— 
That were excusable, that, and thousands more 
Of semblable import, -but he hath wag'd 
New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read 

It 
To public ear: 

Spoke scantily of me: when perforce he could not 
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly 
He vented them: most narrow measure lent me, 
When the best hint was given him: lie not look'd. 
Or did it from his teeth. 

Oct. O my good lord. 

Believe not all; or. If you must believe. 
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lad.v, 
If this division chance, ne'er stood between. 
Praying for both parts: 
The good gods will mock thee presently. 
When I shall pray, ' O, bless my lord and husband! 
Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
' O, bless my brotlier!' Husband win, win brother. 



Scene iv.l 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



313 



Prays, and desti-oys the prayer; no midway 
'Twixt these extremes at all. 

Ant. Gentle Octavla, 

Let your best love draw to that point which seeks 
Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour, 
I lose myself: better I were not yours. 
Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested, 
Yourself shall go between ns: The mean time, lady, 
I '11 raise the preparation of a war 
Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste; 
So your desires are yours. 

Oct. Thanks to my lord. 

The Jove ol power make me most weak, most weak, 
Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be 
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men 
Should .solder up the rift. 

Ant. Wiien it appears to you where this bcRlns, 
Turn your displeasure that wav; for our faults 
Can never be so equal, that yoiir love 
Can equally move with them. Provide your going; 
Choose your own company, and command what cost 
ifour heart has mind to. lEjceunt. 

Scene v.— The same. Another Room in the same. 
Knter Enobarbus and Eros, meeting. 

Bno. How now, friend Eros? 

Kros. There 's strange news como sir. 

Eno. What, man? 

Eros. Cfesar and Lepldus have made wars upon 
Pompey. 

Eno. This Is old: What is the success? 

Eros. Csesar, having made use of him in the wars 
'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality; 
would not let him partake in the glory of the ac- 
tion: and not resting here, accuses him of lettei-s he 
had formerly wrote to Pompey; >ipon his own ap- 
peal, seizes him: So the poor third Is up, till death 
enlarge his confine. 

Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no 
more; 
And throw between them all the food thou hast, 
They 'U grind the one the other. Where 's Antony? 

iJros. He is walking in the garden— thus; and 
spurns 
The rush that lies before him ; cries, ' Fool, Lepidus!' 
And threats the throat of that his officer, 
That murder'd Pompey. 

JEno, Our great navy 's rigged. 

Eros. For Italy, and Caesar. More Domitius: 
My lord desires you presently: my news 
I might have told hereafter. 

Eno. 'T will be naught : 

But let It be.— Bring me to Antony. 

Eros, Come, sir. [Exeunt. 

Scene "^^.— Rome. A Room in Ccesar's House. 

Enter Caesar, Agrlppa and Macasnas. 

Cxs. Contemning Rome, he has done all this: And 
more; 
In Alexandria— here 's the manner of it,— 
I' the market place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
Were publicly enthron'd: at the feet, sat 
Caesarion, wliom they call my father's son; 
Ana all the unlawful issue, that their lust 
Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt; made her 
Of lower Syria, Syprus, Lydia, 
Absolute queeu. 

Mec. This in the public eye? 

C(ES. V the common show-place, where they exer- 
cise. 
His sons he there proclaim 'd. The kings of kings: 
Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 
He gave to Alexander: to Ptolemy he asslgn'd 
Syria, Clllcia, and Phoenicia: She 
In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience. 
As 't is reported, so. 

jllec. Let Rome be thus inform'd. 

Agr. Who, queasy with his insolence already, 
Will their good thoughts call from him. 

Coes. The people know it; and have now receiv'd 
His accusations. 

Agr. Whom does he accuse? 

Coes. Caesar: and that, having in Clcily 
Sextus Pompelus spoil'd, we had not rated him 
His part o' the isle: then does he say, he lent me 
Some shipping unrestor'd: lastly, he frets. 
That Lepidus of tne triumvirate 
Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain 
All his revenue. 

Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd. 

Coes. 'T is done already, and the messenger gone. 
I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel; 
That he Ills high authority abus'd. 
And did deserve his change; for what I have con- 

quer'U, 
I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, 
And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I 
Demand the like. 

Mee. He "U never yield to that. 

Cms. Nor must not then be yielded to In this. 

Enter Octavla. 

Oct. Hall, Caesar, and my lord! hail, most dear 
Caesar! 

Cces. That ever I shotild call thee, castaway! 

Oct. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause. 

Caa. Why have you stolen upon us thus? You 
come not 
Like Caesar's sister: The wife of Antony 
Should have an army for an usher, and 
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach, 
Long ere she did appear; the trees by the way 
Should have borne men; and expectation fainted. 
Longing tor what it had not: nay, the dust 
Should have ascended to the root of heaven, 
Rais'd by your populous troops: But you are come 
A market-maid to Rome; and have prevented 
The ostentation of our love, which, lettunshown. 
Is often left uniov'd: we should have met you 
By sea and land; supplying every stage 
Witli an augmented greeting. 

Oct. Good my lord. 

To come thus was I not constraln'd, but did it 
On my free-will. My lord, Mark Antonv, 
Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted 
My grieved ear withali: whereon, I begg'd 
His plrdon for return. 

Cass. Which soon he granted. 

Being an abstract 'tween his lust and him. 

Oct. Do not say so, my lord. 

Cces. I have eyes upon him. 



And his affairs come to me on the wind. 
Where Is he now? 

Oct. My lord. In Athens. 

Coes. No, my most wronged sister; Cleopatra 
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire 
Up to a whore; who now are levying 
The kings o' the earth for war: He hnth assembled 
Bocchus, tlie king of Ltl)ya; Archelaus, 
Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king 
Of Paplilagonia; the Thracia king, Adallas; 
King Malchus of Arabia; king of Pont; 
Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king 
Of Comagene; I?oIemon and .\mlntas. 
The kings of Slede, and Lycaonia, 
With a more larger list of sceptres. 

Oct. Ah me, most wretched. 

That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, 
""hat do afflict each other? 

Cues. Welcome hither: 

Your letters did withhold our breaking forth; 
Till we percelv'd, both how yoi were wrong led. 
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your lieart: 
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives 
O'er your content these strong nece.ssities; 
But let determind things to destiny 
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome: 
Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd 
Beyond the mark of thought: and the high gods. 
To do yoti justice, make tlieir ministers 
Of us, and those that love you. Best of comfort; 
And ever welcome to us. 

Agr. Welcome, lady. 

Mec. Welcome, dear madam. 
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you. 
Only the adulterous Antony, most large 
In his abominations, turns you off; 
And gives his potent regiment to a trull, 
That noises it against us. 

0<:t. Is it so sir? 

CfES. Most certain. Sister, welcome: Pray you. 
Be ever known to patience: My dearest sister! 

{Exeunt. 

Scene VII.— Antony's Camp near to the Promon- 
tory of Actlum. 
Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbus. 

Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 

Eno. But, why, w hy , why ? 

Cleo. Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars; 
And say'st, it is not fit. 

Eno. Well, is it, is it? 

Cleo. If not denounc'd against us, why should not 
we 
Be there in person? 

Eno. [Aside.^ Well, I could reply:— 
If we should serve with horse and mares together. 
The horse were merely lost; the mares would bear 
A soldier and his horse. 

Cleo. What is 't you say? 

Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony; 
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from his 

time. 
What should not then be spar'd. He is already 
Traduc'd for levity; and 't is said in Rome, 
That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids, 
Manage this war. 

Cleo. Sink Rome; and their tongues rot. 

That speak against us! A charge we bear i' the 

war, 
And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it; 
I will not stay behind. 

Eno. Nay, I have done: 

Here comes the emperor. 

Enter Antony and Canidius. 

Ant. Is it not strange, Canidius, 

That from Tarentum, and Brundusium, 
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea. 
And take in Toryne?— You have heard on 't sweet? 

Cleo. Celerity Is never more admir'd 
Than by the negligent. 

Ant. A good rebuke. 

Which might have well becoin'd the best of men. 
To taunt at slackness.— Canidius, we 
Will fight with him by sea. 

Cleo. By sea! What else? 

Can. Why will my lord do so? 

Ant. For that he dares us to 't. 

Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single light. 

Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, 
Where Caesar fought with Pompey: But these 

offers. 
Which serve not for his vantage, he sliakes oft; 
And so should you. 

Eno. Your siiips are not well mann'd: 
Your mariners are muliters, reapers, people 
Ingross'd by swift impress: in Caesar's fleet 
Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey fought: 
Their ships are yare: yours, heavy. No disgrace 
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea. 
Being prepar'd for land. 

Ant. By sea, by sea. 

Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away 
The absolute soldiership you have b.y lasd; 
Distract your army, which doth most consist 
Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted 
Your own renowned knowledge: quite forego 
The way which promises assurance: and 
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard. 
From firm security. 

Ant. I 'U fight at sea. 

C^c'O. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. 

Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn: 
And, with the rest fuU-maun'd, from the head of 

Actlum 
Beat the-approaching Caesar. But If we fail. 

Enter a Messenger. 
We then can do 't at land.— Thy business? 

Mess. The news Is true, my lord; he Is descried; 
Caesar has taken Toryne. 

Ant. Can he be there in person? 't is Impossible! 
St)-ange that his power should be.— Cani<Iius, 
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
And our twelve thousand horse:— We '11 to our ship. 

Enter a Soldier. 
Away, my Thetis!— How now, worthy soldier? 

Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea; 
Trust not to rotten planks: Do you misdoubt 
This sword, and these my wounds? Let the Egypt- 
ians 
And the Phoenicians go a ducking; we 
Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, 
And fighting foot to foot. 



Ant. Weil, well, away, 

[Exeiint Antony, Cleopatrii, and Enobarbus. 

Sold. By Hercules, I think, I am i' the right 

Can. Soldier, thou art: but his whole action grows 
Not in the power on 't. So our leader 's led. 
And we are women's men. 

Sold. You keep by land 

The legions and the horse whole, do you not? 

Can. Mai-cus Oetavius, Marcus Justelus, 
Publlcola, and Caellus, are for sea: 
But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's 
Carries beyond belief. 

Sold. While he was yet In Rome, 

His power went out in such distractions. 
As beguU'd all spies. 

Can. Who 's his lieutenant, hear you? 

Sold. They say, one Taurus. 

Can. Well, I know the man. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The emperor calls Canidius. 

Can. With news thetinie 's with labour: and throes' 
forth. 
Each minute, some. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII.— ^ Plain near Actlum. 
Enter Cassar, Taurus, Officers, and others. 
Cms. Taurus,— 
Taur. My lord. 

Cms. Strike not by land; keep whole; 
Provoke not battle till we have done at sea. 
Do not exceed the prescript of this scroll: 
Our fortune lies upon this jump. {Exeunt. 

Enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon side o' the hill. 
In eye of Caesar's battle, from whicli place 
We may the number of the ships behold. 
And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. 

Enter Canidius, marching with his land Army one 
way over the stage; anrJ Taurus, (fte Lieutenant of 
Caesar, the other way. After their going in, is 
heard the noise of a sea-fight. 

Alarum. Re-enter Enobarbus. 

Eno. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no 
longer: 
The Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral. 
With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder: 
To see 't mine eyes are blasted. 
Enter Scarus. 

Scar, Gods, and goddesses. 

All the whole synod of them! 

Eno. What 's thy passion? 

Scar. The greater can tie of the world is lost 
With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away 
Kingdoms and provinces. 

Eno. How appears the flght? 

Scar. On our side like the token'd pestilence. 
Where death Is sure. Yon ribald-rid nag of Egypt, 
Whom leprosy o'ertake! i' the midst of the flglit,— . 
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, 
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder. 
The brize upon her, like a cow in June, 
Hoists sails, and flies. 

Eno. That I beheld : 
Mine eyes did sicken at the sight, and could not 
Endure a further view. 

Scar. She once being loof 'd. 

The noble ruin of her magic, Antonv, 
Claps on his sea-wing, and like a doting mlllard. 
Leaving the fight In height, flies after lier: 
I never saw an action of such shame; 
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
Did violate so itself. 

Eno. Alack, alack! 

Enter Canidius. 

Can. Our fortune on the sea Is out of breath. 
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well: 
O, he has given example for our flight. 
Most grossly, by his own. 

Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts? Why then, good 
night, indeed. [Aside, 

Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. 

Scar. 'T is easy to 't; 
And there I will attend what further comes. 

Can, To Caesar will I render 
My legions, and my horse: six kings already 
Show me the way of yielding. 

Eno. I 'II yet follow 

The wounded chance of Antony, though mv reason 
Sits in the wind against me. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX.— Alexandria. A Room in the Palace, 
Enter Antony and Attendants. 

Ant, Hark, the land bids me tread no more 
upon 't. 
It is a.sham'd to bear me!— Friends, come hither, 
I am so lated in the world, that I 
Have lost my way for ever;— I have a ship 
Laden with gold: take that, divide it; fly. 
And make your peace with Caesar. 

■^tt. Fly! not we. 

Ant. I have fled myself ; and have instructed cow- 
ards 
To run, and show their shoulders.— Friends, begone; 
I have myself resolv'd upon a course. 
Which has no need of vou: be gone; 
My treasure 's In the harbour, take it.— O, 
I tollow'd that I blush to look upon: 
My very hairs do mutiny, for the white 
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
For fear and doting.— Friends, be gone; you shall 
Have letters from me to some friends, that will • 
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad. 
Nor make replies of loathness: take the hint 
Which my despair proclaims; let that be left 
Which leaves itself: to the seaside straightway: 
I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
Leave me, I pray, a little: 'pray you now;— 
Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command. 
Therefore I pray you:— I '11 see you by and by. 

{Sits doum. 
Enter Eros and Cleopatra, led by Charmian and Iras. 

Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him:— Comfort him. 

Iras. Do, most dear queen. 

Char. Do! Why, what else? 

Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno! 

Ant, No, no, no, no, no. 

fPART 39J 



S14 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act IT. 



Bros. Sec you here, sir? 

Ant. O fle, fle, fle. 

Char. Madam.— 

Iras. Madam; O good empress'.— 

Eros. Sir, sir,— 

Ant. Yes my lord, yes:— He, at Phlllppl, kept 
Hlssword e'eii like a dancer; while I struck 
The lean and wrinkled Cassii.s; 't was I 
That the mad Brutus ended; he alone 
Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had 
In the bra\e squares of war: Yet now— No matter. 

Cleo. Ah, stand by. 

Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 

Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him; 
He Is unqualitied with very shame. 

Cleo. Well then.— Sustain nie:— Ol 

Kros. Most noble sii-. arise; the queen approaches; 
Her head 's declin'd, and death will seize ner; but 
Y'our comfort makes the rescue. 

^iit. I have offended reputation; 
A most unnoble swerving. 

Eros. Sir, th6 queen. 

Ant. O, whither ha.stthou led me, Egypt? See, 
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes 
By looking back what I rave left behind 
'Stroy'd in dishonour. 

Ch'o. O my lord, my lord! 

Forgive my fearful sails; I little thought 
You would havefoUow'd. 

Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well 

My he,irt was to thy rudder tied by the strings. 
And thou sliould'st tow me after: O'er my spirit 
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st; and that 
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 
Command me. 

Cleo. O, my pardon. 

Ant. Now I must 

To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
And palter in the shifts of lowness; who 
Wltli half the bulk o' the world play'd as I pleas'd, 
Making and marring fortimes. You did know 
How much you were my conqueror; and that 
My sword, made weak by my affection, would 
Obey it on all cause. 

Cleo. Pardon, pai'don. 

Ant. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates 
All that is won and lost: Give me a kiss; 
Even tills repays me.— We sent our schoolmaster, 
Is he come back?— Love, lam full of lead:— 
Some wine, within there, and our viands:- Fortune 

knows 
We scorn her most when most she offers blows. 

lExeunt. 
Scene X.— Caesar's Camp in Egypt. 
^nferCsesar, Dolabella, Thyreus, and others. 

CcES. Let him appear that's come from Antony.- 
Know you him? 

Vol. Cassar, 't is his schoolmaster: 

An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither 
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing. 
Which had supeifluous kings for messengers, 
Not many moons gone b.v. 

Enter Euphronius. 

Cobs. Approach, and speak. 

Lup. Such as I am, I come from Antony; 
1 was of late as petty to his ends. 
As is the morn-dew on tiie myrtle-leaf 
To his grand sea. 

Cces. Be it so: Declare thine office. 

Eiip. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and 
Requires to live in Egypt: which not granted. 
He lessens his requests, and to thee sues 
To let him breathe between the heavens and earth, 
A private man in Athens; This for him. 
Next, Cleopatra does confess th.v greatness; 
Submits her to thy might; and of thee craves 
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs. 
Now hazarded to thy grace. 

Cces. For Antony, 

I have no ears to his request. The queen 
Of audience, nor desire, shall fail; so she 
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend. 
Or take his lite there: This if she perform. 
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 

Eup. Fortune pursue iheel 

Cces. Bring him through the bands. 

{Exit Euphronius. 
To try thy eloquence, now 't is time: Despatch; 
From Antony win Cleopatra: promise, [To "Thyr. 
And in our name, what she requires; add more. 
From thine invention; offers: women are not 
In their best fortunes strong; but want will perjure 
The ne'er touch'd vestal: Try thy cunning, Thyreus, 
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
Will answer as a law. 

Tliyr. Caesar, I go. 

Cces. Observe how Antony Ijecomes his flaw; 
And what thou think'st his very action speaks 
In every power that moves. 

Thyr. Caesar, I shall. [Exeunt. 

Scene XL— Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, and Iras. 

Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus? 

Eno. Think and die. 

Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this? 

Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
Lord of his reason. What although you fled 
From that great face of war, whose several ranges 
Frighted each other? why should we follow? 
The itch of his affection should not then 
Have iiiek'd his captainship; at such a point. 
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being 
The mered question; 'T was a shame no less 
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, 
And leave his navy gazing. 

Cleo. Prithee, peace. 

Enter Antony, with Euphronius. 

Ant. Is that his answer? 

Eup. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. The queen shall then have courtesy, so she 
will yield 
Us up. 

Eup. He says so. 

Ant. Let her know It.— 

To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head. 
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
With principalities. 

Cleo. That head, my lord? 

Ant. To him again: Tell him, he wears the rose 
Of youth upon him; from which the world should 
note 



Something particular: his coin, ships, legions. 

May be a coward's; whose ministers would prevail 

Under the service of a child, as soon 

As r the command of Caesar: I dare him therefore 

To lay his gay comparisons apart. 

And answer me declin'd, sword against sword. 

Ourselves alone: I "11 write it; follow me. 

[Eveiint Antony and Euphronius. 

Eno. Yes, like enough, high battled Qaesar will 
Dnstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the .show. 
Against a swonler.— I see, men's Judgments are 
A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward 
Do draw the Inward quality after them. 
To suffer all alike. That he should dream. 
Knowing all -neasureii, the full Caesar will 
Answer his emptiness!— Caesar, thou hast subdued 
His judgment too 

Enter an Attendant. 

Att. A messenger from Caesar. 

Cleo. What, no more ceremony?— See, my women! 
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose. 
That kneel'd unto the buds.— admit him, sir. 

Eno. Mine honesty and I l)egin to square. [Aside. 
The loyalty, well held to fools, does make 
Our faith mere folly:— Yet he that can endure 
To follow with allegiance a fallen lord. 
Does conquer him that did his master conquer, 
And earns a place i' the story. 

Enter Thyreus. 

Cleo. Caesar's will? 

Thyr. Hear it apart. 

Cleo. None but friends; say boldly. 

Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 

Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has; 
Or needs not us. If Cwsar please, our master 
Will leap to be his friend- For us, you know. 
Whose lie is, we are; and that is Caesar's. 

Thyr. So.— 

Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar erjtreats, 
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st. 
Further than he is Caesar. 

Cleo. Go on: Right royal. 

Thyr. He knows that you embrace not Antony 
As vou did love, but as you fear'd him. 

Cleo. O! 

Thyr. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he 
Does pity, as constrained blemishes. 
Not as deserv'd. 

Cleo. He is a god, and knows 

What Is most right: Mine honor was not yielded. 
But couquer'd merely. 

Eno. To be sure of that, [Aside. 

I will ask Antony.— Sir, sir, thou art so leaky. 
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit Enobarbus. 

Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar 

What you require of him' for he partly begs 
To be desir'd to give. It much would please him. 
That of the fortunes you should make a staff 
To lean upon: but it would warm his spirits. 
To hear from me you had left Antony, 
And put yourself under his shroud, 
Tlie universal landlord. 

Cleo. What 's your name? 

Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 

Cleo. Most kind messenger. 

Say to great Caesar this. In deputation 
I kiss the conqu'ring hand: Tell him, I am prompt 
To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel; 
Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear 
The doom of Egypt. 

Thyr. 'T is your noblest course. 

Wisdom and fortune combating togeiher, 
If that the former dare but what it can. 
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay 
My duty on your hand. 

Cleo. Your Caesar's father. 

Oft, when he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, 
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, 
As it rain'd kisses. 

Re-enter Antony and Enobarbus. 

Ant. Favours, by Jove that thunders!- 

What art thou, fellow? 

Thyr. One that but performs 

The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
To have command obey'd. 

Eno. You will be whipped. 

Ant. Approach, there;— Ay, you kite!- Now gods 
and devils! 
Authority melts from me: Of late, when I cried 

'ho!' 
Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth. 
And cry, ' Your will?' Have you no ears? 
Enter Attendants. 

1 am Antony yet. Take hence this Jack, and whip 
him. 

Eno. 'T is better playing with a lion's whelp. 
Than with an old one dying. 

Ant. Moon and stars! 

Whip him:— were 't twenty of the greatest tributa- 
ries 
That do acknowledge Cjesar, should I find them 
So saucy with tlie hand of she here, (What 's her 

name. 
Since she was Cleopatra?)— Whip him, fellows, 
"rill, like a boy, you see him cringe his face. 
And whine »loual for mercy; Take him hence. 

Thyr. Mark Antony.— 

Ant. Tug him away: being whipp'd. 

Bring him again:— This Jack of Caesar's shall 
Bear us an errand to him.— 

[Exeunt Attend, with Thyreus. 
You were half -blasted ere I knew you:— Ha! 
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, 
Forborne the getting of a lawful race. 
And by a gem of women to l)e abus'd 
By one that looks on feeders? 

Cleo. Good my lord,— 

Ant. You have been a boggier ever:- 
But when we in our viciousness grow hard, 
(O misery on 't!) the wise gods seel our eyes 
In our own fllth; drop our clear judgments; make us 
Adore our errors; laugh at us, while we ;rut 
To our confusion. 

Cleo. O, Is it come to this? 

Ant. I found you as a morsel cold upon 
Dead Caesar's trencher: nay, you were a fragment 
Of Cnelus Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, 
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, .vou have 
Luxuriously pick'd out: For, I am sure. 
Though you can guess what temperance should be. 
You know not what it is. 



Cleo. Wherefore Is this? 

Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards. 
And say, 'God quit youl' be familiar with 
My playfellow, your hand; this kingly seal. 
And plighter of high hearts!— O, that I were 
Upon the hill of Basan. to outroar 
The horned herd! for I have savage cause; 
And to proclaim it cfvlUy, were like 
A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank. 
For being yare about him.— Is he whipp'd? 

Reenter Attendants, with Thyreus. 

1 Att. Soundly, my lord. 

Ant. Cried he? and Ijegg'd he pardon? 

1 Att. He did ask favour. 

Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent 
Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou 

sorry 
To follow Caesar in his triumph, since 
Thou hast been whipp'd for following him: hence- 
forth, 
The white hand of a lady fever thee. 
Shake thou to look on 't.— Get thee back to Caesar, 
Tell him thy entertainment: Look, thou say. 
He makes meangry with him: for he seems 
Proud and disdainful; harping on what I am. 
Not what he knew I was: He makes me angry; 
And at this time most easy 't is to do 't; 
When my good stars, that were my former guides. 
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires 
Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike 
My speech, and what is done, tell him, he has 
Hipparchus, my enfrauchis'd bondman, whom 
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture. 
As he shall like, to quit me: Urge it thou: 
Hence, with thy stripes, begone. [Exit Thyreus. 

Cleo. Have you done yet? 

Ant. Alack, our terrene moon 

Is now eclipsed; and It portends alone 
The fall of Antony! 

Cleo. I must stay his time. 

Ant. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes 
With one that ties his points? 

Cleo. Not know me yet? 

Ant. Cold-hearted toward me? 

Cleo. Ah, dear. If I be so. 

From my cold heart let heaven engender liail. 
And poison it in the source: and the first stone 
Drop in my neck: as it determines, so 
Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite! 
Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb 
Together with my brave Egyptians all. 
By the discandering of this pelleted storm. 
Lie graveless; till the flies and gnats of Nile 
Have burled them for prey ! 

Ant. I am satisfied. 

Caesar sits down in Alexandria; where 
I will oppose his fa;e. Our force by land 
Hath nobly held: oursever'd navy too 
Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sealike. 
Where hast thou been, my heart?— Dost thou hear, 

lady? 
If from the field I shall return once more 
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood; 
I and my sword will earn our chronicle; 
There 's hope in 't yet. 

Cleo. That 's my brave lord! 

Ant. I will he treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd. 
And fight maliciously: for when mine hours 
Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives 
Of me for jests; but now, I '11 set my teeth. 
And send to darkness all that stop me.— Come, 
Let 's have one other gaudy night: call to me 
All my sad captains; nil our bowls once more; 
Let 's mock the midnight bell. 

Cleo. It is my birthday; 

I had thought to have held It poor; but, since my 

lord 
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. 

Ant. We will yet do well. 

Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 

Ant. Do so, we '11 speak to them; and to-night I'll 
force 
The wine peep through their scars.- Come on, my 

queen; 
There 's sap in 't yet. The next time I do fight, 
I '11 make Death love me; for I will contend 
Even with his pestilent scythe. 

[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Attendants. 

Eno. Now he 'II outstare the lightning. To be 
furious. 
Is to be frighted out of fear: and In that mood. 
The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still, 
A diminution in our captain's brain 
Restoi'ss his lieart: When valour preys on reason. 
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 
Some way to leave him. [Exit. 

ACT rv. 

Scene I.— Caesar's Camp at Alexandria. 

Enter Caesar, reading a letter; Agrippa, Mecaenas, 
and others. 

Cces. He calls me boy; and chides, as he had power 
To beat me out of Egypt: my messenger 
He hath whipp'd with rods; dares lue to personal 

combat. 
Caesar to Antony: Let the old ruffian know, 
I iiave many other ways to die; mean time. 
Laugh at his challenge. 

JIfee. Caesar must think. 

When one so great begins to rage, he 's hunted 
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but novir 
Make boot of his distraction: Never anger 
Made good guard for itself. 

Cces. Let our best heads 

Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
We mean to fight:— Within our files there are 
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late. 
Enough to fetch hbn in. See it done; 
And feast the army: we have store to do 't. 
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! 

lExeunt. 

Scene II. — Alexandria. A Roojn in the Palace. 

Enter Antony, Cleopatra. Enobarbus, Charmian, 
Iras, Alexas, and others. 
Ant. He will not fight with me, Domltius? 
Eno. No. 

Ant. Why should he not? 

Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better for- 
tune. 
He is twenty men to one. 



Scene ii.1 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



815 



Ant. To-morrow, soldier. 

By sea and land I '11 flRht: or I will live, 
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood 
Shall make It live again. Woo 't thou flght well? 

B}no. I 'U strike; and cry, ' Take all." 

Ant. Well said; come on.— 

Call forth my household servants; let 's tonight 

Enter Servant.^. 
Be bounteous at our meal.— Give me thy hand. 
Thou hast been rightly honest;— so hast thou: 
Thou,— and thou,— and thou:— you have serv'd me 

well, 
And kings have been your fellows. 

Cleo. What means this? 

A'no. 'T is one of those odd tricks which sorrow 
shoots [Aside. 

Out of the mind. 

Ant. And thou art honest too. 

I wish I could be marie so many men; 
And all of you olapp'd up together in 
An Antony; that I might do you ^ervl.ce, 
So good as you have done. 

Serv. The god* forbid! 

Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: 
Scant not my cups; and make as much of me 
As when mine nipire was your fellow too. 
And suffer'd my command. 

Cleo. What does he mean? 

Eno. To make his followers weep. 

Ant. Tend me to-night; 

May be, it Is the period of your duty: 
Haply, you shall not see me more; or if, 
A mangled shadow: perchance, to-morrow 
You '11 serve another master. I look on you 
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
I turn you not away; but, like a master 
Married to your good service, stay till death: 
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask uo more, 
And the gods yield you for 'tl 

Eno. What mean you, sir. 

To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; 
And I, an ass, am oiiion-eyed; for shame, 
Transform us not to women. 

Ant. Ho, ho, ho! 

Now the witch take me if I meant it thus! 
Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty 

friends, 
You take me in too dolorous a sense. 
For I spake to you for your comfort: did desire 

you 
To burn this night with torches: Know, my hearts, 
I hope well of to-morrow; and will lead you 
Where rather I 'II expect victorious life, 
Than death and honour. Let 's to supper; come, 
And drown consideration. [Exeunt. 

Scene IIL— rfte same. Before Vie Palace. 
Enter Two Soldiers, to their Guard. 

1 Sold. Brother, good night: to-morrow is the day. 

2 Sold. It will determine one way: fare you well. 
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets? 

1 Sold. Nothing: What news? 

2 Sold. Belike 't Is but a rumour; 
Good night to you. 

1 Sold. Well, sir, good night. 

Enter Two other Soldiers. 

2 Sold. Soldiers, 
Have careful watch. 

3 Sold. And you: Good night, good night. 

[The first two place themselves at their posts. 

4 Sold. Here we: [they take their posts.] and if to- 

morrow 
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope 
Our landmen will stand up. 

3 Sold. 'T Is a brave army. 
And full of purpose. 

[Music of the Jiautboys under the stage. 

4 Sold. Peace, what noise? 

1 Sold. List, list! 

2 Sold. Hark! 

1 Sold. Music r the air. 

3 Sold. Under the earth. 

4 Sold. It signs well, 
Does 't not? 

3 Sold. No. 

1 Sold. Peace, I say. What should this mean? 

2 Sold. 'T Is the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd. 
Now leaves him. 

1 Sold. Walk; let 's see if other watchmen 
Co bear what we do. 

[They advance to another post. 

2 Sold. How now, masters? 

Sold. How now? 

How now? do you hear this? 

[Several speaking together. 
1 Sold. Ay: Is 't not strange? 

3 Sold. Do you hear, masters? do you hear? 

1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter; 
Let 's see how 't will give off. 
Sold. [Several speaking.] Content: 'T Is strange. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV.— The same. A Room in the Palace.. 

Enter Antony and Cleopatra; Charmian, and others, 
attending. 

Ant. Eros! mine armour, Eros! 

Cleo. Sleep a little. 

Ant. No, my chuck.— Eros, come; mine armour, 
Eros! 

Enter Eros, with arrnour. 
Come, good fellow, put thine Iron on: — 
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
Because we brave her.— Come. 

Cleo. Nay, I '11 help too. 

What 's this tor? 

Ant. Ah, let be, let be! thou art 

The armourer of my heart;— False, false; this, this. 

Cleo. Sooth, la, I '11 help: Thus it must be. 

Ant. Well, weU: 

We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow? 
Go, put on thy defences. 

Eros. Briefly, sir. 

Cleo. Is not this buckled well? 

Ant. Rarely, rarely: 

He that unbuckles this, till we do please 
To doff 't for our repose, shall hear a storm.- 
Thou f umblest. Eros; and my queen 's a squire 
More tight at this than thou: Despatch— O love. 
That thou could'st see my wai-s to-day, and knew'st 
The royal occupation! thou should'st see 



Enter an Officer, armed. 
A workman In 't— Good morrow to thee; welcome; 
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge: 
"To business that we love we rise betime. 
And go to 't with delight. 

1 Off. A thousand, sir, 

Early though 't be, have on their riveted trim. 
And at the port expect you. 

[Shout. Trumpets. Flourish. 
Enter other OflBcers, and Soldiers. 

3 Off. The morn Is fair. Good morrow, general. 

All. Good morrow, general. 

Ant. 'T Is well blown, lads. 

This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
That means to be of note, begins betimes. 
So, so; come, give me that; this way; well said. 
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me. 
This is a soldier's kiss: rebukable, [Kisses her. 

And worthy shameful check It were, to stand 
On more mechanic compliment; I 'II leave thee 
Now, like a man of steel,— You that will flght 
Follow me close; I '11 bring you to 't.— Adieu. 

[Exeunt Antony, Eros, Oflieers and Soldiers. 

Char. Please you, retire to your chamber? 

Cleo. Lead me. 

He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might 
Determine this great war in single flght! 
Then, Autony,— But now,— Well on. [Exeunt. 

Scene V.— Antony's Camp near Alexandria. 

Trumpet.'< sound. Enter Antony and Eros; a Soldier 
meeting them. 

Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony! 

Ant. 'Would thou, and those thy scars, had once 
prevail'd 
To make me flght at land! 

Sold. Hadst thou done so. 

The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
That has this morning left thee, would have still 
Follow'd thy heels. 

Ant. Who 's gone this morning? 

Sold. Who? 

One ever near thee: Call for Enobarbus, 
He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp 
Say, ' I am none of thine." 

Ant. What say'st thou? 

Sold. Sir, 

He is with Caesar. 

Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 

He has not with him. 

Ant. Is he gone? 

Sold. Most certain. 

Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do It; 
Detain no jot, I chai-ge thee: write to him 
(I will subscribe) gentle adieus, aMd greetings; 
Say, that I wish he never find more cause 
■To change a master.— O, my fortunes have 
Corrupted honest men;- dispatch: Enobarbus! 

[Exeunt. 

ScKNE VI.— Caesar's Camp before Alexandria. 

Flourish. Enter Caesar, icith Agrippa, Enobarbus, 
and others. 

Goes. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight. 
Our will is Antony be took alive; 
Make it so known. 

Agr. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Agrippa. 

Cces. The time of universal peace is near: 
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world 
Shall bear the olive freely. 

Enter a Messenger. 

lifess. Antony 

Is come into the field. 

Cces. Go, charge Agrippa 

Plant those that have revolted in the van, 
That Antony may seem to spend his fury 
Upon himself. [Exeunt Caesar and his Train. 

Eno. Alexas did revolt; and went to Jewry, 
On affairs of Antony; there did persuade 
Great Herod to Incline himself to Caesar, 
And leave his master Antony: for this pains, 
Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidlus, and the rest 
That fell away, have entertainment, but 
No honourable trust. I have done ill; 
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely, 
That I will joy no more. 

Enter a Soldier of Caesar's. 

Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 

Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
His bounty overplus: The messenger 
Came on my guard; and at thy tent is now 
Unloading of his mules. 

Eno. I give It you. 

Sold. Mock not, Enobarbus. . 

I tell you true: Best you saf 'd the briuger 
Out of the host; I must attend mine office. 
Or would have done 't myself. Your emperor 
Continues still a Jove. [Exit Soldier. 

Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth, 
And feel I am so most. O Antony, 
Thou mine of bounty, how would'st thou have paid 
My better service, when my turpitude 
Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart: 
If swift thought break It not, a swifter mean 
Shall outstrike thought: but thought will do 't, Ifeel. 
I fight against thee!— No: I will go seek 
Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best fits 
My latter part of lite. [Exit. 

Scene Yll.— Field of Battle between the Camps. 

Alarum. Drutns and trumpets. Enter Agrippa, and 

others. 

Agr. Retire, we have engaged ourselves too far: 
Caesar himself has work, and our impression 
Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt, 

Alarum. Enter Antony and Scarus, wounded. 

Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed! 
Had we done so at first, we had driven them home 
With clouts about their heads. 

Ant. Thou bleed'st apace. 

Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, 
But now 't is made an H. 

Ant. They do retire. 

Scar. We '11 beat em Into bench-holes; I have yet 
Room for six scotches more. 

Enter Eros. 

Eros. They are beaten, sir; and our advantage 
serves 
For a fair victory. 



Scar, Let us score their backs. 

And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind; 
'T is sport to maul a runner. 

Ant. I win reward thee 

Once for thy sprltely comfort, and ten-fold 
For thy good valour. Come thee on. 

Scar. I '11 halt after. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII.— Dnder the Walla of Alexandria. 

Alarum. Enter Antony, marching; Scarus, and 
Forces. 

Ant. We have beat him to his camp: Run one be- 
fore, 
And let the queen know of our guests.— To-morrow, 
Before the sun shall see us, we 'II spill the blood 
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all; 
For doughty-handed are you; and have fought 
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as 't had been 
Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors. 
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, 
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears 
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss 
Thy honour'd gashes whole.— Give me thy hand; 

[To Scarus. 
Enter Cleopatra, attended. 
To this great fairy I '11 commend thy acts, 
Make her thanks bless thee.— O thou day o' the 

world. 
Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all, 
■Through proof of harness to my heart, and there 
Ride on the pants triumphing. 

Cleo. Lord of lordsl 

O infinite virtue! com'st thou smiling from 
The world's great snare uncaught? 

Ant. My nightingale, 

We have beat them to their beds. What, girl? 

though grey 
Do something mingle with our younger brown; 
Yet ha' we a brain that nourishes our nerves. 
And can get goal tor goal of youth. Behold this 

man; 
Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand;— 
Kiss it, my warrior:— He hath fought to-day. 
As If a god, in hate of mankind, had 
Destroy'd In such a shape. 

Cleo. I '11 give thee, friend, 

An armour all of gold; It was a king's. 

Ant. He has deserv'd It, were it carbuncled 
Like holy Phoebus' car.— Give me thy hand; 
Through Alexandria make a jolly march: 
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them: 
Had our gi-eat palace the capacity 
To camp this host, we all would sup together, 
And drink carouses to the next day's fate. 
Which promises royal peril.— Trumpeters, 
With brazen din blast you the city's ear; 
Make mingle with our rattling tabourlnes; 
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds to- 
gether 

Applauding our approach. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX.— Caesar's Camp. 
Sentinels ore their post. Enter Enobarbus. 

1 Sold. If we be not rellev'd within this hour, 
We must return to the court of guard: The night 
Is shiny; and, they say, we shall embattle 

By the second hour 1' the morn. 

2 Sold. This last day was a shrewd one to us. 
Eno. O, bear me witness, night,— 

3 Sold. What man is this? 

2 Sold. Stand close, and list him. 
Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, 

When men revolted shall upon record 
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did 
Before thy face repentf- 

1 Sold. Enobarbus! 

3 Sold. Peace; 
Hark further. 

Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy. 
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me; 
That life, a very rebel to my will. 
May hang no longer on me: Throw my heart 
Against the flint and hardness of my fault; 
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, 
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
Nobler than my revolt is infamous. 
Forgive me In thine own particular; 
But let the world rank me in register 
A master-leavtr, and a fugitive: 

Antony! O Antony! [Dies. 

2 Sold. Let 's speak to him. 

Sold. Let 's hear him, for the things he speaks may 
concern Caesar. 

3 Sold. Let 's do so. But he sleeps. 

1 Sold. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his 
was never yet for sleep. 

2 Sold. Go we to him. 

3 Sold. Awake, sir, awake; speak to us. 

2 Sold. Hear you, sir? 

1 Sold. The hand of death hath raught him. Hark, 
the drums [Drums afar off- 

Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 
To the court of guard; he Is of note; our hour 
Is fully out. 

3 Sold. Come on then; 

He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the body. 

Scene X.— Between the two Camps. 

Enter Antony and Scarus, with Forces marching. 

Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea: 
We please them not by land. 

Scar. For both, my lord. 

Ant. I would they 'd flght 1' the fire, or in the air; 
We 'd fight there too. But this It Is: Our foot 
Upon the hills adjoining to the city. 
Shall stay with us:— order for sea is given; 
They have put forth the haven: — 
Where their appointment we may best discover. 
And look on their endeavoui-. [Exeunt. 

Enter Caesar, and his Forces marching. 

Cces. But being charg'd, we will still be by land. 
Which, as I take 't, we shall: for his best force 
Is forth to mau his galleys. To the vales. 
And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 

Re-enter Aatony and Scarus. 

Ant. Yet they are not joln'd: Where yon'd pine 
does stand, 
I shall discover all: I '11 bring thee word 
Straight, how 't is Ilka to go. [Exit. 

Scar. Swallows have built 

In Cleopatra's sails their nests; the augurers 



316 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 



[Act V. 



Say tlipy know not,— they cannot tell;— look gvimly, 
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
Is valiant and liejei'ted; and, by starts. 
His fretted fortunes s'wv hlni liope, and fear, 
Of what he has and lias not. 

Aluruni ajaioff, as at a sea fight! 
Rcentci- Antony. 
yint. All is lost! 

This foul Eprvptian hath betrayed me: 
Ny fleet hath yielded to the foe; and yonder 
Tliey east Ihelr eajis u|^. and e;n-ottse togellier 
Like friends long lust,— Trljiletuni'd whore! 't Is 

thou 
Hast sold nie to this novice; and my heart, 
Makes only wars on thee.— Bid then all fly; 
Fur when I am revensed upon my charm, 
I have done all:— Bid them all fly, be gone. 

lEadt Scarus. 
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more. 
Fortune and Antony part here; even here 
Do we shake hands.— All come to this?— The hearts 
That spanteld me at heels, to whom I gave 
Their vi'ishes, do discandy, n\elt their sweets, 
On blossomiiiKCffisar;and this pine is bark'd, 
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am: 

this false soul of EsyptI tJiis grave charm, 
Wliose eye beck'd fortli my wars, and call'd them 

home; 
Whose bosom was my crowniet, my chief end, 
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, 
Begiiil'd nie to the very heart of loss.- 
What, Eros, Eros! 

Enter Cleopatra. 

Ah, thou spell! A.vannt. 

Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love? 

Ant. Vanish; or I shall give thee thy deserving. 
And blemish Cee.sar's triumph. Let him take thee, 
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: 
Follow Ills chariot, like the greatest spot 
Of all thy sex: most monster-like, be shown 
For poor'st diminutives, for dolts: and let 
Patient Octavla plough thy rl.sage up 
Wltli her prepai-ed nails. 

[Exit Cleo.J 'T is well thou 'rt gone, 
If It be well to live: But better 't were 
Thou fell'st into my fury, for one de'.th 
Might have prevented many.— Eros, hoa! 
The shirt of Nessus is upon me: Teach me, 
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage: 
Let ine lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon; 
And with those hands, that grasp'd the heaviest 

club. 
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die; 
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and Ifall 
Under this plot; she dies for 't.— Eros, hoa! [Ex. 

Scene XL— Alexandria. A Room in thePalaee. 

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian. 

Cleo. Help me, my women! O, he is more mad 
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly 
Was never so emboss'd. 

Char. To the moniiment; 

There lock yourself, and send him word you are 

dead. 
The soul and body rive not more in parting. 
Than greatness going off. 

Cleo. To the monument:— 

Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; 
Say that the last I spoke was, Antony. 
And word it, prithee, piteously: Hence, Mardian, 
Ana bring me how he takes my death. — 
To the monument. [Exeunt. 

SCE-SE XII.— 27ie same. Another Boom. 

Enter Anton.y and Eros! 

Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? 

Eros. Ay, noble lord. 

Ant. Sometime we see a cloud that 's dragonish: 
A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, 
A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, 
A fork'd mountain, or blue promontory 
With trees upon 't, that nod unto the world. 
And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen these 

signs: 
They ai-e black vesper's pageants. 

Eros. Ay, my lord. 

Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a 
thought 
The rack dislimns; and makes it Indistinct, 
As water is in water. 

Eros. It does, my lord. 

Ant. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is 
Even such a body; here I am Antony; 
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 

1 made these wars for Egypt; and the queen,— 
Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine; 
Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto 't 
A million more, now lost,— she Eros, has 

Pack'd cards with Ceesar, and false play'd my glory 
Unto an enemy's triumph.— 
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us 
Ourselves to end ourselves.— O, thy vile lady! 

Enter Mardian. 
She has robb'd me of my sword. 

Mar. No, Antony; 

My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled 
With thine entirely. 

Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch, peace; 

She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death. 

Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once; 
And that she has discnarg'd; What thou would'st do 
Is done unto thy hand; the last she spake 
Was, Antony! most noble Antony! 
Then In the midst of tearing groan did break 
The name of Antony; It was divided 
Between her heart and lips: she reuder'd life. 
Thy name so buried in her. 

Ant. Dead then? 

Mar. Dead. 

Ant. Unarm, Eros; the long day's task is done. 
And we mustslecp:- That thou depart'st hence safe. 
Does pay thy labour richly; Go.— Off, pluck off;— 

[Exit Mardian. 
The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot Keep 
The battery from my heart. O, cleave my sides! 
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent; 
Crack thy frail case!— Apace, Eros, apace.— 
No more a soldier:— Bruised pieces, go; 
You have been nobly borne.— Prom me a while.- 

[Exit Eros. 
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 



Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
All length is torture:— Since the torch is out. 
Lie down, and stray no farther:- Now all labour 
Mars what it<l(ics; yea, very force entangles 
Itself with strpiiglh; Seal then, and all is done.— 
Eros!— I come, my qu<"cn:— Eros!— Stay for me: 
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand. 
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze: 
Dido and her .ffineas shall want troops, 
And all the haunt be ours.— Come, Eros, Eros! 
Reenter Eros. 

Eros. What would my lord? 

Ant. Since Cleopatra died, 

Ihave liv'rt in such dishonour, that the gods 
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back 
With ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack 
The courage of a woman; less noble mind 
Than she, which, by her death, our Caesar tells, 
'1 am conqueror of myself.' 'Thou art sworn, Eros, 
That, when the exigent .should come, 
(Which now is come, indeed,) when I should see be- 
hind me 
Th' inevitable pro.secution of disgrace 
And horror, i hat, on my command, thou then 
Would'st kill me: do 't; the time is come: 
Thou strik'st not me, 't is Caesar thou defeat'st. 
Put colour in thy cheek. 

Eros. The gods withhold me! 

Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts, 
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not? 

Ant. Eros, 

Wouldst thou be window'd in great Bome, and see 
Thy master thus w'itli pleach'd arms, bending down 
Hio corrigible neck, his face subdued 
To penetrative .shame; whilst the wheeled seat 
Of fortunate C~sar, drawn before him, branded 
His baseness that ensued? 

Eros. I would not see 't. 

Ant. Come, then; for with a wound I must be cur'd. 
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn 
Most useful for thy country, 

Eros. O, sir, pardon me. 

.ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not 
then 
To do this when I bade thee? Do It at once; 
Or thy precedent services are all 
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 

Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance 
Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 

Ant. Lo thee. [Turning from him,. 

Eros. My sword Is drawn. 

Ant. Then let It do at once 

The thing why thou hast drawn it. 

Eros. My dear master. 

My captain, and my emperor; let me say. 
Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. 

Ant. 'T is said, man;— and farewell. 

Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? 

Ant. Now, Eros. 

Etos. Why, there then: — [Falls on his sword.] 
Thus I do escape the sorrow 
Of Antony's death. [Dies. 

Ant. Thrice nobler than myself! 

Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what 
I should, and thou could'st not. My queen and Eros 
Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me 
A nobleness in record: But I will be 
A bridegroom in my death, and run into 't 
As to a lover's bed. Come, then; and, Eros, 
Thy master dies thy scholar; to do thus 

[Falling on his stvord. 
I learn'd of thee. How! not dead? not dead? — 
The guard- ho!— O, dispatch me. 

Enter Dercetas and Guard. 

1 Guard. What 's the noise? 
Ant. I have done my work ill, friends: O, make an 

end 
Of what I have begun. 

2 Guard. The star Is fallen. 
1 Guard. And time is at his period. 

All. Alas, and woe! 

Ant. Let him that loves me strike me dead. 

1 Guard. Not I. 

2 Guard. Nor I. 

3 Guard. Nor any one. [Exennt Guard. 
Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly. 

This sword but shown to Ceesar, with this tidings. 
Shall enter me with him. 

Enter Diomedes. 
Dio. Where 's Antony? 
Her. There, Diomed, there. 
Dio. Lives he? 

Wilt thou not answer, man? [Exit Dercetas. 

Ant. Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword, 
and give me 
SufBcing strokes for death. 

Dio. Most absolute lord, 

My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 
Ant. When did she send thee? 
Dio. Now, my lord. 

Ant. Where is she? 

Dio. Loek'd in her monument. She had a pro- 
phesying fear 
Of what hath come to pass: for when she sav/ 
(Which never shall be found,) you did suspect 
She had dispos'd with Csesar, and that your rage 
Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was 

dead; 
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
Me to pi'oclalm the truth; and I am come, 
I dread, too late. 
Ant. Too late, good Diomed:— Call my guard, I 

prltiiee. 
Dio. What, ho! the emperor's guard! The guard, 
what, ho! 
Come, your lord calls. 

Enter some of the Guard. 
Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra 
bides! 
'T is the last service that I shall command you. 
1 Guard. Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live 
to wear 
All your true followers out. 
.W. Most heavy day! 

Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp 
fate 
To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome 
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it 
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up: 
I have lead you oft; carry me now, good friends. 
And have my thanks for all. [Exe., bearing Antony. 



Scene Xlll.—The same. A Monument. 
Enter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 

Cleo. Charmian, I will never go from hence. 

Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 

Cleo. No, I will not. 

.411 strange and terrible events are welcome. 
But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow. 
Proportioned to our cause, must be as great 

Enter Diomedes. 
As that which make it.— How now? is he dead? 

Dio. His death "s upon him, but not dead. 
Look out o' the other side your monument. 
His guard hath brought him thither. 

Enter Antony, borne by the Guard. 

Cleo. O sun. 
Burn the great sphere thou movest in!- darkling 

stand 
The varying shore o' the world!— O Antony! 
Antony, Antony!— Help, Charmian; help, Iras, help; 
Help, friends below; let 's draw him hither. 

Ant. Peace: 

Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, 
But Antony's hath triumph'd on itself. 

Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony 
Should conquer Antony; but woe 't is so! 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; only 
I here importune death a while, until 
Of many thousand kisses the poor last 
I lay upon thy lips.- 

Cleo. I dare not, dear, 

(Dear my lord, pardon,) 1 dare not, 
Lest I be taken; not the imperious show 
Of the full-fortun'd Caesar ever shall 
Be brooch'd with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, have 
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe: 
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes 
And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour 
Demuring upon me.— But come, come, Antony, — 
Help me, my women,— we must draw thee up; — 
Assist, good friends. 

Ant. O quick, or I am gone. 

Cleo. Here 's sport, indeedi-How heavy weighs my 
lord! 
Our strength is all gone into heaviness; 
That makes the weight: Had I great Juno's power, 
The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up. 
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little,— 
Wishers were ever fools:— O, come, come, come; 

I They draw Anton.y up. 
And welcome, welcome! die where thou hast liv'd: 
Quicken with kissing; had my lips that power. 
Thus would I wear them out. 

All. A heavy sight! 

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying; 
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 

Cleo. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high. 
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, 
Provok'd by my offence. 

Ant. Oneword, sweet queen: 

Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety.— O! 

Cleo. They do not go together. 

Ant. Gentle, hear me; 

None about Caesar trust, but Proculeius. 

Cleo. My resolution, and my hands, I '11 trust; 
None about Cffisar. 

Ant. The miserable change now at my end, 
Lament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts. 
In feeding them with those my former fortunes 
Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o' the world. 
The noblest: and do now not basely die. 
Nor cowardly put off my helmet to 
My countryman,— a Roman, by a Roman 
Valiantly vanqulsh'd. Now my spirit is going: 
1 can no more. [Dies. 

Cleo. Noblest of men, woo 't die? 

Hast thou no care of me? shall I abide 
In this dull world, which in thy absence Is 
No better than a sty?— O, see, m.v women. 
The crown o' the earth doth melt: — My lord! — 
O, wither'd is the garland of the wa». 
The soldier's pole is fallen: young boys and girls 
Ai-e level now with men: the odds is gone. 
And there is nothing left remarkable 
Beneath the visiting moon. [She faints. 

Char. O, quietness, lady! 

Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 

Char. Lady,— 

Iras. Madam, — 

Char. O madam, madam, madam! 

Iras. Royal Egypt! 
Empress! 

Char. Peace, peace, Iras. 

Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman; and commanded 
By such poor passion as the maid that milks, 
And does the meanest chares.--It were for me 
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; 
To tell them that this world did equal theirs. 
Till they had stolen our jewel. All 's but naught; 
Patience is sottish; and impatience does . 

Becojne a dog that 's mad: Then is it sin 
To rush into the secret house of death, 
Ere death dare come to us?— How do you, women? 
What, what? good cheer! Why, how now, Char- 
mian? 
My noble girls!— Ah, women, women! look. 
Our lamp is spent, it 's out:— Good sirs, take heart: 

[To the Guard beloxo. 
We '11 bury him; and then, what 's brave, what 's 

noble. 
Let 's do it after the high Roman fashion. 
And make Death proud to take us. Come, away: 
This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 
Ah, women, women! come; we have no friend 
But resolution, and the briefest end. 

[Exeunt; those above bearing off Antony's body. 

ACT. V. 

Scene I.— Caesar's Camp before Alexandria. 

Enter Caesar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Mecsenas, Gal- 

lus, Proculeius, and others. 
Cms. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield; 
Being so frustrate, tell him he mocks us by 
The pauses that he makes. 
Dol. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Dolabella. 

Ente~ Dercetas, with the sword of Antony. 
Cies, Wherefore is that? and what art thou that 
dar'st 
Appear thus to rae? 

Der. I am call'd Dercetas; 

Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy 
Best to be serv'd: whilst he stood up, and si)oke. 



Scene i.] 



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA, 



3ir 



He was my iiiastei" and I wore my life 
To spend upon liis haters: If thou please 
To take me to thee, as I was to him 
1 'II be to Csesar; if thou pleasestnot, 
I yield thee up my life. 

Cws. What is 't thou say'st? 

l)e>: I say, O Cjssar, Antony is dead. 

Ccvs. The bieakiiig of .so great a thing should make 
A greater crack: The round world 
Should have sliook lions into civil streets. 
And citizens to their dens:— The death of Antony 
Is not a sinsile doom; in the name lay 
A moiety of the world. 

I>er. He is dead, Caesar; 

Not by a public mini.ste'- of justice. 
Nor by a hired knife; but that self hand 
Which writ his honour in the acts it did, 
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, 
Splitted the heart.— This is his sword: 
I rohb'd his wound of it; behold it stain'd 
With his most noble blood. 

Cws. Look you sad, friends? 

The gods relmke me, but it is tidings 
To wash the eyes of kings. 

Agr. And strange it 

That nature must compel iis to lament 
Our most persisted deeds. 

Mec. His taints and honours 

Wag'd equal with him. 

Agr. A rarer spirit never 

Did steer humanity: but you, gods, will give us 
Some faults to make us men. Ceesar is tonch'd. 

3Iec. When such a spacious mirror 's set before 
him, 
He needs must see himself. 

(Vs. O Antonvl 

I have foUow'd thee to this:— But we do lance 
Diseases in our bodies: I must perforce 
Have shown to thee such a declining day. 
Or look on thine; we could not stall together 
In the whole world: But yet let me lament. 
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, 
That thou, my brother, my competitor 
In top of all design, my mate in empire, 
Friend and companion in the front of war, 
The arm of mine own bodv, and the heart 
Where mine his thoughts did kindle,— that our stars, 
Unreconcllable, should divide 
Ourequalness to this.— Hear me, good friends,— 
But I will tell you at some meeter season: 

Enter a Messenger. 
The business of this man looks out of him, 
We '11 hear him what he says. — Whence are you? 

Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen, my mis- 
tress, 
Confin'd in all she has, her monument. 
Of thy intents desires instruction; 
That she preparedly may frame herself 
To the way she 's forced to. 

CcBS. Bid her have good heart; 

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours. 
How honourable and how kindly we 
Determine for her: for Caesar cannot live 
To be ungentle. 

Mess. So the gods preserve thee! I Exit. 

CcFS. Come hither, Proeuleius: Go. and say 
We purpose her no shame: give her what comforts 
The qiiality of tier passion shall require; 
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
She do defeat us: for her life in Rome 
Would be eternaj in our triumph: Go, 
And, with your frpeediest, bring us what she says. 
And how you find her. 

Pro. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Proeuleius. 

CcFs. Gallus, go you along.- Where 's Dolabella, 
To second Proeuleius? [Exit Gallus. 

Agr. Mec. Dolabella! 

Cces. Let him alone, for I remember now 
How he 's employed; he shall in time be ready. 
Go with me to my tent: where you shall see 
How hardly I was drawn into this war; 
How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
In all my writings: Go with me, and see 
What I can show in this. [Exeunt. 

ScEXK II.— Alexandria. A Room in the 

Monument. 
Enter Cleopatra, Charm.tan, and Iras. 

Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
A better life: 'T is paltry to be Caesar; 
Not being Fortune, he 's but Fortune's knave, 
A minister of her will: And it is great 
To do that thing that ends all other deeds; 
Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; 
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung, 
The beggar's nurse, and Caesar's. 

Enter, to the gates of the Monument, Proeuleius, 
Gallus, and Soldiers. 

Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt; 
And bids thee study on what fair demands 
Thou mean 'St to have him grant thee. 

Cleo. [Within.] What's thy name? 

Pro. My name is Proeuleius. 

Cleo. [Within.] Antony 

Did tell me of you, bade me trust you; but 
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd. 
That have no use for trusting. If your master 
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him 
That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
No less beg than a kingdom: if he please 
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son, 
He gives me so much of mine own, as I 
Will kneel to him with thanks. 

Pro. Be of good cheer; 

You are fallen into a princely hand; fear nothing: 
Make your full reference freely to my lord, 
Who Is so full of grace that it flows over 
On all that need: Let me report to him 
Your sweet dependency: and you shall find 
A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness, 
Wheie he for grace is kueel'd to. 

Cleo. [Within.] Pray you, tell him 

I am his fortune's vassal, and I se:Kl him 
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 
A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly 
Look him 1' the face. 

Pro. This I '11 report, dear lady. 

Have comfort; for I know your plight is pitied 
Of him that caus'd it. « 

Gal. You see how easll.v she may be surprls'd; 
[Here Proeuleius and two of the Guard ascend 
the Monutnent by a ladder placed against a 



?i'mf?oi(', and, having descended, come behind 
Cleopatra. Home of the Guard unbar and open 
the gates. 
Guard her till Caesar come. 

[To Proctileius and the Guard. E-vit Gallus. 

Iras. Royal queen! 

C7inr. O Cleopatra! thou art taken, queen!— 

Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. 

[Drawing a dagger. 

Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold: 

[Seizes and disa)-7ns her. 
Do not yourself such wi-ong, who are in this 
Reliev'd, but not betray'd. 

Cleo. What of death too 

That rids our dogs of languish? 

Pro. Cleopatra, 

Do not abuse my master's bounty by 
The undoing of yourself: let the world see 
His nobleness well acted, which your death 
Will never let come forth. 

Cleo. Where art thou. Death? 

Come hither, come! come, come, and take a queen 
Worth many babes and beggars! 

Pro. O, temperance, lady! 

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I '11 not drink, sir; 
If idle talk will once be necessary, 
I 'II not sleep neither: This mortal house I 'U ruin. 
Do Caesar what lie can. Know, sir, that I 
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court; 
Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye 
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up. 
And show me to the shouting varletry 
Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt 
Be gentle grave unto me! rather on Niliis' mud 
Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies 
Blow me into abhorring! rather make 
My country's high pyramids my gibbet, 
And hang me up in chains! 

Pro. You do extend 

These thoughts of horror further than you shall 
Find cause In Caesar. 

£nter Dolabella. 

Dol. Proeuleius, 

What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, 
And he hath sent for thee: for the queen, 
I 'U take her to my guard. 

Pro. So, Dolabella, 

It shall content me best: be gentle to her.— 
To Caesar I will speak what you shall please, 

[To Cleopatra. 
If you '11 employ me to him. 

Cleo. Say, I would die. 

[E.retmt Proeuleius and Soldiers. 

Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me? 

Cleo. I cannot tell. 

Dol. Assuredly, you know me. 

Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known. 
You laugh, when boys or women tell their dreams; 
Is 't not your trick? 

Dol. I understand not, madam. 

Cleo. I dreamt there was an emperor Antony; — 
O, such another sleep, that I might see 
But such another man! 

Dol. If it might please you,— 

Cleo. His face was as the heavens; and therein 
stuck 
A sun and moon, which kept their course, and 

lighted 
The little O, the earth. 

Dol. Most sovereign creattire, — 

Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arn 
Crested the world: his voice was propertied 
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends; 
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, 
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty. 
There was no winter in 't; an autumn 't was. 
That grew the more by reaping: His delights 
Were dolphin-like: they show'd his back above 
The element they llv'd in: In his livery 
Walk'd crowns and crownets: realms and islands 

were 
As plates dropp'd from his pocket. 

Dol. Cleopatra,— 

Cleo. Think you there was, or might be, such a 
man 
As this I dreamt of? 

Dol. Gentle madam, no. 

Cleo. You lie, up to the hearing of the gods. 
But, If there be, or ever were, one such, 
It 's past the size of dreaming: Nature wants stuff 
To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine 
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, 
Condemning shadows quite. 

Dol. Hear me, good madam: 

Your loss is as yourself, great; and you bear it 
As answering to the weight: 'Would I might never 
O'ertake pursued success, but I do feel. 
By the rebound of yotirs, a grief that smites 
My very heart at root. 

Cleo. I thank you, sir. 

Know you what Caesar means to do with me? 

Dol. I am loth to tell you what I would you knew. 

Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir,— 

Dol. 'Though he be honourable, — 

Cleo. He '11 lead me then In triumph? 

Dol. Madam, he will; 

I know it. 

Within. Make way there,— Caesar! 
Enter Caesar, Gallus, Proeuleius, Mecaenas, 3eleucils> 
and Attendants. 

Cces. Which is the queen of Egypt? 

Dol. T is the emperor, madam. [Cleopatra kneels. 

Ctes. Arise, you shall not kneel:— 
I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt. 

Cleo. Sir, the gods 

Will have it thus; my master and my lord 
I must obey. 

Cces. Take to you no hard thoughts 

The record of what injuries you did us. 
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember 
As things but done by chance. 

Cleo. Sole sir o' the world, 

I cannot project mine own cause so well 
To make it clear; but do confess, I have 
Been laden with like frailties, which before 
Have often sham'd our sex. 

Cws. Cleopatra, know. 

We will extenuate rather than enforce: 
If .vou apply yourself to our intents, 
(Which towards you are most gentle,) you shall find 
A benefit in this change; but if you seek 
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 



Of my good purposes, and put your children 

To that destruction which I '11 guard them from. 

If tliereon you rely. I '11 take my leave. 

Cleo. And may, through all the world: 't Is yours; 
and we 
Your 'scutheons, and your signs of conquest, shall 
Hang in what place you plea.se. Here, my good lord. 

Cces. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. 

Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and Jewels, 
I am possess'd of; 't is exactly valued; 
Not petty things admitted.--Where 's Seleucus? 

Scf. Here, madam. 

Cleo. This is my treasurer; let him speak, my lord. 
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd 
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. 

Set. Madam, 
I had rather seal my lips, than, to my peril. 
Speak that which is not. 

Cleo. What have I kept back? 

Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made 
known. 

Cces. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve 
Your wisdom in the deed. 

Cleo. See, Caesar! O, behold. 

How pomp is followed! mine will now be yours; 
And should ^ve shift estates yours would be mine. 
The Ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
Even make me wild: O slave, of no more trust 
Thau love that 's hlr'd— What, goest thou back? thou 

' Shalt 

Go back, I warrant thee; but I '11 catch thine eyes. 
Thou they had wings: Slave, soulless villain, 
dog! 

rarely base! 

Cces. Good queen, let us entreat you. 

Cleo. O Caesar, what a wounding sliame is this; 
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me, 
Doing the honour of thy lordliness 
To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar, 
That I some ladj' trifles have reserv'd, 
Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
As we greet modern friends withal; and say. 
Some nobler token I have kept apart 
For Ltvia, and Octavia, to induce 
Their meditation; must I be unfolded 
With one that I have bred? 
The gods! It smites me 
Beneath the fall I have. Prithee, go hence; 

[To Seleucus. 
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits 
Through the ashes of my chance:- wert thou a man, 
Thou would'st have mercy on me. 

Cces. Forbear, Seleucus. [Exit SeL 

Cleo. Be it known that we, the greatest are mis- 
thought 
For things that others do; and, when we fall. 
We answer' merits in our name. 
Are therefore to be pitied. 

Cces. Cleopatra, 

Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd. 
Put we i' the roll of conquest: still be it yours. 
Bestow it at your pleasure; and believe 
Caesar's no merchant, to make prize with you 
Of things that merchants sold. Thereforebe cheer'd; 
Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear 

queen; 
For we intend so to dispose you, as 
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep: 
Our care and pity is so much upon you. 
That we remain your friend: And so adieu. 

Cleo. My master, and my lord! 

Cces. Not so: Adieu. 

[Exeunt Caesar and his Train. 

Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I 
should not. 
Be noble to myself: but hark thee, Charmian. 

[ Whispers Charmian. 

Iras. Finish, good lady; the bright day Is done. 
And we are for the dark. 

Cleo. Hie thee again; 

1 have spoke already, and it is provided; 
Go, put it to the haste. 

C?iar. Madam, I will. 

Be-enter Dolabella. 

Dol. Where is the queen? 

Char. Behold, sir. [Exit Charmian. 

Ct*o. Dolabella? 

Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command, 
Which my love makes religion to obey, 
I tell you this Caesar: through Syria 
Intends his journey; and, within three days. 

You with your children will he send before: 
Make your best use of this: I have perform'd 
Your pleasure, and my promise. 

Cleo. Dolabella, 

I shall remain your debtor. 

Dol. I your servant. 

Adieu, good queen; I must attend on Caesar. 

Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dol. 

Now, Iras, what think'st thou? 
Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown 
In Rome, as well as I: mechanic slaves 
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammer, shall 
Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths. 
Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded. 
And forc'd to drink their vapour. 

Ira.1. The gods forbid! 

Cleo. Nay, 't is most certain, Iras: Saucy lictors 
Will catch at us like strumpets; and .scald rhymers 
Ballad us out o' tune: the quick comedians 
Extemporally will stage us, and present 
Our Alexandrian revels: Antony 
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness 
I' the posture of a whore. 

Iras. O the good gods! 

Cleo. Nay, that is certain. 

Iras. I '11 never see it; for, I am sure, my nails 
Are stronger than mine eyes. 

Cleo. Why, that 's the way 

To fool their preparation, and to conquer 
Their most absurd intents.— Now, Charmian?— 

Enter Charmian. 

Show me, my women, like a queen;— Go fetch 
My best attires;— I am again for Cydnus, 
To meet Mark Antony:— Sirrah, Iras, go. — 
Now, noble Charmian, we '11 despatch indeed: 
And, when thou hast done this chare, I '11 give thee 

leave 
To play tin doomsday.— Bring our crown and all. 



818 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



LACTI. 



Wherefore 's this noise? 

[Exit Iras. A noise wifhtn. 
Enter one of the Guard. 

Oitard, Here Is a rural fellow 

That win not be denied your highness' presence; 
He brines you figs. 

CUo. Let him come In. What poor an Instrument 

[Exit Guard. 
May do a noble deed! he brings me liberty. 
My resolution 's plac'd, and 1 have nothing 
Of woman in me: Now from head to foot 
I am marble constant: now the fleeting moon 
No planet Is of mine. 

Reenter Guard, with a Clown, bringing a basket. 

Guard. This Is the man. 

Clev. Avoid, and leave him. [/ixit Guard. 

Hast thou the pretty worm of NUus there. 
That kills and pains noty . ,. ^,. 

Cloivn. Truly I have him: but I wo.uld not be the 
party that should desire you to touch him, for his 
biting Is Immortal; those that do die of itdo seldom 
or never recover. 

Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died on t? 

Clown. Very manv, men and women too. I heard 
of one of them no longer than yesterday: a very 
honest woman, but something given to lie; as a 
woman should not do. but In the way of honesty: 
how she died of the biting of It, what pain she felt, 
—Truly, she makes a very good report o' the worm: 
Bui ne that will believe all that they say, shall never 
be saved by half that they do: But this is most fal- 
lible, the worm 's an odd worm. 

Cleo. Get thee hence; farewell. 

Cloum. I wish you all joy of the worm. 

Cleo. Farewell. [Clown sets down the basket. 

Cloum. You must think this, look you, that the 
worm will do his kind. 

Cleo. Ay, ay; farewell. . ^ ^ ... 

Clown. Ix)ok you, the worm Is not to be trusted, 
but In the keeping of wise people: for, Indeed, 
there Is no goodness In the worm. 

Cleo. Take thou no care; It shall be heeded. 

Clown. Very good: give It nothing, I pray you, for 
it is not worth the feeding. 

CUo. Win it eat me? , , . , , » t 

Clown. You must not think I am so simple, but I 
know the devil himself wUl not eat a woman: I know 
that a woman Is a dish for the gods. If the devil 
dress her not. But. truly, these same whoreson 
devils do the gods great harm in their women; for in 
every ten that they make, the devils mar live. 

Cleo. Well, get thee gone; farewell. 

Cloion. Yes, forsooth; I wish you Joy of the worm . 

[Exit. 

Reenter Iras, with a robe, crown, dbc. 
Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have 
Immortal longings in me: Now no more 



The juice of Egvpt's grape shall moist this Up:— 
Yare, yare, good Iras; quick.— Methinks I hear 
Antony call; I see him rouse himself 
To praise my noble act; I hear him raock 
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men, 
Toexcuse their after wrath: Husband, I come: 
Now to that name my courage prove my title! 
I am fire and air; my other elements 
I give to baser life.— So,— have you done? 
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
Fai'ewell, kind Charmian;— Iras, long farewell. 

fc [Kisses them. Iras fulls and dies. 

Hav«( I the aspiu in my lips? Dost fall? 
If thou and nature can so gently part. 
The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch. 
Which hurts, and is deslr'd. Dost thou lie still? 
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world 
It Is noe worth leave-taking. 

Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may 
say, 
THSe gods themselves do weep! 

Cleo. ' This proves me base: 

If she first meet the curled Antony, 
He 'II make demand of her; and spend that kiss 
Which is my heaven to have. Come, thou mortal 
wretch, 
[To the asp, which she applies to her breast. 
With thy sharp teeth this knot Intrinslcate 
Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool. 
Be angry, and despatch. O, could'st thou speak! 
That 1 might hear thee call great Caesar, ass 
Unpolicledl 

Char. O eastern star! 

Clec. Peace, peace! 

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
That suclcs the nurse asleep? 

Char. O, break! O, break! 

Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle,— 

Antony!— Nay, I will take thee too:— 

[Applying another asp to her arm. 
What should I stay— [Falls on a bed and dies. 

Char. In this wild world?— So fare thee well.— 
Now boast thee. Death! In thy possession lies 
A lass unparallel'd.— Downy windows, close; 
And golden Phoebus never be beheld 
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; 

1 '11 mend it, and then play. 

Enter the Guard, rushing in. 
1 Guard. Where is the queen? 
Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 

1 Guard. Caesar hath sent— 

Char. Too slow a messenger. 

[Aj>plies the asp. 
O, come; apace, despatch: I partly feel thee. 

1 Guard. Approach, ho! All 's not well: Caesar 's 

begull'd. 

2 Guard. There 's '.Dolabella sent from Cassar;— 

call him. 



1 Guard. What work Is here?— Charmian, is this 

well done? 
Char. It Is well done, and fitting for a princess 
Descended of so many royal kings. 
Ah, soldier! [Dies. 

Enter Dolabella. 

Del. How goes it here? 

2 Guard. All dead. 
Dot. Caesar, thy thoughts 

Touch their effects In this: Thyself art coming 
To see perform'd the dreaded £u:t which thou 
So so\ight'st to hinder. 
Within. A way there, a way for Caesar! 

Enter Caesar and Attendants. 

Dol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer 
That you did fear is done. 

C<es. Bravest at the last; 

She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal. 
Took her own way.— The manner of their deaths? 
I do not see them bleed. 

Dol. Who was last with them? 

1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought her 
figs. 
This was his basket. 

Coes. Polson'd then? 

1 Guard. O Caesar, 

This Charmian llv'd but now; she stood, and spake: 
I found her trimming up the diadem 
On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood, 
And on the sudden dropp'd. 

Cce.i. O noble weakness!— 

If they had swallow'd poison 't would appear 
By external swelling: but she looks like sleep, 
As she would catch another Antony 
In her strong toll of grace. 

Dol. Here, on her breast. 

There is a vent of blood, and something blown: 
The like Is on her arm. 

1 Guard. This is an aspic's trail: and these fig- 
leaves 
Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves 
Upon the caves of Nile. 

Cces. Most probable 

That so she died: for her physician tells me 
She hath pursued conclusions infinite 
Of easy ways to die.— Take up her bed; 
And bear her women from the monument:— 
She shall be burled by her Antony: 
No grave upon the earth shall clip in It 
A pair so famous. High events as these 
Strike those that make theni; and their story is 
No less in pity than his glory, which 
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall 
In solemn show, attend this funeral; 
And then to Rome.— Come, Dolabella, see 
■ High order in this great solemnity. [Exeunt. 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



Satubninxis, son to the late Emperor of 

Rome. 
Bassianus, brother to Satuminus. 
Titus Andronicus, o nolile Roman. 
Marcus Andronicus, brother to Titus. 
Lucius 

QUINTUS, 



[ sons to Titus Andronicus. 



Martius, 

MUTIUS, 



} sons to Titus Andronicus. 



Young Lucius, a boy, son to Lucius. 
PUBLius, son to Marcus, the tribune, 

.^Hiuus, a noble Roman. 



Alarbus, 

Chiron, 

Demetrius, 

Aaron, a Moor. 

A Captain. Tribime, 

Cloivn. 
Goths and Romans. 



sons to Tamora. 



Messenger, and 



Tahora, Queen of the Goths. 
Lavixia, daughter to Titus Andro 

nicus. 
A Nurse and a black Child. 

Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, 
Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants. 



ACT I. 

Scene I.— Rome. 

[Flourish. Enter the Tvibanes and Senators, «Io/f .• 
and then enter Satuminus and his Followers at one 
door, and Bassianus and. his Followers at the other, 
with. drum, and colours. 

Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right. 
Defend the justice of m.v cause with arms; 
And, countrymen, my loving followers. 
Plead my successive title with your swords: 
1 am his first-born son, that was the last 
That wore the imperial diadem of Rome: 
Then let my father's honours live in me. 
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. 

Boss. Romans, friends, followei-s, favourers of my 
right. 
If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son. 
Were gracious In the eyes of royal Rome, 
Keep then this passage to the Capitol; 
And suffer not dishonour to approach 
Th' imperial seat; to virtue consecrate, 
To justice, continence, and nobility: 
But let desert in pure election shine; 
And, Romans, fight for freedom In your choice. 
Enter Marcus Andronicus aloft with the crown. 

Marc. Princes, that strive by factions and by 
friends 
Ambitiously for rule and empery. 
Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand 

friends 
A special party, have by common voice. 
In election for the Roman emperor. 
Chosen Andronicus, surnameu Plus, 
For many good and great deserts to Rome: 
A nobler man, a braver warrior. 
Lives not this day within the city walls. 
He by the senate is accited home. 
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths, 
That with his sons, a tenor to our foes, 
Hath yok'd a nation strong, tiain'd up In arms. 
Ten years are spent, since first he undertook 
This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms 
Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd 
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his vallaut sous 
In coffins from the field; 
And now at last, laden with honour's spoils. 
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 
Renowned Titus, flourishing in armst. 
Let us entreat,— by honour of his name. 



Whom worthily you would have now succeed. 
And in the Capitol and senate's right. 
Whom you pretend to honour and adore,— 
That you withdraw you, and abate your strength; 
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, 
plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 

Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my 
thoughts. 

Bass. Marcus Andronicus, so I do affy 
In thy uprightness and integrity. 
And so I love and honour thee and thine. 
Thy noble brother Titus and his sons. 
And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all. 
Gracious Lavlnia, Rome's rich ornament, 
"That I win here dismiss my loving friends; 
And to my fortunes and the people's favour 
Commit my cause In balance.to be weigh 'd. 

[Exeunt Follo^vers o/Basslanus. 

Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in ray 
right, 
I thank you all, and here dismiss you all; 
And to the love and favour of my country 
Commit myself, my person, and the cause. 

iE.reunt Followers of Satuminus. 
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me. 
As I am confident and kind to thee. 
Open the gates and let me In. 

Bass. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. 

Flourish. They go up into the Senate-house. 

Scene 11.— The same. 
Enter aCaptain, and others. 
Cap. Romans, make way: the good Andronicus, 
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion. 
Successful in the battles that he fights. 
With honour and with fortune is return'd. 
From where he circumscribed with his sword. 
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 
[Sound di~ums and trumpets, and then enter two of 
•Titus' Sons. After them two Men bearing a coffin 
covered with black: then two other Sons. After them 
Titus Andronicus; and then Tamora, the queen of 
Goths, and her two S<uis, Chiron, and Demetrius, 
with Aharon the Moor, and others, as many as can be. 
They set down the coffin, and Titus speaks. 
Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning 
weeds! 
Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught, 
Returns with precious lading to the bay 
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchora g 



Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs. 

To re-salute his country with his tears, 

Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. 

Thou great defender of this Capitol, 

Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! 

Romans, of five-and-twenty valiant sons. 

Half of the number that king Priam had, 

Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead! 

These that survive let Rome reward with love: 

These that I bring unto their latest home. 

With burial amongst their ancestors. 

Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my 

sword. 
Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own. 
Why sufter'st thou thy sons, unburled yet. 
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx? 
Make way to lay them by their brethren. 

[They open the tomb.' 
There greet in silence as the dead are wont, 
And sleep In peace, slain in your country's wars: 
O sacred receptacle of my joys. 
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility. 
How many sons of mine hast thou in store. 
That thou wilt never render to me more! 

Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, 
That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile. 
Ad manes fratrum, sacrifice his flesh. 
Before this earthy prison of their bones; 
That so the shadows be not unappeas'd. 
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. 

Tit. I give him you, the noblest that survives. 
The eldest son of this distressed queen. 

Tarn, Sta.v, Roman brethren, gracious conqueror. 
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
A mother's tears In passion for her son: 
And If thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
O think my son to be as dear to me. 
Sufflceth not, that we are brought to Rome 
To beautify thy triumphs, and return 
Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke; 
But must my sons be slaughter'd In the streets. 
For valiant doings In their country's cause? 
O, if to fight for king and commonweal 
Were piet.v In thine it is in these. 
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood. 
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? 
Draw near them then in being merciful: 
Sweet mercy Is nobility's true bodge. 
Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 

Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and par<lon me. 
These are the urethreu, whom you Goths beheld 



^^ ' 



h 



SOKNE II.l 



TITVS ANDS0N1CU8. 



319 



Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain 

Kellpiously they ask a sacrifice: 

To this your son is mark'd, and die he must, 

T' appeasetheir groaning shadows that are gone. 

Lve. Away with hlni, and make a fire straight; 
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood. 
Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consum'd. 

[Ei-eunt Titus' Sons t«;(A Alarbus. 

Tarn. O cruel, Irreligious piety! 

Chi. Was overScylhla half so barbarous? 

Demet. Oppose not Soythla to ambitious Rome. 
Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive 
To tremble under Titus' threat'nlng look. 
Then, madam, stand resolVd; but hope withal, 
The selfsame gods that arm'd the queen of Troy 
With opportunity of sharp revenge 
Upon the Thraclun tyrant in his tent. 
May favor Tamora.the queen of Goths, 
rVVhen Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,) 
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 
Enter the Sons of Andronlcus again. 

Ltir. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd 
Our Roman rites; Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd. 
And entrails feed the sacrificing Are, 
Whose smoke like incense, doth perfume the sky. 
Remalneth nought, but to inter our brethren. 
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 

Tit. Let It be so, and let Andronlcus 
Make thlshis latest farewell to their souls. 

(flourish. Sonnd ti-umpeta. and they lay 
the coffin iti the tomb. 
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons; 
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here In 

rest. 
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps: 
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, 
Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms. 
No noise, bUL silence and eternal sleep. 
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons. 
Enter Lavlnia. 

Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long; 
My noble lord and father, live In fame! 
liO, at this tomb my tributary tears 
I rendei for my brethren's obsequies: 
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy 
Shed on the earth for thy return to Rome. 

bless me here with thy victorious hand, 
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud. 

Tit. Kind Rome, thou hast thirs lovingly reserv'd 
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! 
Iiavinia, live: outlive thy father's days. 
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise. 
Enter Marcus Andronlcus, Saturnlnus, Basslanus, 
anti others. 

Marc. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother. 
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! 

Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus. 

Marc. And welcome, nephews, from successful 
wars. 
You that survive, and you that sleep In fame: 
Fair lords, your fortunes alike in all, 
That in your country's service drew your swords. 
But safer triumph is this funeral pomp. 
That hath aspired to Solon's happiness. 
And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. 
Titus Andronlcus, the people of Rome, 
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been. 
Send thee by me, tneir tribune and their trust, 
This palliament of white and spotless hue. 
And name thee in election (or the empire. 
With these our late deceased emperor's sons: 
Be candidatiis then, and put It on. 
And help to set a bead on headless Rome. 

Tit. A better head her glorious body fits. 
Than his that shakes for age and feebleness. 
What! should I don this robe, and trouble you? 
Be chosen with proclamations todav, 
To-morrow yield up rule, resign mv life. 
And set abroad new business for you alP 
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years. 
And led my country's strength successfully. 
And burled one-andtwenty valiant sons 
Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, 
In right and service of their noble country; 
Give me staff of honour for mine age. 
But not a sceptre to control the world' 
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 

Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. 

Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell? 

Tit. Patience, prince Saturninus. 
„S"*- , Romans, do me right. 

Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not 
Tin Saturninus be Rome's emperor: 
Andronlcus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell. 
Rather than reb me of the people's hearts. 

Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
That noble-minded Titus means to thee! 

Tit. Content thee prince, I will restore to thee 
The people's hearts, and wean them from them- 
selves. 

Sass. Andronlcus, I do not flatter thee. 
But honour thee, and will do till I die: 
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 

1 will most thankful be, and thanks to men 
Of noble minds is honourable meed. 

Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, 
I ask your voices and your suffrages; 
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronlcus? 

Tnbunes. To gratify the good Andronlcus, 
And gratulate his safe return to Rome, 
The people will accept whom he admits. 

Tit. Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make. 
That you create your emperor's eldest son. 
Lord Saturnine who.se virtues will, I hope, 
Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth, 
And ripen justice In this commonweal: 
Then, It you will elect by my advice. 
Crown him, and say, 'Long live our emperor" 

Marc. With voices and applause of every sort. 
Patricians, and plebians, we create 
Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor; 
And say, 'Long live our emperor. Saturnine!' 

„,„.,. . [-^ 'ong flourish, till they come down. 

Sat. Titus Andronlcus, for thy favours done 
To us in our election this day. 
1 give thee thanks In part of thy deserts. 
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: 
And for an onset, Titus, to advance 
Thy name, and honourable family, 
Lavlnia will I make my empress, 
Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart. 
And in the sacred Pantheon her espou.se: 
Tell me, Andronlcus, dotlithls motion please^thee?-.- 



Tit. It doth, my worthy lord; and In this match 
I hold me highly honoured of your grace. 
And here, In sight of Rome, to Saturnine, 
King and commander of our common-weal. 
The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate 
My sword, my cliarlot, and my prisoners,— 
Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord: 
Recehe them then, the tribute that I owe. 
Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 

Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! 
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, 
Rome shall record; and when I do forget 
The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
Romans, forget your fealty to me. 

Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; 

[To Tamora. 
To him that, for your honotir and your state, 
Win use you nobly, and your followers. 

Sat. A goodly lady, trust me, of the hue 
That I would choose, were I to choose anew: 
Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance: 
Though chance of war hath wrought this change of 

cheer. 
Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome: 
Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you. 
Can make you greater than the queen of Goths: 
Lavlnia, you are not displeas'd with this? 

Lav. Not I, my lord, sith true 7iobllity 
Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 

Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavina; Romans, let us go: 
Ransomless here, we set our prisoners free. 
Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. 

Bass. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is 
mine. [Seizing Lavlnia. 

Tit. How, sir? are you in earnest then, my lord? 

Bass. Ay, noble Titus, and resolved withal 
To do myself this reason and this right. 

Jlf07C. Siium ciiique is our Roman justice: 
This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 

Luc. And that he will, and shall, it Lucius live. 

Tit. Trs^itors, avaunt! where Is the emperor's 
guard? 
Treason, my lord! Lavlnia Is surprls'd. 

Sat. Surprls'd? by whom? 

Bass. By him that justly may 

Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. 

[Exeunt Marcus and Basslanus, with Lavlnia. 

Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, 
And with my sword, I '11 keep this door safe. 

[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martlus. 

Tit. Follow, my lord, and I 'II soon bring her back. 

Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 

Tit. What! villain boy, barr'st me my way in 
Rome? 

Mut. Help, Lucius, help! [Titus kills him. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so; 
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 

Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine: 
My sons would never so dishonour me. 
Traitor, restore Lavlnia to the emperor. 

Luc. Dead, if you will, but not to be his wife. 
That IS another's lawful promls'd love. [Exit. 

Enter aloft the Emperor, urith Tamora and her 
two Sons, and Aaron the Moor. 

Sat. No, Titus, no: the empesor needs her not. 
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: 

I 'U trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once; 
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons. 
Confederates all, thus to dishonour me. 
Was none in Rome to make a stale but Saturnine? 
Full well, Andronlcus, 

Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, 
That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 

Tit. O monstrous! what reproachful words are 
these? 

Sot. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece 
To him that flourish'd for her with his sword: 
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; 
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons. 
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. 

Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. 

Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths, 
That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, 
Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, 
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice. 
Behold I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride. 
And will create t,hee empress of Rome. 
Speak, queen of Goths; dost thou applaud my 

choice? 
And here I swear by all the Roman gods,— 
Slth priest and holy water are so near, 
And tapers burn so bright, and everything 
In readiness for Hymeneus stand, — 
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
I lead espous'd my bride along with me. 

Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I 
swear. 
If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, 
She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 

Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon: Lords ac- 
company 
Your noble emperor and his lovelv bride. 
Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, 
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conauered: 
There shall we consummate our spousal rites. 

[Exetmt Sat. and his Followers; Tamora, 
and her Sons; Aaron, and Goths. 

Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride;— 
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? 

Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martlus. 

Marc. O Titus, see! O see what thou hast done! 
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 

Tit. No, foolish tribune, no: no son of mine,— 
Nor thou, nor these, confederates In the deed 
That hath dishonour'd all our family; 
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons! 

Luc. But let us give him burial as becomes: 
Give Mutlus burial with our brethren. 

Tit. Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb: 
This monument five hundred years hath stood. 
Which I have sumptuously re-edlfled: 
Here none but soldiers, arid Rome's servitors, 
Repose in fame, none basely slain in brawls: 
Bury him where you can; he comes not here. 

Mare. My lord, this is impiety in you: 
My nephew Mutlus' deeds do plead for him: 
-He must be buried with hlsbrethren. I 



Quint., Mart. And shall, or him we will accom- 
pany. 

Tit. And shall! What villain was It spake that 
word? 

Quint. He that would vouch It In any place but 
here. 

Tit. What! would you bury him In my despite? 

Marc. No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee 
To pardon Mutlus, and to bury him. 

Tit. Marcus, even tliou hast struck upon my crest, 
And with these boys mine honour thou hast wound- 
ed: 
My foes I do repute you every one. 
So trouble me no more, but get you gone. 

Mart. He Is not with himself; let us withdraw. 

Quint. Not I, tin Mutlus' bones be burled. 

[ The Brother and the Sons kneel. 

Mate. Brother, for In that name doth nature plead. 

Quint. Father, and in that name doth nature speak. 

Tit. Speak thou no more, If all the rest will speed. 

Marc. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul! 

Luc. Dear father! soul and substance of us all! 

Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to Inter 
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest. 
That died in honour and Lavinla's cause. 
Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous: 
The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax, 
That slew himself; and wise Laerters' son 
Did graciously plead for his funerals: 
Let not young Mutlus then, that was thy joy. 
Be barr'd his entrance here. 

Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise! 

The dlsmall'st day Is this that e're I saw. 
To be dishonour'd by my sons In Rome: 
Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 

[They put Mutlus in the tomb. 

Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutlus, with thy 
friends. 
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb. 

[They all kneel and say. 
No man shed tears for noble Mutius; 
He lives In fame that died in virtue's cause. 

[Exeunt all but Marcus and. Titus. 

Marc. My lord,— to step out of these sudden 
dumps,— 
How comes It that the subtle queen of Goths 
Is of a sudden thus advane'd in Rome? 

Tit. I know not, Marcus: but I know It Is; 
Whether by device, or no, the heavens can tell; 
Is she not then beholding to the man 
That brought her for this high good turn so far? 
Yes; and will nobly him remunerate. 

Enter the Emperor, Tamora and her two Sons, vrith 
the Moor, at one side; enter at the other side Bas- 
slanus and Lavlnia, with others. 

Sat. So, Basslanus, you have play'd your prize! 
God give you joy, sir, of your gallant brlde.^ 

Bass. And you of yours, my lord, I say no more. 
For wish no less; and so I take my leave. 

Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power, 
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 

Bass. Rape call you it, my lord, to seize my own. 
My true betrothed love, and now my wife? 
But let the laws of Rome determine all: 
Meanwhile I am possess'd of that Is mine. 

Sat. 'T is good, sir; you are very short with us; 
But, If we live, we 'H be as sharp with you. 

Bass. My lord, what I have done, as best I mav 
Answer I must, and shall do with my life. 
Only thus much I give you grace to know: 
By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
This noble gentleman, lord Titus here. 
Is In opinion and in honour wrong'd. 
That, In the rescue of Lavlnia, 
With his own hand did slay his youngest son, 
In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath 
To be controll'd In that he frankly gave. 
Receive him, then, to favour. Saturnine, 
That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds, 
A father and a friend to thee and Rome. 

Tit. Prince Basslanus, leave to plead my deeds: 
'T Is thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me. 
Rome, and the righteous heavens, be my judge. 
How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine. 

Tarn. My worthy lord, If ever Tamora 
Were gracious In those princely eyes of thine, 
Then hear me speak, indifferently for all: 
And at my suit, sweet pardon what is past. 

Sat. What, madam' be di.shonour'd openly. 
And basely put it up without revenge'^ 

Tarn. Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend 
I should be author to dishonour you. 
But on mine honour, dare I undertake 
For good lord Titus' innocence in ail; 
Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs. 
Then, at my suit, look graciously on him: 
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose; 
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. 
My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last; 
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents; 
You are but newly planted In your throne? 
Lest then the people, and patricians too. 
Upon a just survey take Titus' part, 
And so supplant us for ingratitude. 
Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin. 
Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: 
I '11 find a day to massacre them all; 
And raze their faction and their famllv. 
The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, 
To whom 1 sued for my dear son's life; 
And make them know, what 't is to let a queen 
Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace In vain. 

[The preceding fourteen lines are spokena^ide. 
Come, come, sweet emperor; come Andronlcus; 
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart 
That dies In the tempest of thy angry frown 

King. Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath pre- 
vail'd. *^ 

Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord. 
These words, these looks. Infuse new life la me. 

Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
A Roman now adopted happily. 
And must advise the emperor for his good. 
This day all quarrels die, Andronlcus; 
And let It be mine honour, good my lord. 
That I have reconeil'd your friends and you. 
For you, prince Basslanus. I have pass'd 
My word and promise to the emperor. 
That you will be more mild and tractable: 
And fear not lords: and you, Lavinia, 
By my advice, all humbled on your knees. 
You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 

iuc. We do; and vow to heaven, and to his high- 
ness, " 



ISO 



TITUS ANDRONICVS. 



[Act h. 



That what we did was mildly, as we might, 
"pn'l'rliiK our sister's honour and our own. 

Marc. I hat on mine honour here I do protest. 

Sat. Away, and tails not; trouble us no more.— 

Tarn. Nay, niiy, sweet conqueror, we must all be 
friends: 
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace; 
I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look hack. 

Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thv brother's here. 
And at my lovely Tamora's entreats, 
I do remit these young men's heinous faults. 
Stand up. Lavlnia, though you left mn like a churl, 
I found a friend: and sure as death I sware, 
I would not part a b:ichelor from the priest. 
Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides, 
lou are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends: 
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 

Tit. Tomorrow, an it please your majesty 
To hunt the panther and the hart with me, 
With horn and hound, we 'U give your grace bon 
jour. 

Sat. Be It so, Titus, and gramercy, too. \_t:xeunt. 



Scene I.— Rome. Before the Palace. 

Enter Aaron. 

Aaron. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top. 
Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft. 
Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash, 
Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach: 
As when the golden sun salutes the morn. 
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams. 
Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach. 
And overlooks the highest peering hills. 
So Tamora. 

Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait. 
And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts. 
To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress. 
And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long 
Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains. 
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes 
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! 
I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, 
To wait upon this new-made empress. 
To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, 
This goddess, this Semiramls, this nymph. 
This syren, that will charm Home's Saturnine, 
And see his shlpwrack, and his commonweal's. 
Hollo! what storm is this? 

Enter Chiron and Demetrius, braving. 

Demet. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants 
edge. 
And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd; 
And may, for aught thou knovv'st, affected be. 

Chi. Demetrius, thou dost overween in all; 
And so in this, to bear me down with braves. 
'T is not the difference of a year or two 
Makes me less gracious, or thee more fortunate: 
I am as able, and as fit. as thou. 
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace; 
And that my sword upon thee shall approve. 
And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. 

Aaron. Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep the 
peace. 

Demet. Why, bo.v, although our mother, unadvis'd. 
Gave you a dancing rapier by your side. 
Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends? 
Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath, 
■Till you know better how to handle it. 

Chi. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have. 
Full well Shalt thoti perceive how much I dare. 

Demet. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw. 

Aaron. Why, how now, lords? 

So near the emperor's palace dare you draw. 
And maintain such a quarrel openly? 
Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge; 
I would not for a million of gold 
The cause were known to them it most concerns. 
Nor would your noble mother, for much more. 
Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome. 
For shame, put up. 

Demet. Not I, till I have sheath'd 

My rapier In his bosom, and. withal. 
Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat. 
That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. 

Chi. For that I am prepar'd, and full resolv'd. 
Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy 

tongue. 
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. 

Aaron. Away, I say! 
Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore. 
This pett.v brabble will undo us all! 
Why, lords,— and think you not how dangerous 
It is to jet upon a prince's right? 
What, is Lavinia then become so loose. 
Or Basslanus so degenerate, 

That former love such quarrels may be broach'd. 
Without controlment, justice, or revenge? 
Young lords, beware; and should the em press know 
This discord's ground, the music would not please. 

Chi. I care not, I knew she. and all the "world, 
I love Lavinia more than all the world. 

Demet. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner 
choice: 
Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. 

Aiiron. Why, are ye mad? or know ye not In 
Rome, 
How furious and impatient they be. 
And cannot brook competitors in love? 
I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
By this device. 

Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths would I propose. 
To achieve her whom I love. 

Aaron. To achieve her, how? 

Demet. Why mak'.st thou it so strange? 
She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; 
She is a woman, therefore may be won; 
She Is Lavinia, therefore must'be lov'd. 
What, man! more water glideth by the mill 
Than wots the miller of: and ea.sy it is 
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know: 
Though Basslanus be the emperor's brother. 
Better than he have worn Vulca?i's badge. 

Aaron. Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. 

Demet. Then why should he despair that knows to 
court It 
With words, fair looks, and liberality? 
What, hast not thou full often struck a doe. 



And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose; 



^oron. Why, then. It seems, some certain snatch 
or so 
Would serve your turns. 

Chi. Av, so the turn were serv'd. 

Demet. Aaron, thou hast hit It. 

Aaron. Would vou had hit it too. 

Then should not we be tir'd with his ado. 
Why, hark ye, hark ye, and are you such fools 
To square for this? ivouUl it offend you then 
That both should speed? 

Chi. Faith, not me. 

Demet. Nor me, so I wei*e one. 

Aaron. For shame, be friends, and Join for that 
you jar. 
'T Is policy and stratagem must do 
That you affect, and so must you resolve 
That what you cannot as you would achieve 
You must perforce accomplish as you niiiy: 
Take this of me. Lucrece was not more chaste 
Than this Lavinia, Basslanus' love. 
A speedier course than ling'rlng languishment 
Must we pursue, and I have found the path. 
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; 
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop: 
The forest walks are wide and spacious. 
And many unfrequented plots there are. 
Fitted by kind for rape and villainy: 
Single you thither then this dainty doe. 
And strike her home by force, if not by words: 
This way, or not at all, stand .you in hope. 
Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit. 
To villainy and vengeance consecrate. 
Will we acquaint with all that we intend; 
And she shall file our engines with advice. 
That will not suffer you to square yourselves. 
But to your wishes height advance you both. 
The emperor's court is like the house of fame. 
The palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears: 
The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull: 
There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take .your 

turns. 
There serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's eye, 
And revel in Lavinia's treasui.v. 

Chi. Th.v counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice; 

Demet. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream 
To cool this heat, a charTn to calm these fits. 
Per Styga, per manes vehor. [E.veiint. 

Scene II.— ^1 Forest. 

Enter Titus Andronicus, his three Sons, ayid Marcus 
making a noise with hounds and horns. 

Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey. 
The fields are fragrant, and the woods arS green; 
Uncouple here, and let us malse a bay. 
And wake the emperor and his lovely bride. 
And rouse the prince, and ring a hunter's peal. 
That all the court may echo with the noise. 
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours. 
To attend the emperor's person carefully: 
I have been troubled in my sleep this night. 
But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. 
Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal; then 

enter Saturninus, Tamora, Basslanus, Lavinia, Chi- 
ron, Demetiius, and their attendants. 

Tit. Many good morrows to youi' majesty; 
Madam, to you as many and as good. 
I promised your grace a hunter's peal. 

Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lords; 
Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. 

Bass. Lavinia, how say you? 

Lav. I say no: 

I have been broad awake two hours or more. 

Sat. Come on, then; horse and chariots let us have. 
And to our sport: madam, now shall ye see 
Our Roman hunting. 

Mare. I have dogs, my lord. 

Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase. 
And climb the highest promontory top. 

Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game 
Makes wa.v, and nm like swallows o'er the plain. 

Demet. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor 
hoimd; 
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [E.ve. 



Scene III.— r;!e Forest. 
Enter Aaron. 

.4aroK. He that had wit, would think that I had 
none. 
To bury so much gold under a tree. 
And never after to inherit it. 
Let him that thinks of me so abjectly 
Know that this gold must coin a stratagem. 
Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
A very excePeut piece of villainy: 
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest. 
That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 
Enter Tamora. 

Tam. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad 
When everything doth inake a gleeful boast? 
The birds chant melody on every bush; 
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun; 
The green leaves quiver in the cooling wind. 
And make a checker'd shadow on the ground: 
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit. 
And. whilst the babbling echo mocks the bounds, 
Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns. 
As it a double hunt were heard at once. 
Let us sit down and niaik their yelping noise: 
Ana, after conflict such as was suppos'd 
The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoy'd. 
When with a happy storm they were surprls'd. 
And curtain'd with ,a counsel-keeping cave. 
We may, each wreathed in the other's arms. 
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber. 
White hounds, aud horns, and sweet melodious 

birds. 
Be unto us as is a ntirse's song. 
Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep. 

Aaron. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, 
Saturn is domlnator over mine: 
What signifies my deadly-standing eye, 
My silence, and my cloudy nielanelioly, 
My fleece of woolly hair, that now uncurls 
Even as an adder when she doth unroll 
To do some fatal execution''' 
No, madam, these are no venereal signs; 
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. 
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 
Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, 
Which never hopes more heaven than rests In thee, 
■rhis is the day of doom for Basslanus; 
g is Philomel must lose her tongue to-day; 



Thy sons make pillage of her chastity. 
And wash their hands In Basslanus' blood. 
Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee. 
And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll. 
Now question me no more; we are espied: 
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty. 
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 
Enter Basslanus and Lavinia. 

Tam. Ah. my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life 

Aaron. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes. 
Be cross with hini; and I 'II go fetch thy sous 
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they he. 

Bass. Who have we here? Rome's royal empress, 
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? 
Or Is it Dlan, habited like her, 
Who hath abandoned her holy groves. 
To see the general hunting in this forest? 

Tam. Saucy controller of our private steps. 
Had I the power that some sa.v Dlan had. 
Thy temples should be planted presently 
With horns as was Actaeon's, and the hounds 
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs. 
Unmannerly intruder as thou art! 

Lav. Under your patience, gentle empress, 
'T Is thought you have goodl.v gift in horning. 
And to be doubted that your Moor and you 
Are smgled forth to try experiments: 
Jove shield your husband rrom his hounds to-day; 
'T is a pity they should take him for a stag. 

Bass. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian 
Doth make your honour of his body's hue. 
Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
Why are you sequestered from all your train? 
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed 
And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, 
Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, 
If foul desire had not conducted you? 

Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport. 
Great reason that my noble lord be rated 
For sauciness: I pray you let us hence. 
And let her 'jo.y her raven-colour'd love; 
This valley fits the purpose passing well. 

Bass. The king, m.v brother, shall have note of this. 

Lav. A.v, for these slips have made him noted long; 
Good king, to be so mightilj' abused! 

Tam. Why have I patience to endure all this? 

Enter Chiron and Demetrius. 

Demet. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious 
mother, * 
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? 

Tam. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? 
These two have 'tie'd me hither to this place, 
A barren detested vale, you see It is; 
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
O'ercome with moss and baleful misseltoe. 
Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds. 
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven: 
And when they show'd me this abhorred pit. 
They told me here, at dead time of the night, 
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing .snakes. 
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins. 
Would make such fearful and confused cries, 
As any mortal body, hearing it. 
Should straight fall mad, or else die .suddenly. 
No sooner had they told this hellish tale. 
But straight they told me they would bind me here. 
Unto the body of a dismal yew, 
And leave me to this miserable death. 
-And then they call'd me foul aduUress, 
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 
That ever ear did hear to such eftect. 
And had you not by wondrous fortune come. 
This vengeance on me had they executed: 
Revenge it as you love your mother's life. 
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. 

Demet. This is a witness that I am thy son. 

{Stabs him. 

Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my 
. strength. [Stahs him likewise. 

Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis,— nay, barbarous Ta- 
mora! 
For no name fits thy nature but thy own. 

Tam. Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my 
boys. 
Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. 

Demet. Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her; 
First thresh the corn, then after burn the straw: 
This minion stood upon her chastity. 
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, 
And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: 
And shall she carry this unto her grave? 

Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole. 
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 

ram. But when ye have the honey ye desire. 
Let not this wasp outlive us both to sting. 

Chi. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure. 
Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy 
That nice preserv'd honesty of yours. 

Lav. Oh, Tamora! thiui bear'st a woman's face— 

Tfim. r will not hear iier speak; away with her! ' 

Lav. Swtet lords, entreat iier hear me but a word. 

Demet. Listen, fair madam; let it be your glory 
To see her tears, but be your heart to them 
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. 

Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the 
dam? 
O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee. 
■The milk thou suck'st from her did turn to marble; 
Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyiaimy. 
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike; 
Do thou entreat her, show a woman pity. 

[To Chiron. 

Chi. What: would'st thou have me prove myself a 
bastard? 

Lav. 'T is true: the raven doth not hatch a lark: 
Yet have I heard,— oh could I find it now!— 
1 The lion, moved with pity, <lid endure 
I To have his princel.v paws par'd all away. 
Some say that ravens foster forlorn children. 
The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: 
Oh. be to me, though thy hard heart say no. 
Nothing so kind, but somethin.g pitiful! 

Tam. I know not what if means; away with her! 

Lav. O let me (each thee! For my father's sake. 
That gave thee life when well he might have slain 

thee, 
Be not obdurate, open thy dejif ears. 

Tam. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, 
Even for his sake am I pitiless. 
Remember, boys. I poiir'd fortji tears in vain 
To save your brother from the sacrifice; 
But fierce Andioiiicus would not relent: 






1 



I 



Scene iii.J 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



821 



Therefore, away with her. anrt use her as you will; 
The worse to her, the better lov'fl of me. 

Lav. Oh Taniora, be call'd a Kentle q>icen. 
And with thine own hands kill me In this place: 
For "t Is not life that I have begg'd so long; 
Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. 

Tarn. What begg'st thou then? fond woman, let 
me go. 

Lav. "V Is present death I beg; and one thing 
more 
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: 
Oh, iieep me from their worse than killing lust. 
And tumble me into some loathsome pit, 
Where never man's eye may behold my body; — 
Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 

Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee. 
No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. 

Demet. Away, for thou hast stay 'd us here too long. 

Lav. No grace! no womanhood! Ah, beastly crea- 
ture. 
The blot and enemy to our general name! 
Confusion fall— 

Chi. Nay. then I '11 stop your mouth; bring thou 
her husband: [Ih-againg off f^avinia. 

This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. 

Tarn. Farewell, my sousf see that you make her 
sure: 
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer Indeed 
Till all the Andronici be made away. 
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. \Exit. 

Scene IX.— The Forest. 

Enter Aaron, iHth Quintus and Martius. 

Aaron. Come on, my lords, the better foot before: 
Straight will X bring you to the loathsome pit, 
Where I espied the panther fast asleep. 

Quint. My sight is very ditU, whate're it hodes. 

mart. And mine, I promise j'ou; were 't not for 
shame. 
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. 

[Martius /a;;.5 into the pit. 

Quint. What, art thou fallen? Wliat subtle hole is 
this. 
Whose mouth is eovpr'd with rude growing briers, 
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood, 
As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowersy 
A very fatal place It seems to me: 
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? 

Mart. O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt, 
That ever eye with sight made heart lament. 

Aaron. [Aside.'i Now will I fetch the king to find 
them here. 
That he thereby may have a likely guess, 
How these were they that made away ills brother. 

I Kvit. 

Mart. Why dost not comfort me and help me out 
From this unhallow'd and bloodstained hole? 

Quint. I am surprised with an uncouth for; 
A chilling sweat o'erruns my trembling joints; 
My heart suspects more than mine eye c^vn see. 

Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, 
Aaron and thou look down into this den. 
And see a fearful sight of blood and death. 

Quint. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate 
heart 
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; 
Oh, tell me how it is. for ne'er till now 
Was I a child, to fear I know not what. 

Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrued here. 
All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb. 
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 

Quint. It it be dark, how dost thou know 't Is he? 

Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
A precious ring, that lightens ail the hole: 
which, like a taper in some monument. 
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, 
And shows the ragged entrails of this pit: 
So pale did shine tfie moon on Pyramus, 
When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. 
O, brother, help me with thy fainting hand,— 
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath,— 
Out of this fell devouring receptacle. 
As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 

Quint. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee 
out; 
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, 
I ma.v be pluck'd into the swallowing womb 
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 

Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. 

Quint. Thy hand once more; I will not lose again 
Till thou art here aloft, or I below: 
Thou canst not come to me; I come to thee. 

{Falls in. 
Enter Saturnlniis and Aaron. 

Sat. Along with me:— I '11 see what hole is here. 
And what he is that now is leap'd into it. 
Say, who art thou that lately didst descend 
Into this gaping hollow of the earth' 

Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronlcus, 
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, 
To find thy brother Bassianus dead. 

Sat My brother dead? I know thou dost but jest: 
He and his lady both are at the lodge. 
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 
"T is not an hour since I left him there. 

Mart. We know not where you left him all alive. 
But out, alas! here have we found him dead. 
Enter Tamora, Andronlcus, and Lucius. 

Tarn. Where is my lord the king? 

Sat. Here, Taraora, though griev'd with killing 
grief. 

Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus? 

Sat. Now to tlie bottom dost thou search my 
wound; 
Poor Bassianus here lies murthered. 

rani. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ. 
The complot of this timeless tragedy; 
And wonder greatly that man's face can fold 
In pleasing smiles such murtherous tyranny. 

[She gives Saturnine a letter. 
Satuminus reads the letter. 

'An if we miss to meet him hand.somely,— 
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus, 't is we mean,— 
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him; 
Thou know'st our meaning: Look for thy reward 
Among the nettles at the elder-tree. 

Which overshades the mouth of that same pit. 

Where we decreed to bur.v Bassianus. 

Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends." 



Sat. Oh, Tamora, was ever heard the like? 
This Is the pit, and this the elder-tree: 
Look, sirs. If you can find the huntsman out. 
That should have murther'd Bassianus here. 

Aaron. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. 

Sat. Two of thy whelps, [_to Titus] fell curs of 
bloody kind. 
Have here bereft my brother of his life: 
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison; 
There let them bide until we have devls'd 
Some never-heard of torturing pain for them. 

ram. What, are they in this pit? oh wondrous 
thing! 
How easily murther is discovered! 

Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee, 
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed. 
That this fell fault of my accursed .sons. 
Accursed, If the fault be prov'd in them— 

Sat. If it be prov'd! you see it Is apparent. 
Who found this letter, Tamora; was it you? 

Tarn. Andronlcus himself did take it up. 

Tit. I did, my lord; yet let me be their bail: 
For by my father's reverent tomb I vow 
The.v shall be ready at your highness' will. 
To answer their suspicion with their lives. 

Snt. Thou Shalt not bail them: see thou follow me. 
Some bring the murther'd body, some the mur- 

therers: 
Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain; 
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death. 
That end upon them should be executed. 

Tarn. Andronlcus, I will entreat the king: 
Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. 

Tit. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with 
them. lExennt, 

Scene Y.—The Forest. 

Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia, her 
hands cut off^ and her tongue cut out. 

Demet. So now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak. 
Who 't was that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. 

Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so. 
An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. 

Demet. See, how with signs and tokens she can 
scrowl. 

Chi. Go home, call forsweet water, wash thy hands. 

Demet. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to 
wash; 
And so, let 's leave her to her silent walks. 

Chi. An 'twere my cause, I should go hang m.yself. 

Demet. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the 
cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron. 

Enter Marcus, /rom hunting. 

Marc. Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast? 
Cousin, a word; where is your husband? 
If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! 
If I do wake, some planet strike me down. 
That I may slumber in eternal sleep! 
Speak, gentle niece; nhat stern ungentle hands 
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare 
Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments 
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep 

in. 
And might not gain so great a happiness 
As have thy love? why dost not speak to me? 
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood. 
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd mth wind. 
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips. 
Coming and going with thy honey breath. 
But sure some Tereus hath defloured thee. 
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. 
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! 
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood. 
As from a conduit with their issuing spouts. 
Yet do thy cheeks look i-ed as Titan's face. 
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. 
Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 't is so? 
Oh that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast. 
That I might rail at him to ease my mind! 
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd. 
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. 
Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue. 
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind. 
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; 
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal. 
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off. 
That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
Oh! had the monster seen those lily hauds 
Tremble like aspen-leaves upon a lute. 
And make the silken strings delight t kiss them. 
He would not then have touch'd them for his life. 
Or had he heard the heavenly harmony 
Which that sweet tongue hath made. 
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep. 
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. 
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind; 
For such a sight will blind a father's eye: 
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads: 
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? 
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee; 
Oh, could our mourning ease thy misery! [Exeunt. 

ACT IIL 

Scene I.— Rome. A Street. 

Enter the Judges and Senators, with Martius and 
Quintus bound, passing on the stage to the place of 
execution; and Titus going before, pleading. 

Tit. Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay! 
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept; 
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; 
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd; 
And for these bitter tears, which now you see 
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; 
Be pitiful to my condemned sons. 
Whose souls are not corrupted, as 't is thought. 
For two-and-twenty sons I never wept, 
Because they died in honour's lofty bed. 

[Andronlcus liesdoivn, and the Judges pass by him. 
For these, tribunes, in the dust I write 
My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears; 
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite; 
My son's sweet blood will make it shame and blush. 
[Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, a7id Prisoners. 
O earth, Iwill befriend thee more with rain. 
That shall distil from these two ancient urns. 
Than youthful April shall with all his showers. 
In summer's drought I '11 drop upon thee still; 
In winter, with warm tears I '11 melt the snow, 
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face. 
So thou refuse to drink my dear son's blood. 



Enter Lucius, with his weapon dratvn. 

Oh, reverend tribunes! oh, gentle, aged men! 
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; 
And let me say, that never wept before. 
My tears are now prevailing orators! 

Luc. Oh, noble father, you lament In vain; 
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by. 
And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 

Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead: 
Grave tribunes once more I entreat of you! 

Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak. 

Tit. Wh.v, 't is no matter, man: If they did hear 
They would not mark me: oh, if they did hear. 
They would not pity me: 

Therefore I tell my sorrows bootless to the stones, 
Who, though they cannot answer my distre.ss. 
Yet in some sort they're better than the tribunes, 
For that they will not intercept my tale: 
When I do weep, they, humbly at my feet. 
Receive my tears, and soem to weep with me; 
.■Vnd, were they but attired in grave weeds, 
Rome could afford no tribune like to these. 
A stone is as soft wax, tribunes more hard than 

stones; 
A stone Is silent, and offendeth not; 
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. 
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn? 

Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death: 
For which attempt, the judges have pri-nounc'd 
Jly everlasting doom of banishment. 

Tit. Oh, happy man, they have befriended thee: 

Why, foolisii Lucius, dost thou not perceive 
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? 
Tigers must prey; and Rome affords no prey 
But me and mine: how happy art thou, then, 
From these devourers to be banished! 
But who comes with our brother Marcus here? 

Enter Marcus and Lavinia. 

Marc. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep, 
Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break: 
1 bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 

Tit. will it consume me? Let me see it, then. 

ilfarc. This was thy daughter. 

Tit. Why, Marcus, so she la. 

Luc. Ah, me! this object kills me. 

Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise and look upon her: 
Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand 
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? 
What fool hath added water to the sea? 
Or brought a fagot to bright burning Troy? 
My grief was at the height before thou cam'st. 
And now, like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds: 
Give me a sword, I '11 chop off mj' hands too; 
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; 
And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life; 
In bootless prayer have they been held up, 
And they have serv'd me to effectless use. 
Now all the service I require of them 
Is that the one will help to cut the other. 
'T is well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; 
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 

Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? 

Marc. Oh, that delightful engine of her thoughts. 
That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence. 
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage. 
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear. 

iuc. Oh, sa.y thou for her, who hath done this deed? 

Marc. Oh, thus I found her, straying in the park. 
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer 
That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. 

Tit. It was my dear; and he that wounded her 
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead: 
For now I stand as one upon a rock, 
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea. 
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave. 
Expecting ever when some envious surge 
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
This way to death my wretched sons are gone; 
Here stands my other son, a banish'd man; 
And here my brother, weeping at my woes: 
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn 
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. 
Had I but seen thy pictui-e in this plight 
It would have madded me: what shall I do 
Now I behold thy lively body so? 
Thou hast no hands to wipe aAvay thy tears. 
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee: 
Thy husband he is dead, and for his death 
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. 
Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! 
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew 
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 

Marc. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd 
her husband: 
Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 

Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful. 
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. 
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; 
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. 
Gentle Lavinia. let me kiss thy lips, 
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease: 
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
And thou, and I. sit round about some fountain, 
Looking all downwards to behold our cheeits 
How they are staln'd like meadows yet not dry 
With miry slime left on them by a flood? 
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long 
Tin the fresh taste be taken from that clearness 
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears? 
Or shall we cut away ou hands, like thine? 
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 
Pass the remainder of our hateful days? 
What shall we do? let us that have our tongues 
Plot some device of further misery 
To make us wonder'd at in time to come. 

Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your 
grief 
See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 

Marc. Patience, dear niece; good Titus, dry thine 

Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wote 
Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine. 
For thou, poor man, hast drown 'd it with thine own. 

Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. 

Tit. Mark, Marcus, mai-k! I understand her signs: 
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say 
That to her brother which I said to thee. 
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet. 
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks. 
Oh, whata sympath.v of woe is this; 
As far from help as limbo is from bliss! 



sm 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act IV. 



Enter Aaron. 

Aaron. Titus Ancironipus, my lord the emperor 
Sends thee this word, that if thou love thy sons, 
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
Or any one of you, chop oft' ,vour hand. 
And send It to the king: he, for the same, 
■Will send thoo hither both thy sons alive, 
And that shall be the ransom for their fault. 

lYf. Oh, gracious emjieror! oh, gentle Aaron! 
Did ever raven sing so like a lark. 
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? 
With all my heart, I "11 send the emperor my hand: 
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop It off? 

Lnc. Stay, father; for that noble hand ct thine, 
That hath thrown down so many enemies. 
Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn: 
My youth can better spare my blood than you, 
Anci therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 

il/a7-c. Which of your hands hath not defended 
Rome, 
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe. 
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? 
Oh, none of boih but are of high desert: 
My hand hath been but idle: let It serve 
To ransom my two nephews from their death. 
Then have I kept it to a worthy end. 

Aaron. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go 
along. 
For fear they die before their pardon come. 

ilfarc. My hand shall go. 

Luc. By heaven, it shall not gol 

Tit. Sirs, strive no more; such wither'd herbs as 
these 
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. 

Luc. Swc et father, if I shall be thought thy son. 
Let me redeem my brothers both from death. 

Marc. And for our father's sake, and mother's 
care. 
Now let me show a brother's love to thee. 

Tit. Agree between you; I Aviil spare my hand. 

inc. Then I '11 go fetch an axe. 

Mare. But I will nsethe axe. 

[Kreunt Lucius and Marcus. 

Tit. Come hither, Aaron; I '11 deceive them both' 
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 

Aaron. If that be called deceit, I \ 7111 be honest, 
And never, wliilst I live, deceive men so: 
But I '11 deceive you in another sort. 
And that you '11 say, ere half an hour pass. lAside. 
[He cuts off Titus's hand. 
Enter Lucius and Marcus. 

Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be is des- 
patch'd: 
Good Aaron, give his ma.1esty my hand: 
Tell him, it was a hand that warded him 
From thousand dangers: bid him bury it: 
More hath It merited, that let it have. 
As for my sons, say L account of them 
As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; 
And yot dear too, because I bought mine own, 

Aaron. Igo, Androuicus; and, for thy hand. 
Look by-and-by to have thy sons with thee. 
Their heads I mean: oh, how this villainj' \^Aside. 
Doth fat me witli the very thoughts of it! 
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. XExit. 

Tit. Oh, here I lift this one hand up to heaven. 
And how this feeble ruin to the earth: 
If any power pities wretched tears. 
To that I call: What, wilt thou kneel with me? 

[To Lavinia. 
Do, then, dear heart, for heaven shall hear our 

prayers. 
Or with our sighs we '11 breathe the welkin dim, 
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds. 
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. 

Mare. Oh, brother, speak wi'h possibilities. 
And do not break into these deep extremes. 

Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? 
Then be my passions bottomless with them. 

Marc. But yet let reason govei'n thy lament. 

Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, 
Then into limits could I bind my woes: 
When heaven doth weep.dotl not the earth o'erflow? 
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
Threat'nlng the welkin with his big-svvoU'n face? 
And will thou have a reason for this coil? 
I am the sea. Hark how her sighs do blow: 
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth: 
"Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; 
Then must my earth with her continual tears 
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd: 
For why, my bowels cannot hide her woes, 
But like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
Then give me leave, for losers will have leave 
To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. 

Enter a Messenger with tii'o heads and a hand. 

Messcn. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor: 
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons, 
And here 's thy hand in scorn to thee sent back: 
Thy griefs their sports: thy resolution raock'd: 
That woe is me to think upon thy woes, 
Moie than remembrance of my father's death. [Ex. 

Marc. Now let hot .<Etna cuol in Cicily, 
And be my heart an ever-burning hell: 
These miseries are more than may be borne. 
To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal; 
But sorrow flouted at is double death. 

Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a 
wound. 
And yet detested life not shrink thereat! 
That ever death should let life bear his name. 
Where life hath no more interest but to bi-eathe! 

fLavinia kisses Titus. 

.afare. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless. 
As frozen water to a starved snake. 

Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end? 

JIforc. Now farewell flattery: Die, Andronicus; 
Thou dost not slumber; see thy two son's heads. 
Thy warlike hand; thy mangled daughter here; 
■Thy other banish'd son with his dear sight 
Struck pale and bloodless; ami thy brother, I, 
Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
Ah, now no more will I control my griefs: 
Rend oft thy silver hair, thy other hand 
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight 
The closing up of our most wretched eyes: 
Now Is a time to storm; why art thou still? 

Tit. Ha, ha, ha! 

ilfarc. Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this 
hour. 



Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed: 
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy. 
And would usurp upon my watery eyes. 
And make them blind with tributary tears. 
Then, which way shall I find revenge's cave? 
For tlu'se two heads do seem to speak to me. 
Ana tliieal me, I shall never come to bliss, 
Till all tlu'se mischiefs he return'd again. 
Even in rheir throats that have committed them. 
Come, let me see what task I have to do. 
Vou heavy people, circle me about. 
That I may turn me to each one of you, 
And sweai'uiito my soul to right your wrongs. 
The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head. 
And in this hand the other will I bear. 
And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in these things 
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy 

teeth: 
As for thee, boy, go get thee from m.y sight: 
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay: 
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there; 
And if you love me, as I think you do, 
Let 's kiss and part, for we have much to do. 

[E.reunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia. 

Lnc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father; 
The wofull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome: 
Farewell, proud Rome, till Lucius come again: 
He leaves his pledges, dearer than his life. 
Farewell, Lavinia. my noble sister; 
O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been! 
But now, nor Lucius, nor Lavinia, lives 
But in oblivion and hateful griefs: 
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs. 
And make proud Saturnine and his empress 
Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen. 
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power. 
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit Luc. 

Scene II.— ..4. Room m Titus' Rouse. A Ban- 
gitet set out. 

Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and Young Lucius, a 
boy. 

Tit. So, so; now sit: and look you eat no more 
Than will preserve just so much sti'ength in us 
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot; 
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands, 
And cannot passionate our ten-fold grief 
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine 
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast; 
And when my heart, all mad with misery. 
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, ~ 
Then thus I thump it down. — 
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! 

[To Lavinia. 
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating 
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; 
Or Ret some little knife between thy teeth. 
And just against thy heart make thou a hole; 
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall 
May run into that sink, and, soaking in. 
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 

3Iarc. Fie, brother, fle! teach her not thus to lay 
Such violent hands upon her tender life. 

Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already? 
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
What violent hands can she lay on her life? 
Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;— 
To bid Jineas tell the tale twice o'er. 
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable? 
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands; 
Lest we remember still that we had none.— 
Fie, fie, how frantically I square my talk! 
As if we should forget we had no hands. 
If Marcus did not name the woi'd of hands!— 
Come, let 's fall to: and, gentle girl, eat this:— 
Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says; 
I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; - 
She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, 
Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks:— 
Speechless complalner, I will learn thy thought; 
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect 
As begging hermits in their holy prayers: 
Thou Shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, 
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign. 
But I, of these will wrest an alphabet, 
And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. 

Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep la- 
ments: 
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 

3larc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved, 
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. 

Tit. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, 
And tears will quickly melt thy life away.— 

[Marcus strikes the dish with a knife. 
What dost thpu strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? 

Marc. At iSiat that I have killed, my lord; a fly. 

Tit. Out on thee, murtherer! thou kill'st thy heart; 
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny; 
A deed of death, done on the innocent. 
Becomes not Titus' brother: Get thee gone; 
I see thou art not for my company. 

Marc. Alas, mv lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 

Tit. But how, it that fly had a father and mother? 
How would he hang his slender gilded wings. 
And buzz lamenting doings in the air! 
Poor harmless fly! 

That, with his pretty buzzing melody. 
Came here to make us merry; and thou hast kill'd 
him. 

31arc. Pardon me, sir; 't was a black, ill-favour'd 

fly, 

Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. 

Tit. O, O, O, 
Then pardon me for reprehending thee. 
For thou hast done a charitable deed. 
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him; 
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, 
Come hither purposely to poison me.— 
There 's for thyself, and that 's for Tamora,— 
Ah, sirrah! 

Yet, I think we are not brought so low. 
But that, between us, we can kill a fly. 
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 

Marc. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on 
him, 
He takes false shadows for true substances. 

Tit. Come, take away.— Lavinia, go with me: 
I '11 to thy closet; and go read with thee 
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. — 
Come, boy, ami go with me; thy sight is young, 
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 
Scene 1.— Before Titus's Jlouse. 

Enter Titus and Marcus; then Young Lucius, and 
Lavinia running after him, the boy flying from him 
with his hooks itnaer his arm. 
Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia 
Follows me everywhere, I know not why. 
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! 
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 
Marc. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thy aunt. 
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. 
Boy. Av, when my father was in Rome she did. 
Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by these 

signs? 
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doih she 
mean. 
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee; 
Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
Ay, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
Read to her son than she hath read to thee, 
Sweet poetry, and TuUy's Orator: 
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? 

Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess. 
Unless some flt or frenzy do possess her: 
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, 
Extremity of griefs would make men mad; 
And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 
Ran mad through sorrow: That made me to fear; 
Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt 
Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did. 
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth; 
Which made me down to throw my books, and fly. 
Causeless, perhaps: but pardon me, sweet aunt: 
And madam, if my uncle Marcus go. 
I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 
Mare. Lucius, I will. [Lavinia turn over the 

books which Lucius has let fall. 
Tit. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this? 
Some book there is that she desires to see: 
Which is it, girl, of these? open them, boy. 
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd; 
Come, and take choice of all my library; 
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. 
What book? 

What lifts she tip her arms in sequence thus? 
Marc. I think she means that there was more than 
one 
Confederate in the fact;— ay, more there was; 
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 
Tit. Lticius, what book is that she tosseth so? 
Boy. Grandsire, 't is Ovid's Metamorphoses; 
My mother gave it me. 

Slarc. For love of her that 's gone. 
Perhaps, she cuU'd it from among the rest. 

Tit. Soft! How busily she turns the leaves! 
Help her: wliatwould she find? Lavinia, shall I readf 
This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape; 
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. 
Marc. See, brother, see; note how she quotes thf 

leaves. 
Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl, 
Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was, 
Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? 
See, see! Ay. such a place there is where we did 

hunt, 
(O, Iiad we never, never hunted there!) 
Pattern'd by that the poet here describes. 
By nature made for murthers and for rapes. 

Marc. O, why should nature build so foul a den, 
Unless the gods delight in tragedies? 
Tit. Give-signs, sweet girl, — for here are none but 
friends,— 
What Roman lord It was durst do the deed? 
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst. 
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece's bed? 
Marc, Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by 
me. 
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, 
Inspire me that I may this treason find. 
Jly lord, look here; look here, Lavinia. 

[He writes his name with h is staff, and 
guides it with feet and mouth. 
This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst. 
This, after me. I have writ my name, 
Without the help of any hand at all. 
Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift! 
Write thou, good niece, and here display at last. 
What God will have discover'd for revenge. 
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, 
That we may know the traitors and the truth. 

[She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides 
it with her stumps, and ir rites 
Tit. Oh, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ? 
'Stuprum, Chiron, Demetrius.' 

Marc. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora, 
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed? 

Tit. Magni Dominator poli, 
Tom lentus audis scelera? tarn lentus vides? ' 

Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord; although I know 
There is enough written upon this earth 
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts. 
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; 
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's liope; 
And swear with me,— as with the woful fere. 
And father of that chaste dishonour'd dame. 
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape- 
That we will prosecute, by good advice. 
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 

Tit. 'T is sure enough, an you knew how; 
But it you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware 
The dam will wake, and if she wind you once. 
She 's with the lion deeply still in league. 
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, 
And when he sleeps will she do what she list. 
You are a younp huntsman, Marcus; let it alone; 
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass. 
And with a gad of steel will write these words. 
And lay It by: the angry northern wind 
Will blow these ^ands like Sibyl's leaves abroad. 
And where 's your lesson then? Boy, what say you? 

Boy. 1 say, my lord, that if I were a man. 
Their mother's bed-chamber would not be safe. 
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 

Marc. Ay, that 's my boy; thy father hath full oft 
For his ungrateful country done the like. 
Boy. And, uncle, .so will I, an if I live. 
Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury; 

[Part 40.] 



Scene i.I 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



3!a 



Lucius, I '11 fit thee; and withal, my boy 
Shall carry from me to he empress' sons 
Presents that I intend to send them both: 
Come, come, thou 'It do thy message, wilt thou not? 
Boy. Ay, witli my dagger in their bosoms, grand- 
sire. 
Tit. No, boy, not so; I 'H -each thee another 
course. 
Lavlnia, come; Marcus, look to my house; 
Lucius and I '11 go brave it at the court: 
Ay, marry will we, sir; and we '11 be waited on. 

[Exeiint Titus, Lavinia, and Boy. 
Marc. O heavens! can you hear a good man 
groan. 
And not relent, or not compassion him? 
Marcus, attend him in his extasy, 
That hath more scars of sorrow in ills heart. 
Than foempn's marks upon his batter'd siiield; 
But yet so just, that tie will not levonge: 
Revenge, ye heavens, for old Anilronicus. [Exit. 

Scene II.— ^ lioom hi the Palace. 

Enter Aaron. Chiron, and Demetrius at one door; 

at another door Young Lucius aiui Attendant, with 
a bundle of iccaponSy and verses leHttcn upon them. 

Chi. Demetrius, here 's'the son of Lucius; 
He liatii some message to deliver us. 

Aaron. Ay, some mad message from liis mad grand- 
father. 

Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, 
I greet your honours from Androniciis; 
And pray the Roman gods confound you both. 

\Aside. 

Demct. Gramercy , lovely Lucius, what 's the news? 

Boij. That you are both deciphered, that "s t"je news, 
For villains mark'd with rape [Aside]. May it please 

• you. 
My grandsire well-advis'd, hath sent by me 
The goodliest weapons of his armoury. 
To gratify vour honourable youth. 
The liope of Rome; for so he bade me say; 
And so I do, an<l witli his gifts present 
Your lordships, that, whenever you have need. 
You may be armed and appointed well. 
And so I leave you both: [.4.<!ide] tiike bloody vil- 
lains. [Exeunt Boy and Attendant. 

Demet. What 's here? a scroll; and written round 
about? 
Let 's see: 

* Integer vita*-^ scelerisque punts. 
Non eget Mauri jaculis^ 7ue area.' 

Chi. O 't is a verse in Horace; I know it well: 
I read it in the grammar lon?j: ago. 

Aaron. Ay, just a verse in Horace; right, you have 
it. 
Kow, what a thine; it is to be an assi 
Here 's no sound jest! the old man hath found their 

guilt. 
And sends the weapons wrapp'd about with lines, 
That wound, beyond tlielr feeling, to the quick: 
But were our witty empress well afoot, 
Slie would applaud Andronicus' conceit. 
But let her rest in her unrest awhile. 

[The preceding seven lines are spoTcenaside. 
And now, young lords, was 't not a happy star 
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so. 
Captives, to be advanced to this height? 
It did nie pood, before the palace gate. 
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 

Vemet. But me more good, to see so great a lord 
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. 

Aaron. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius? 
Did you not use his daughter very friendly? 

Vemet. I would we had a thousand Roman dames 
At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. . 

Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. 

Aaron. Here lacks but your mother for to say 
Amen. 

Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more. 

i/emet. Come, let us go, and pray to ail the gods, 
For our beloved mother in her pains. 

Aaron. Pray to the devils; the gods have given 
ns over. [Aside. Trumxiets sound. 

Demet. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish 
thus? 

Clii. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. 

J)emet. Soft; wlio comes here? 

Enter Nurse, with a blackamoor child. 

Kurse Good morrow, lords; 
O, teil me, did you see Aaron, the Moor? 

Aaron. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at ail. 
Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now? 

Xurse. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone! 
Now help, oi- woe betide thee evermore! 

Aaron. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep! 
AVhat dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms? 

Nurse. O, that which I would hide ft-om heaven's 
eye,— 
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace; 
Siie is dellver'd, lords, she is deUver'd. 

Aaron. To whom? 

Nurse. I mean she is brought a-bed. 

Aaron. Well, God give her good rest! What liath 
he sent hei-? 

Nurse. A devil. 

Aaion. Why, then she is the devil's dam; a joyful 
Issue. 

Nurse. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful Is- 
sue; 
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad. 
Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. 
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal. 
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 

Aaron. Out, you whore! is black so base a hue? 
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure. 

Demet. Villain, what hast thou done? 

Aaron. That which thou canst not undo. 

Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 

Aaron. Villain, I have done thy mother. 

Demet. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone. 
Wo -to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice! 
Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a flend. 

Chi. It shall not live. 

Aaron. It shall not die. 

Nurse. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so. 

Aaron. What! must it, nurse? Then let no man 
but I 
Do execution on my flesh and blood. 

Demet. I '11 broach the tadpole on my rapier's point; 
Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon despatch it. 

Aarcm. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels 
up. [Taies ffte Child /rom (he Nurse. 



Stay, murtherous villains, will you kill your brother? 

Now, by the burning tapers of the sky. 

That shone so brightly when this boy was got. 

He dies upon my sclmetar's sharp point 

That touches this my first-born son and heir. 

I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, 

With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood. 

Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, 

Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 

What, what! ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! 

Ye white lin'd walls' ye ale-house painted signs! 

Coal-black is bettor than another hue. 

In that it scorns to bear another hue: 

For all the water in the ocean 

Can never turn the swan's black legs to white. 

Although she lave them hourly in the flood: 

Tell the empress from me, I am of age 

To keep mine own, excuse It how she can. 

Demet. Wilt thou betray tliy noble mistress thus? 

Aaron. My mistress is my mistress; this, myself; 
The vigour, and the picture of my youth: 
This before all the world do I prefer; 
This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe. 
Or some of you shall sm.oke for it in Rome. 

Demet. By this our mother is for ever sham'd. 

Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. 

Nurse. 'The emperor, in his rage, will doom her 
death. 

Chi. I blush to think upon this ignominy. 

Aaron. Why, there 's the privilege your beauty 

Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing 

The close enacts and counsels of the heart: 

Here 's a young lad fram'd of another leer. 

Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father. 

As who should say, 'Old lad, I am thine own.' 

He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed 

Of that self-blood that first gave life to you; 

And from that womb, where you imprison'd were. 

He is enfranchised and come to light: 

Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, 

Althougli my seal be stamped in his face. 

Nurse. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress? 

Demet. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done. 
And we will all subscribe to thy advice: 
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 

Aaron. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. 
My son and I will have the wind of you: 
Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety. 

Demet. How many women saw this child of his? 

Aaron. Whj', so, brave lords: When we join in 
league 
I am a lamb; but if you brave tlie Moor, 
Tlie chafed ijoar, the mountain lioness, 
Ihe ocean swells not so as Aaron storms: 
But say again, how many saw the child? 

Nurse. Cornelia the midwife, and myself. 
And no one else but the deUver'd empress. 

Aaron. The empress, the midwife, and yourself; 
Two may keep counsel when the third's away: 
Go to the empress, tell her this I said: [He kills her. 
Weke, weke— so cries .a pig prepar'd o the spit. 

Demet. What mean'st thou, Aaron? wherefore 
didst thou this? 

Aaron. Oh, lord, sir, 't is a deed of policy; 
Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours? 
A long-tongued babbling gossip! No, lords, no: 
And now be it known to you my full intent. 
Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman; 
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed; 
His child is like to her, fair as you are: 
Go pack with him, and give the mother gold. 
And tell them both the circumstance of all. 
And how by this their child shall be advanc'd. 
And be received for the emperor's heir. 
And substituted in place of mine. 
To calm this tempest whirling in the court; 
And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
Hark ye, lords; ye see I have given her physic, 

[Pointing to the Nurse, 
And you must needs bestow her funeral; 
The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms' 
This done, see that you take no longer days, 
But send the midwife presently to me. 
The midwife and the nurse well made away. 
Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 

Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air with 
secrets. 

Demet. For this care of Tamora, 
Herself and hers are liighly bound to thee. 

[Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron, bearing 
off tlie Nurse. 

Aaron. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow 
flies; 
There to dispose this treasure in mine arms. 
And secretly to greet the empress' friends: 
Come on, you thick-Iipp'd slave, I '11 bear you 

hence; 
For it is you that puts ns to our shifts: 
I '11 make you feed on berries, and on roots. 
And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat. 
And cabin in a cave, and bring you up 
To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit. 

Scene III.— .4 public Place in Pome. 

Enter Titus, Marcus, Young Lucius, and other Gen- 
tlemen, ivith botes, and Titus bears the arrows with 
letters on them. 

Tit. Come, Marcus; come, kinsmen; this is the 
way: 
Sir boy, let me see your archery; 
Look ye draw home enough, and 't is there straight. 
Terras Astrcea religuit, be you remember'd, Mar- 
cus. 
She 's gone, she 's fled. Sirs, take you to your tools; 
You, cousins, shall go sound the ocean. 
And cast your nets. Happily, you may find her in 

the sea; 
Yet, there 's as little justice as at land: 
No; Pulilius and Sempronius, you must do it; 
'T is you must dig with mattock and with spade. 
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth; 
Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
I pray you, deliver him this petition; 
Teil him it is for justice and for aid. 
And that it comes from old Andronicus, 
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. 
Ah, Rome! well, well, I made thee miserable 
What time I threw the people'3 suffrages 
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. 
Go, get .vou gone, and pray be careful all. 
And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd: 
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hencer 



And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 

Marc. O, Publius, Is not this a heavy case, 
To see thy noble uncle thus distract? 

Piib. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns. 
By day and night t' >atteiid him carefully; 
And feed his humor kindly as we may. 
Till time beget some careful remedy. 

Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war 
Take wreak on Rome for his ingratitude. 
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 

Tit. Publius, how now? how now, my masters? 
What, have you met with her? 

P«6. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word. 
If you will have revenue from hell you shall: 
Marry, for Justice she is so employ'd. 
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, 
I Sp that perforce you must needs stay a time. 
I Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays. 
I 'il dive into the burning lake l:>e!o\v, 

nd pull her out of Acheron by the heel.s. 
jiXarcus, we are but shrubs; no cedars we. 
No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size; 
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back. 
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can 

bear: 
And sith there is no justice in earth nor hell. 
We will solicit heaven, and move the gods. 
To send down justice for to wreak our.wrongs. 
Come to this gear; you are a good archer, Marcus. 

[He gives them the arroivs. 
Ad Jovem, that 's for you : here, ad Apollinem: 
Ad Martem, that 's for myself; 
Here, boy, to Pallas; here, to Mercury: 
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine, 
You were as good to shoot against the wind. 
To it, boy: Marcus, loose when I bid; 
Of my word, I have written to elTect, 
There 's not a god left unsolicited. 

Mlarc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shaftes Into the 
court: 
We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 

Tit. Now, masters, draw. Oh, well said, Lucius! 

[They shoot. 
Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it, Pallas. 

Marc. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; 
Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 

Tit. Ha, ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou 
done? 
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 

Marc. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius 
shot, 
The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock. 
That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court. 
And who should find them but the empress' villain: 
She laugh'd, and told the Moor lie should not choose 
But give them to his master for a present. 

Tit. Why, there it goes; God give your lordship 
joy. 

Enter Clown, with a basket and two pigeons in it. 

Tit. News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is 
come. 
Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters? 
Shall I iiave justice? wliat says Jupiter? 

Cloien. Ho! tiie gibbet-maker? he says that he hath 
taken them down again, for the man must not le 
hanged till the next week. 

Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? 

Clown. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter: 
I never drank with him in all my life. 

Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? 

Clown. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. 

Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? 

Clown. From heaven? alas, sir, I never came there. 
God forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in 
my young days! Why, I am going with my pigeons 
to the tribunal Plebs, to take up a matter of brawl 
betwixt m.v uncle and one of the imperial's men. 

Marc, why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for 
your oration; and let him deliver tlie pigeons to the 
emperor from you. 

Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the em- 
peror witli a grace? 

Clown. Nay, truly, sir; I could never say grace in 
all my life. 

Tit. Sirrah, come hither; make no more ado. 
But give your pigeons to tlie emperor: 
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
Hold, hold; meanwhile here 's money for thy 

charges. 
Give me pen and ink. 
Sirrah, can you with grace deliver a supplication? 

Clown. Ay, sir. 

Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And when 
you come to him, at the first approach you must 
kneel; then kiss his foot: then deliver up your 
pigeons; and then look for your reward. I '11 be at 
hand, sir; see you do it bravely. 

Clown. I warrant .vou, sir, let me alone. 

Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it. 
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration. 
For thou hast made it like an iiumble suppliant. 
And when thou hast given it the emperor, 
Knock at my door, and tell me what lie says. 

Clown. God be witli you, sir; I will. [Exit. 

Tit. Come, Marcus, let us go; Publius, follow me. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene W.— Before the Palace. 

Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, 
Lords, anf/. others. The Emperor brings the arrows 
in his hand that Titus shot at him. 
Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? was ever 
seen 

An emperor in Rome thus overborne. 

Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent 

Of <jgal justice, used in such contempt? 

My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods. 

However these disturbers of our peace 

Buzz in the people's ears, there 's nought hath pass'd. 

But even with law-, against the wilful sons 

Of old Andronicus. And what an if 

His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits: 

Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks. 

His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness? 

And now, he writes to heaven for his redress; 

See, here 's to Jove, and this to Mercury, 

■This to Apollo, this to the god of war: 

Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome! 

What 's this, but libelling against the senate. 

And blazoning our unjustice evea-ywhere? 

A goodly humour, is it not, my lords? 

As who would say, in Rome no justice were: 



8S4 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



[Act V. 



But If I live, his feigned oxstasies 

Shall be no shelter to these outraKt's; 

But he and his shall know that Justice lives 

In Saturnlnus' health, whom. If he sleep. 

He '11 so awake, as he In fui-y shall 

Cut o(T the proud'st consplvator that lives. 

Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
Lord of my life, commander of mv thoughts. 
Calm thee, and bear the faults of tltus' age, 
Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, 
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his 

heart; 
And rather comfort his distressed plight, 
Than prosecute the meanest or the best 
For these contempts: Why, thus it shall become 
HIghvvltted Tamora to glose with all: 
But, Tltus, I have touclrd thee to the quick, 
Thy life-blood out: If Aaron now be wise. 
Then Is all safe, the anchor 's in the port. [Asidf. 

Enter Clown. 

How now, good fellow, would'st thou speak with us? 

Cloivn. Yea, forsooth, an your mistership be impe- 
rial. 

ram. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. 

Clotvn. "t is he. God and saint Stephen give you 
good den; I have brought you a letter and a couple 
of pigeons here. 

fSaturninus reads the letter. 

Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. 

Clovm. How much money must 1 have? 

rani. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd 

Cloicn. Hang'd! by 'r lady, then I have brought up 
B neck to a fair end. [Exit guarded. 

Sat. Despltful and Intolerable \vrong. 
Shall I endure this monstrous villainy? 
I know from whence this same device proceeds: 
May this be borne, as if his traitorous sons, 
Tliat died by law for murther of our brother. 
Have by my means been buteher'd wrongfully? 
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair; 
Nor age, nor honor, shall shape privilege: 
For this proud mock I '11 be thy slaughterman. 
Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, 
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 

Enter j5Erailius. 

Sat. What news with thee, .ffimilius? 

Aimil. Arm, my lord; Rome never had more cause! 
The Goths have gather'd head, and with a power 
Of high-resolved men, bent to the spoil. 
They nither march amain, under conduct 
Of Lucius, son of old Andronicus; 
Who threats in course of this revenge to do 
As much as ever Coriolanus did. 

Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? 
These tidings nip me; audi hand the head 
As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with 

storms: 
Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach: 
'T is he the common people love so m\ich! 
Myself hath often heard them say, 
(When I liave walked like a private man,) 
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully. 
And they have wish'd that Lucius were their empfl- 
ror. 

Tarn. Why should you fear? is not your city 
strong? 

Sat. Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius, 
And will revolt from me to succour him. 

Tarn. King, be thy thoughts Imperious, like thy 
name. 
Is the sun dimmed, that gnats do fly in it? 
The eagle suiters little birds to sing. 

And is not careful what they mean thereby 
Knowing that with the shadow of his wing 

He can at pleasure stint their melody. 
Even so may'st thou the giddy men of Rome! 
Then cheer thy spirit: for know, thou emperor, 
Iwill enchant the old Andronicus, 
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous 
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep; 
When as the one is wounded with the bait. 
The other rotted with delicious feed. 

Sat. But he will net entreat his son for us. 

Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will; 
For I can smooth and fill his aged ear 
With golden promises, that, were his heart 
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, 
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. 
Go thou before to be our ambassador; 

[To JEmilius. 
Say that the emperor requests a parley 
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting. 
Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 

Sat. .^milius, do this message honourably: 
And if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. 

uSmil. Your bidding shall I do eitectually. 

[Exit ^milius. 

Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus; 
And temper him, with all the art I have. 
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, 
And bury all thy fear in my devices. 

Sat. Then go successantly, and plead to him. 

[Exeunt. 
ACT V. 
Scene I.— Plains near Home. 

Flourish. Enter Lucius, with an army of Goths, 
with drum. 

Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, 
I have received letters from great Rome, 
Which signify what hate they bear their emperor, 
And how desirous of our sight tliey are. 
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness. 
Imperious and impatient of your wrongs; 
And wherein Rome hath done you any scathe 
Let him make treble satisfaction. 

Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the great Androni- 
cus, 
Wliose name was once our terror, now otir comfort; 
Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds, 
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt. 
Be bold in us; we '11 follow where thou lead'st, 
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day. 
Led by tlielr master to the flovver'd flelds. 
And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora: 
And, as he saith, so say we all with him. 

Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all. 
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth? 



Enter a Goth, leading Aaron with his child in 
his arms. 

Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray 'd. 
To gaze upon a ruinous monastery. 
And as I earnestly did fix mine eye 
Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
I heard a child cry underneath a wall: 
I made unto the noise, when soon I heard 
The crying babe controU'd with this discourse: 
' Peace, tawny slave, half me, and half thy dam! 
Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art. 
Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look, 
VIII in, thou niight'st have been an emperor. 
Rut where the bull and cow are both milk-white. 
They never do beget a coal-black calf: 
Peace, villain, peace!'— even thus he rates the babe,— 
'For I must hear thee to a trusty Goth, 
Who when he knows thou art the empress' babe. 
Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.' 
With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, 
Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither 
To u.se as you think needful of the man. 

Lnc. Oh worthy Goth, this is the Incarnate devil 
That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand: 
This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye; 
And here 's the base fruit of his burning lust. 
Say, wall-eyed slave, whither would'st thou convey 
This growing image of thy flendlike face? 
Why dost not speak? what, deaf? not a word? 
A halter, soldiers; hang him on this tree. 
And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 

Aaron. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. 

Lt(c. Too like the sire for ever being good. 
FIr.st hang the child that he may see it sprawl, 
A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 

Aaron. Get me a ladder! Lucius, save the child. 
And bear it from me to the empress: 
If thou do this, I 'II show thee wond'rous things. 
That highly may advantage thee to hear; 
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
I '11 speak no more, but vengeance rot yoti all. 

Luc. Say on, and it it please me which thou 
speak'st. 
Thy child shall live, and I will see It nourish'd. 

Aaron. An if it please thee? why, assure thee, 
Lucius, 
'T will vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak; 
For I must talk of murthers, rapes, and massacres. 
Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
Complots of mischief, treason, villainies 
Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd; 
And this shall all be buried by my death, 
Unless thou swear to me my child shall live. 

Luc. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live. 

Aaron. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin. 

Lnc. Who should I swear by? thou bellev'st no 
God; 
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath? 

Aaron. What if I do not, as indeed I do not: 
Yet, for I know thou art religious. 
And hast a thing within thee called conscience. 
With twenty popish ti-icks and ceremonies. 
Which I have seen thee careful to observe. 
Therefore I urge thy oath; for that I know 
An idiot holds this bauble for a God, 
And keeps the oath which by that God he swears; 
To that I 'II urge him: therefore thou shalt vow 
By that same God, what God soe'er it be. 
That thou ador'st, and hast in reverence. 
To save my boy, to nourish, and bring hira up; 
Or else I will discover nought to thee. 

Luc. Even by my God I swear to thee I will. 

Aaron. First know thou, I begot him on the em- 
press. 

lAtc. Oh, most Insatiate, luxurious woman! 

Aaron. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity. 
To that which thou shall hear of me anon. 
'T was her two sons that murther'd Bassianus; 
They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her. 
And cut her hands off, and trimm'd her as thou 
sawest. 

Luc. Oh, detestable villain! call'st thovi that trim- 
ming? 

Aaron. Why she wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd. 
And 't was trim sport for them that had the doing of 
it. 

Luc. Oh, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself! 

Aaron. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them: 
That codding spirit had they from tlieir mother. 
As sure a card as ever won the set: 
That bloody mind I think they learn 'd of me, 
As true a dog as ever fought at head: 
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. 
I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole. 
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay; 
I wrote the letter that thy father found. 
And hid the gold, within the letter mention'd; 
Confederate with the queen and her two sons. 
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue. 
Wherein i had no stroke of mischief in it? 
I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand; 
And, when I had it, drew myself apart. 
And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. 
I pry'd me through tlie crevice of a wall. 
When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads; 
Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily. 
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his: 
And when I told the empress of this sport,' 
She swounded almost at my pleasing tale. 
And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. 

Goth. What, canst thou say all this, and never 
blush? 

Aaron. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 

Luc. Art thoti not sorry for these heinous deeds? 

Aaron. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. 
Even now I curse the day,— and yet I think 
Few come within the compass of my curse, — 
Wherein I did not some notorious ill: 
As kill a man or else devise his death; 
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; 
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; 
Set deadly enmity between two friends; 
Make poor men's cattle break their neclcs; 
Set fire on barns and haystacks in the night. 
And bid the owners quench them with their tears: 
Oft have I dlgg'd up dead men from their graves. 
And set them upright at their dear friends doors, 
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; 
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees. 
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 
' Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' 
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things 
As willingly as ope would kill a fly 



And nothing grieves me heartily indeed. 
But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 

Luc. Bring down the devil, for he must not die 
So sweet a death as hanging presently. 

Aaron. If there be devils, would I were a devil, 
To live and burn In everlasting Are, 
So I might have your company in hell. 
But to torment you with my bitter tongue! 

Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no 
moi-e. 

Enter a Goth. 

Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome 
-Desires to be admitted to your presence. 

Lrtc, Let him come near. 

Enter .Xmllius. 
Welcome, .S;milius: What s the news from Rome? 

jEmil. Lord Lucius, and your princes of the 
Goths, 
The Roman emperor greets you all by me; 
And, for lie understands you are in arms. 
He craves a parley at your father's house. 
Willing you to demand your hostages. 
And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 

Go^/i. What says our general? 

Lnc. .ffimilius, let the emperor give his pledges 
Unto my father, and my uncle Marcus, 
And we will come: march away. 

[Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene U.— Before Titus's House. 

Enter Tamora, Chiron, and Demetrius, disguised. 

Tarn. Thus In this strange and sad habiliment 
I will encounter with Andronicus, 
And .say I am Revenge, sent from below^. 
To join with him and right his heinous wrongs: 
Knock at his study, where they say he keeps, 
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge: 
Tell him Revenge is come to join with him. 
And work confusion on his enemies. 

[They knock, and Titus opens his Studp door. 

Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation? 
Is it your trick to make me ope the door, 
That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
And all my study be to no effect? 
You are decelv'd, for what I mean to do 
See here in bloody lines I have set down; 
And what is written shall be executed. 

Tarn. Titus, lam come to talk with thee. 

Tit. No, not a word: how can I grace my talk. 
Wanting a hand to give it action? 
Thou hast the odds of me: therefore no more. 

Tarn. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk 
with me. 

Tit. I am not mad; I know thee well enough. 
Witness this wretched stump, witness these rimson 

lines. 
Witness these trenches made by grief and care. 
Witness the tiring day and heavy night. 
Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora: 
Is not thy coming for my other hand? 

Tarn. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora; 
She is thy enemy, and I thy friend. 
I am Revenge, sent from the Infernal kingdom. 
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind. 
By working wreakfiil vengeance on thy foes: 
Comedown and welcome me to this world's light; 
Confer with me of murther and of death. 
There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place, 
No vast obscurity or misty vale, 
Where bloody Murther, or detested Rape, 
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out: 
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name- 
Revenge— which makes the foul offenders quake. 

Tit. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me 
To be a torment to mine enemies? 

Tarn. 1 am; therefore come down, and welcome 
me. 

Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee. 
Lo, by thy side where Rape, and Murther, stands! 
Now give some 'suraiice that thou art Revenge; 
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels; 
And then I 'U come and be thy waggoner. 
And whirl along with thee about the globes. 
Provide thee two proper palfreys, as black as jet. 
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away. 
And find our murtlierers in their guilty caves. 
And when thy car Is loaden with their heads, 
I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel 
Trot like a servile footman all day long. 
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east 
Until his very downfall in the sea. 
And, day by day, I '11 do this heavy task. 
So thou destroy Rapine and Murther there. 

Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. 

Tit. Are they thy ministers? what are they call'd? 

Tarn. Rape and Murther; therefore called so, 
'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. 

Tit. Good lord, how like the empress' sons they 
are, ' 

And'you the empress! but worldly men 
Hivve miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 
Oh, sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee. 
And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, 
I will embrace thee in it by-and-by. 

[Titus closes the door 

Tarn. This closing with him flts his lunacy. 
Whate'er I forge to feed his brainsick flts. 
Do you uphold, and maintain in your speeches; 
For now he firmly takes me tor Revenge, 
And, being credulous In his mad thought, 
I '11 make nim send for Lucius, his son; 
And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
I '11 find some cunning practice out of hand 
To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
Or, at the least, make them his enemies: ' 

See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. 
Enter Titus. 

Tit. Long Ivave I been forlorn, and all for thee. 
Welcome, dread fury, to my woful house; 
Rapine, and murther, you are welcome too. 

How like the empress and her sons youare! 
Wei! you are fitted, had you but a Moor! 
Could not hell afford you such a devil' 
For well I wot the empress never wags 
But in her company there is a Moor; 
And, would you represent our queen aright. 
It were convenient you had sucn a devil: 
But welcome as you are: What shall we do? 

Tarn. What would'st thou have us do, Adronlcus? 

Demet. Show me a murtherer: 1 '11 deal with him. 



i 



Scene ii.J 



TITUS ANDRONICUS. 



325 



Chi. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, 
And I am sent to be revenft'd on him. 

Tarn. Show me a thousand that have done thee 
wrong, 
And I will be revenged on them all. 

Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of 
Rome, 
And when,thou flnd'st ii man that 's like thyself. 
Good Murther, stab liini; he 's a murtherer. 
CrO thou with him; and wlien it is thy hap 
To find another tliat is like to tliee. 
Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher. 
Go thou with them; and in the emperor's court 
There Is a queen attended by a Moor; 
U'ell niay'st thou know her by thy own proportion. 
For up and down she doth resemble thee. 
I pray thee do on them some violent death: 
They have been violent to me and mine. 

Tarn. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do. 
But would it please thee, good .'Vdronicus, 
To .send for Lucius, thy thricevaliant son, 
"VVho leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, 
And bid him come and banquet at thy house: 
When he is here, even at thy solemn feast, 
I will bring in the empress and her sons. 
The emperor himself, and all thy foes; 
And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel; 
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
What says Adronicus to this device? 
Enter Marcus. 

Tit. Marcus, my brother, 't is sad Titus calls. 
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius: 
Thou Shalt inquire him out among the Goths. 
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him 
Some of the chlefest princes of the Goths; 
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are. 
Tell him the emperor, and the empress too, 
Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. 
This do thou for my love; and so let him. 
As he regards his aged father's life. 

Marc. This will I do, and soon return again. [Exit. 

Tam. Now will I hence about my business. 
And take my ministers along with me. 

Tit. Nay, nay; let Rape and Murther stay with 
me. 
Or else I '11 call my brother back again, 
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 

Tam. What say you boys? will you bide with him. 
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor. 
How I have goveru'd our determined jest? 
Yield to his humor, smooth and speak him fair. 
And tarry with him till 1 turn again. [Aside. 

Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me 
mad. 
And win o'erreach them in their own devices: 
A pair of cursed hell-hounds, and their dam. [Aside. 

bemet. Madam, depart at pleasure: leave us here. 

Tam. Farewell, Andronicus; Revenge now goes 
To lay a complot to betray thy foes. [Exit Tam. 

Tit. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, fare- 
well. 

Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd? 

Tit. Tut! I have work enough for you to do. 
Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine. 
Enter Publius, and others. 

JPiib. What is your will? 

Tit. Know you these two? 

Pub. The empress' sons, I take them, Chiron, 
Demetrius. 

Tit. Fie, Publius, fie; thou art too much dccelv'd: 
The one is Murther, Rape is the other's name; 
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius: 
Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them. 
Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour. 
And now I find it; therefore bind them sure. 
And stop their mouths it they begin to crj-. 

[Exit Titus. Publius, cfec, lay hold on Chiron 
and Demetrius. 

Chi. Villains, forbear! we are the empress' sons. 

Pub. And therefore do we what we are command- 
ed. 
Stop close their mouths; let them, not speak a word; 
Is he sure bouna? look that you bind them fast. 
Enter Titus Andronicus with a knife, and Lavinia 
with a basin. 

Tit. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are 
bound: 
Sirs, stop their mouths; let them not speak to me. 
But let tnem hear what fearful words I utter. 
Oh, villains, Chiron and Demetrius! 
Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with 

mud; 
This goodly summer with your winter mlx'd. 
You kill'd her husband; and for that vild fault 
Two of her brothers were cpndemn'd to death. 
My hand cut olt, and made a merry Jest; 
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more 

dear 
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity. 
Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. 
What would you say It I should let you speak? 
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. 
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats. 
Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold 
The basin that receives your guilty blood. 
You know your mother means to feast with mej 
And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad. 
Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust. 
And with your blood and it I '11 make a paste, 
And of the paste a cofBn I will rear. 
And make two pasties of your shameful heads. 
And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam, 
Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. 
This is the feast that I have bid her to. 
And this the banquet she shall surfeit on: 
For worse than Philomel you used my danghterj 
And wo)se than Progne I will be reveng'd. 
And now prepare your throats: Lavinia, come. 
Receive the blood; and when that they are dead, 
Let me go grind their bones to powder small, 
And with this hateful liquor temper it, 



And in that paste let their vlld heads be bak'd. 
Come, come, be every one officious 
To make this banquet, which I wish may prove 
More stern and bloody than the centaur's feast. 

[He cutK their throats. 
So; now bring them in, for I '11 play the cook. 
And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 

[Exe.nnt. 

Scene III.— Titus's House. A Pavilion. 
Enter Lucius, Marcus, and the Goths, with Aaron. 

Liie. Uncle Marcus, since 't is my father's mind 
That I repair to Rome, I am content. 
Goth. And ours, with thine; befall what fortune 

will. 
Lite. Good uncle, take you In this barbarous Moor, 
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil; 
Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him. 
Till he be brought unto the empress' face. 
For testimony of her foul proceeding: 
And see the ambush of our friends be strong, 
I fear the emperor means no good to us. 

Aaron. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear. 
And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth 
The venomous malice of my swelling heart! 

Luc. Away, inhuman dog, unhallow'd slave! 
Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. 
The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. 

[Flourish. 
Sound trumpets. Enter Saturnlnus and Tamora, 
loif/i Tribunes and others. 
Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than 

one? 
Luc. What boots It thee to call thyself a sun? 
Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the 
parle! 
These quarrels must be quietly debated. 
The feast is ready, which the careful Titus 
Hath ordained to an honourable end; 
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome: 
Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your 
places. 
Sat. Marcus, we will. [Hautboys. 

Enter Titus, like a cook, placing the meat on the 

table; Lavinia, with a veil over her face; Young 

Lucius, and others. 

Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, dread 
queen; 
Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; 
And welcome, all; although the cheer be poor, 
'T will fill your stomachs; please you eat of It. 

Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? 

Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well. 
To entertain your highness and your empress. 

Tam. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus. 

Tit. An If your highness knew my heart, you were: 
My lord the emperor, resolve me this: 
Was it well done of rash Virginius, 
To slay his daughter with his own right hand, 
Because she was enforc'd, stain'd and deflour'd? 

Sat. It was, Andronicus. 

Tit. Your reason, mighty lord! 

Sat. Because the girl should not survive her shame, 
And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 

Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; 
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant. 
For me, most wretched, to perform the like. 
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee. 
And with thy shame thy father's sorrow die. 

[He kills her. 

Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind? 

Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me 
blind. 
I am as woful as Virginius was. 
And have a thousand times more cause than he 
To do this outrage; and it is now done. 

Sot. What, was she ravish'd? tell who did the 
deed? 

Tit. , Will 't please you eat, will 't please your high- 
ness feed? 

Tam. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter? 

Tit. Not I: 't was Chiron and Demetrius. 
They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue. 
And they, 't was they, that did ner all this wrong. 

Sat. Go fetch them hither to us presently. 

Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pie. 
Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, 
Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 
'T Is true, 't is true, witness my knife's aliarp point. 
[He stabs Tamora. 

Sat. Die, frantic ^vretch, for this accursed deed! 

[He kills Titus. 

Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed? 
There 's meed for meed; death for a deadly deed. 

[He kills Saturnlnus. The people disperse 
in terror. 

Marc. You sad-f ac'd men, people and sons of Rome, 
By uproars sever'd, like a night of fowl 
Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
O, let me teach you how to knit again 
This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf. 
These broken limbs again into one body; 
Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself; 
And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to. 
Like a forlorn and desperate castaway. 
Do shameful execution on herself. 
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age. 
Grave witnesses of true experience. 
Cannot induce you to attend my words, 
Speak, Rome's dear friend, [To Lucius] as erst our 

ancestor, 
When with ills solemn tongue he did discourse 
To love sick Dido's sad attending ear. 
The story of that baleful burning night. 
When subtle Greeks surpris'd king Priam's Troy. 
Tell us what Simon hath bewitch'd our ears. 
Or who hath brought the fatal engine in 
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. 
My heart is not compact of fiint nor steel. 
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief; 
But floods of tears will drown my oratory. 
And break my very utterance, even in the time 



When it should move you to attend me most. 

Lending your kind commiseration. 

Here Is a captain; let hliii tell the tale; 

Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. 

Lur. Then, noble auditory, be It known to you, 
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
Were they that murthered our emperor's brother, 
And they it was that ravished our sister; 
For their fell faults our brothtys were beheaded; 
Our father's tears despised, and basely eozen'd 
Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out. 
And sent her enemies unto the grave: 
Lastly, myself, unkindly banished; 
The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
To beg relief amongst Rome's enemies, 
Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears. 
And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend: 
And I am the turn'd forth, be it known to you, 
That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood. 
And from her bosom took the enemy's point. 
Sheathing the steel in my advent'roiis body. 
Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I; 
My scars can witness, dumb although they are. 
That my report is Just and full of truth. 
But soft, methlnks I do digress too much. 
Citing my worthless praise. Oh, pardon me. 
For, when no friends are by, men praise themselves. 

Mare. Now Is my turn to speak; behold this child! 
Of this was Tamora delivered, 
Tlie issue of an irreligious Moor, 
Chief architect and plotter of these woes. 
The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. 
Now judge what cause had "Titus to revenge 
These wrongs, unspeakable past patience. 
Or more that any living man could bear. 
Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Ro- 
mans? 
Have ye done aught amiss? show us wherein, 
And, from the place where you behold us now. 
The poor remainder of Andronicl 
Will hand in hand all headlong cast us down. 
And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains 
And make a mutual closure of our house: 
Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall, 
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. 

JEmil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome. 
And bring our emperor gently in thy hand,— 
Lucius, our emperor; for well I know 
The common voice do cry It shall be so. 

Marc. Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal emperor! 
Go, go, into old Titus' sorrowful house. 
And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death. 
As punishment for his most wicked life. 

[To Attendants. 
Lucius, all hall to Rome's gracious governor! 

Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so. 
To heal Rome's liarms, and wipe away her woe: 
But, gentle people, give me aim awhile. 
For nature puts me to a heavy ta.sk! 
Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near. 
To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. 
Oh, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 

[Kisses Titus. 
These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face. 
The last true duties of thy noble son. 

Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss. 
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips. 
Oh, were the sum of these that I should pay 
Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them. 

Imc. Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn of 
us 
To melt in showers. Thy grandslre lov'd thee well; 
Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee. 
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; 
Many a matter hath he told to thee. 
Meet and agreeing with thine infancy; 
In that respect, then, like a loving child. 
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, 
Because kind nature dotn require it so; 
Friends should associate friends In grief and woe. 
Bid him farewell, commit him to the grave. 
Do him that kindness and take leave of him. 

Boy. O, grandslre, grandslre, even with all my 
heart 
Would I were dead, so you did live again! 
O, Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping; 
1^ tears will choke me if I ope my mouth. 

Enter Attendants with Aaron. 

Roman. You sad Andronicl, have done with woes! 
Give sentence on this execrable wretch, 
That hath been breeder of these dire events. 

Luc, Set him breast deep in earth, and famish 
him: 
There let him staud, and rave, and cry for food: 
If any one relieves or pities him. 
For the offence he dies; this is our doom. 
Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth. 

Aaron. Ah! why should wrath be mute, and fury 
dumb? 
I am no baby, I, that with base prayers 
I should repent the evils I have done: 
Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did 
Would I perform, if I might have my will: 
If one good deed in all my life I did, 
I do repent it from my ver.y soul. 

Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor 
hence. 
And give him burial in his father's grave. 
My father and Lavinia shall forthwith 
Be closed in our household's monument: 
As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
No fun'ral rite, nor man with mournful weeds, 
No mournful bell shall ring her burial; 
But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey: 
Her life was beastly and devoid of pity. 
And, being so, shall have like want of pity. 
See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 
By whom our heavy haps had their beginning: 
Then, afterwards, to order well the state. 
That like events may ne'er It ruinate. [_Exeunt, 



836 



PERICLES. 



LAcT I. 



PERICLES. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



ANTiocHtjs, King of Antioch. 
Pericles. P)-ince of Tyre. 

HEI.ICAXUS, ) , r J ^n, 

EscANES, I ''™ I^'"'^ "f Tyre. 
Simonides, King of Pentapolis. 
Cleon, Governor of Thavsus. 
Lysimachus, Governor o/Mitylene. 



Cerimon, a Lord of Ephe.sus. 

Thaliard, servant to Antiochus. 

Leonine, servant to Dionyza. 

Marshal. 

A pander and )iis wife. 

BouLT, their se>-vant. 

GowER, OS chorus. 



The daughter of Antiochus. 
DiONYZA, wife to Cleon. 
Thaisa, daughter to Simonides. 
Marina, daughter to Pericles 
Thaisa. 

Lychorida, nurse to Marina. 



Diana. 

Lords, Knights, Sailors, Pirates, Fislt- 
ermen, and Messengers. 

ScEKE.—Dispersedly in various covn- 
tries. 



Enter Govver. 

Before the Palace of Antioch. 

To sing a song of old was sung, 

From ashes ancient Gowercome; 

Assuming man's infirmities, 

To glad your ears, and please your eyes. 

It hath been sung, at festivals. 

On ember-eves, and holy-ales; 

And lords and ladies, in their lives, 

Have read it for restoratives. 

The purchase is to make men glorious; 

J'J bonnm quo antiqitius, eo melius. 

If you, born in thesie latter times. 

When wit 's more ripe, accept my rhymes, 

nd tliat to hear an old man sing 
May to you wishes pleasure bring, 
I life would wish, and that I might 
Waste it for you, like taper light. 
This Antioch then, Antiochus the Great 
Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat; 
The fairest in all Syria; 
(I tell you what mine authors say:) 
The king unto him took a pheere. 
Who died and left a feniale heir. 
So buxom, blythe, and full of face. 
As Heaven had lent her all his grace: 
With whom the father liking took. 
And her to incest did provoke: 
Bad child, worse father! to entice his own 
To evil, should be done by none. 
By custom, what they did begin 
Was with long use account no sin. 
The beauty of this sinful dame 
Made many princes thither frame, 
To seek her as a bedfellow: 
In marriage-pleasures playfellow: 
Which to prevent, he made a law, 
(To keep her still, and men in awe,) 
That whoso ask'd her for his wife, 
His riddle told not, lost his life: 
So for her many a wight did die. 
As yon grim looks do testify. 
What ensues, to the Judgment of your eye 
I give, my cause who best can jus'tify. {Exit, 

Scene I.— The Palace of Antioch. 

Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants. 

Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large re- 
ceiv'd 
The danger of the task you undertake. 

Per. I have, Antiochus, and with a soul 
Eniboldn'd with the glory of her praise. 
Think death no hazard, in this enterprise. IMiisic. 

Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride. 
For the embracements, even of Jove himself; 
At whose conception (till Lucina reign'd) 
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence; 
The senate-house of planets all did sit, 
To knit in her their best perfections. 

Enter the Daughter of Antiochus. 

Per. See where she comes, apparel'd like the 
spring, 
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
Of every virtue gives renown to men! 
Her face the book of praises, where is read 
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
Sorrow were ever 'rais'd, and testy wrath 
Could never be her mild companion. 
Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love. 
That have inflam'd desire in my breast 
To taste the fruit of you celestial tree. 
Or die in the adventure, be my helps, 
As I am son and servant to your will, 
To compass such a boundless happiness! 

Ant. Prince Pericles 

Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. 

A7it. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, 
With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd; 
For death-like dragons here affright thee hard: 
Her face, like heav'n, enticeth thee to view 
Her countless glory, which desert must gain: 
And which, without desert, because thine eye 
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. 
Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself. 
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire. 
Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance 



pale, 

'lOin 



That, wlftout covering save yon field of stars. 
Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars; 
And witu dead cheeks advise thee to desist 
For going on Death's net, whom none resist. 

Per. Antiochus, I thank tliee, who has taught 
My frail mortality to know itself. 
And by those fearful objects to prepare 
Tills body, like to them, lo wiiat I must: 
For death remember'd should be like a mirror. 
Who tells us, life 's but breath, to trust it error. 
I '11 make my will then; and, sick men do 
Who know the world, see heav'n, but feeling woe. 
Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did; 
So I bequeath a happy peace to you 
And all good men, as every prince should do; 
My riches to the earth from whence they came; 
But ray unspotted fire of love to you. 

[To the Daughter of Antiochus. 



Thus ready for the way of life or death, 
I wait the sharpest blow. 

Ant. Scorning advice; read the conclusion then; 
Which read and not expounded, 't is decreed. 
As these before, so thou thyself shalt bleed. 

Daugh. Of all say'd yet, may'st thou prove pros- 
perous! 
Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness! 

Per. Like a bold champion I assume the lists, 
Nor ask advice of any other thought, 
But faithfulness, and courage. 

the riddle. 

' I am no viper, yet I feed 
On mother's flesli which did me breed: 
I sought a husband, in which labour, 
I found that kindness in a father. 
He 's father, son, and husband mild, 
I mother, wife, and yet his child. 
How they may be, and yet in two. 
As you will live, resolve it you.' 

Sharp physic is the last; but O, ye powers! 

That give heav'n countless eyes to view men's acts. 

Why cloud they not their sights perpetually. 

If this be true, which makes me pale to read it? 

Fair glass of light. I lov'd you, and could still. 

[rates hold of the hand of the Princess. 
Were not this glorious casket stor'd with Til: 
But I must tell you,— now, my thoughts revolt; 
For he 's no man on whom perfections wait. 
That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings; 
Who, flnger'd to make man his lawful music. 
Would draw heav'n down, and all the gods to 

hearken; 
But being play'd upon before your time, 
Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime: 
Good sooth, I care not for you. 

Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life. 
For that 's an article within our law. 
As dangerous as the rest. Your time 's expir'd; 
Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 

Per. Great king. 
Few love to hear the sins they love to act; 
'T would 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it. 
Who hath a book of all that monarchs do, 
He 's more secure to keep it shut than shown: 
For vice repeated is like the wand'ring wind. 
Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself: 
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear. 
The breath is gone, and tlie sore eyes see clear 
To step the air would hurt them. The blind mole 

casts 
Copp'd hills toward heaven, to tell, the earth is 

throng'd 
By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die 

for 't. 
Kings are earth's gods: in vice their law 's their will; 
-And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill? 
It is enough you know; and it is fit. 
What being more known grows worse, to smother 

it.— 
All love the womb that their first being bred. 
Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. 
Ant. Hei^ven that I had thy head! he has found the 

meaning! 
But I will glose with him. [/fs/dc] Young prince of 

Tyre, 
Though by the tenor of our strict edict, 
Your exposition misinterpreting. 
We might proceed to cancel of your days; 
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise: 
Forty days longer we do respite you. 
If by which time our secret be undone. 
Tills mercy shows we '11 joy in such a son: 
And, until then, your entertain shall be. 
As doth befit our honour, and your worth. 

i.Exeunt Ant., his Daughter, and Attendants. 
Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin 
"When what is done is like an hypocrite. 
The which is good in nothing but in sight. 
If it be true that I interpret false. 
Then were it certain, you were not so bad 
As with foul incest to abuse your soul; 
Where now you 're both a father and a son. 
By vour untimely claspings with your child 
(Wliich pleasure fits a husband, not a father); 
And she an eater of her mother's flesh. 
By the defiling of her parent's bed; 
And both like serpents are, who tliough"they feed 
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men 
Blush not in actions blacker than the night, 
Will shun no course to keep them from the light. 
One sin, I know, another doth provoke; 
Murder 's as near to lust, as flame to smoke. 
Poison and treason are the hands of sin. 
Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame: 
Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear. 
By flight I '11 shun the danger which I fear. \Exlt, 
Re-enter Antiochus. 
Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the which we 

mean 
To have his head; 

He must not live to trumpet forth my Infamy, 
Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin 



In such a loathed manner: 
And therefore instantly this prince must die; 
For by his fall my honour must keep high. 
Who attends us there? 

Enter Thaliard. 

Thai. Doth your highness call? 

Ant. Thaliard, you 're of oui- chamber, and our 
mind 
Partakes her private actions to your secrecy; 
And for your faithfulness we will advance you. 
Thaliard, behold here 's poison, and here 's gold; 
We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him; 
It flts thee not to ask the reason why. 
Because we bid it. Say, is it done? 

Thai. My lord, 't is done. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Ant. Enough. 

Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste. 

Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. 

Ant. As thou 

Wilt live, fly after; and lilte an arrow, shot 
From a well-experieiic'<l arclier, hits tlie mark 
His eye doth level at, so do thou ne'er return, 
Unless thou say'st, prince Pericles isdead. 

Thai. My lord, if I can get him within my pistol's 
length, I '11 make him sure enough: so farewell to 
your highness. [Exit. 

Ant. Thaliard, adieu! till Pericles be dead. 
My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Exit. 

Scene n.— Tyre. 
Enter Pericles, Helicanus, and other Lords. 

Per. Let none disturb us: why should this charge 

of thoughts,— 
The sad companion, dull-ey'd Melancholy, 
By me so us'd a guest, as not an hour. 
In the day's glorious walk or peaceful night, 
(The tomb where grief should sleep), can breed me 

quiet? 
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun 

them, 
And danger which I feared, is at Antioch, 
Whose arm seems far too short to Hit me here; 
Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, 
Nor yet the other's distance comfort me; 
Then It is thus; the passions of the mind. 
That have their first conception by mis-dread. 
Have atter-oourishment and life by care; 
And what was first but fear what might be done. 
Grows elder now, and cares it be not done. 
And so with me;— the great .\ntiochus 
('Gainst whom I am too little to contend, 
Since he 's so great, can make his will his act) 
Will thiiik me speaking, though I swear to silence; 
Nor boots it me to say I honour him. 
If he suspect I may dishonour him: 
And what may make him blush in being known. 
He '11 stop the course by which it might be known; 
With hostile forces he '11 o'erspread the land. 
And with the stint of war will look so huge. 
Amazement shall drive courage from the state; 
Our men De vanquish'd, ere they do resist. 
And subjects punish'd, that ne'er thought offence: 
Which cure of: them, not pity of myself, 
(Who am no more but as the tops of trees. 
Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend 

them,) 
Makes both my body pine, and soul to languish, 
And punish that before that he would punish. 

1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast! 

2 Ijird. And keep your mind, till you return to us. 
Peaceful and comfortable! 

Hel. Peace, peace, and give experience tongue: 
They do abuse the king that flatter him. 
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin; ' 

The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark. 
To which that blast gives heat and stronger glow- 
ing; 
Whereas reproof, obedient, and in order. 
Fits kings as they are men, for the.v may err. 
When Siguier Sooth here doth proclaim a peace, 
He flatters you, makes war upon your life: 
Prince, pardon me, or strike me If you please, 
I cannot be much lower than my knees. 

Per. All leave us else; but let your cares o'erloob 
What shipping, and what lading 's in our haven 
And then return to us. Helicanus, thou 
Hast moved us: what seest thou in our looks? 

Hel. An angr.vblow, drea<l lord. 

Per. It there be such a dart in princes' frowns 
How duist thy tongue move anger to our face? 

Hel. How daiie the plants look up to heaven, from 
whence 
They have their nourishment? 

Per. Thou know'st I have power to take thy life 
from thee. 

Hel. I have ground the axe myself; do but you 
strike the blow. 

Per. Rise, prithee rise; sit down, thou art no 
flatterer; 
I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid. 
That kings should let their ears hear their faults 

chid! 
Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince. 
Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant. 
What would'st thou have me do? 



SCENE II.] 



PERICLES. 



Bel. To bear witli patience 

Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself. 

Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus; 
That minlster'st a potion unto nii', 
That thou vvould'st tremble to receive thyself. 
Attend me then; I went to Antloch, 
Wliereas, thou know'st, against the face of death, 
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty. 
From whence an issue I might propagate; 
Are arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects. 
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder; 
The rest (hark in thine ear) a.s black as Incest; 
Which by mv knowledge found, the sinful father, 
Seem'd riot to strike, but smooth: but tliou know'st 

this, 
'T is time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss. 
Which fear so grew in me, I hither fled. 
Under the covering of a careful night, 
Who seem'd my good protector; and, being here. 
Bethought me what was past, what might succeed; 
I knew him tyrannous, and tyrants' fears 
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years; 
And should he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth,) 
That I should open to the listening air. 
How many worthy princes' blooils were slied. 
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,— 
■To lop that doubt, he '11 fill this land with arms. 
And make pretence of wrong that I have done liim; 
When all, for mine, if I may call 't offence. 
Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence; 
Which love to all (of which cliyself art one. 
Who now reprov'st me for it) 

Hel. Alas, sir! 

Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from ray 
cheeks, 
Musings into my mind, ivlth thotisand doubts 
How I might stop this tempest ere it came; 
And finding little comfort to relieve then\, 
I thought it princely charity to grieve them. 

Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me leave 
to speak. 
Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear. 
And justly too, I think; you fear the tyrant. 
Who either by public war, or private treason, 
Will take away your life. 
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, 
Till that his rage and anger be forgot; 
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life; 
Your rule direct to any; if to me. 
Day serves not light more faithful than I '11 be. 

Per. I do not doubt tliy faith; 
But should lie wrong my liberties in my absence— 

Hel. We "11 mingle our bloods together in the earth, 
From whence we had our being and our birtli. 

Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to 
Th'irsus 
Intend my travel, where I '11 hear from thee; 
And by whose letters I '11 dispose myself. 
The care I had and have of subjects good. 
On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it. 
I '11 take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath: 
Who shuns not to break one, will sure craclc both: 
But in our orbs we '11 live so round and sate. 
That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince. 
Thou showd'st a subject's sliine, I a true prince. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene ni. 
Enter Thaliard. 
That So, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here 
must I kill king Pericles; and if I do it not, I am 
sure to be hanged at home: 't is dangerous.— Well, 
I perceive, he was a wise fellow, and had good dis- 
cretion, that, being bid to ask what he would of the 
king, desired he might know none of his secrets. 
Now do I see he had some reason tor It: for if a king 
bid a man be a villain, he is bound by the indenture 
of his oath to be one. 
Hush, here come the lords of Tyre. 

Enter Helicanus, Escanes, and other Lords of 
Tyre. 

Hel. You shall not need, ray fellow-peers of Tyre 
Further to' question me of your king's departure. 
His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, 
Doth speak sufficiently he 's gone to travel. 

Thai. How! the king gone! [Aside. 

Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied. 
Why, as It were unlicens'd of your loves 
He would depart, I '11 give some light unto you. 
Being at Antloch 

Thai. What from Antioch? {Aaide. 

Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know not) 
Took some displeasure at him, at least he judg'd so: 
And doubting lest he had err'd or sinn'd. 
To show his sorrow, he 'd correct himself; 
So puts himself unto the shipman's toil. 
With whom each minute threatens life or death. 

Thai. Well, I perceive 
I shall not be hang'd now, although I would; 
But since he 's gone, the king sure must please 
He 'scap'd the land, to perish at the sea.— 
I '11 present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre. 

Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome. 

Thai. From him I come 
With message unto princely Pericles; 
But since ray landing I have understood 
Your lord hath betook himself to unknown travels; 
My message must return from whence it came. 

Hel. yfe have no reason to desire it. 
Commended to our master, not to us: 
Yet ere you shall depart, this we desire, 
As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. \Exe. 

Scene rv.— Tharsus. 
Enter Cleon, Dionyza, and others. 
Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, 
And, by relating tales of others' griefs. 
See if 't will teach us to forget our own!^ 
IHo. That were to blow at fire in hope to quench 

For who digs hills, because they do aspire. 
Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher. 
O my distressed lord, ev'n such our griefs are; 
Here they 're but felt, and seen w'tli mischief's eyes. 
But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 

Cle. O Dionyza, 
Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, 
Or can conceal his hunger till he famish? 
Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes 
Into the air; our eyes do weep, till tongues 
Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder, that 
If heaven slumber, while their creatures want. 



They may awake their helpers to comfort them. 
I '11 then discourse our woes felt several years. 
And, wanting breath to speak, help me with tears., 

iJio. I '11 do my best, sir. 

Cle. This Tharsus, over which I have the govern- 
ment, 
A city, on whom Plenty held full hand. 
For riches stiew'd herself even in the streets; 
Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd the 

clouds. 
And strangers ne'er beheld but wonder'd at; 
Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd. 
Like one another's glass to trim them by: 
Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight. 
And not so much to feed on, as ilelight; 
All povert,v wasseorn'd, and pride so great. 
The name of help grew odious to repeat. 

nio. Oh, 't Is too true. 

etc. But see wliat heaven can do! By this our 
change, 
These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air. 
Were all loo little to content and please. 
Although they gave their creatures in abundance. 
As houses are defil'd tor want of use. 
They are now starv'd for want of exercise; 
Those palates, who, not us'd to hunger's savour. 
Must have inventions to delight the taste. 
Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it; 
Those mothers who, to nouzle up their babes. 
Thought nought too curious, are ready now 
To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd; 
So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life; 
Here stands a lord, and tliere a lady weeping; 
Here many sink, yet those which see them fall 
Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
Is not this true? 

Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. 

Cle. O let those cities that of Plenty's cup 
And her prosperities so largely taste. 
With their superfluous riots, hear these tears! 
The misery of Tharsus may be theii-s. 
Enter a Lord. 

Lord. Where 's the lord governor? 

Cle. Here. 
Speak out thy sorrows, which thou bring'st in haste, 
For eomfort is too far for us to expect. 

Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring 
shore, 
A portly sail of ships make hitherward. 

Cle. I thought as much. 
One sorrow never comes but brings an heir. 
That may succeed as his inheritor; 
And so in ours: some neiglibouring nation. 
Taking advantage of our misery. 
Hath stuft'd these hollow vessels with their power, 
To beat us down, the which are down already; 
And make a conquest of unhappy me. 
Whereas no glory 's got to overcome. 

Lord. That 's the least fear; for, by the semblance 
Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace. 
And come to us as favourers, not as foes. 

Cle. Thou speak'st like him 's untutor'd to repeat, 
Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit. 
But bring they what they will, and what they can. 
What need we fear? 

The ground 's the lowest and we are half way there: 
Go tell their general, we attend him here. 
To know for what he comes, and whence he comes, 
And what he craves. 

Lord. I go, my lord. 

Cle. Welcome Is peace, If he on peace consist; 
If wars, we are unable to resist. 

Enter Pericles ivith Attendants. 

Per. Lord governor, for so we liear you are, 
Let not our ships, and number of our men. 
Be, like a beacon flv'd, to amaze your eyes. 
iVe have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 
And seen the desolation of your streets; 
Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, 
But to relieve them of tlieir heavy load; 
And these our ships (you liappily may tliink 
Are, like the Trojan's liorse, war-stuft'd within, 
With bloody views expecting overthrow) 
Are stor'd with corn to make your needy bread. 
And give them life, whom hunger starv'd half dead. 

Omnes. The gods of Greece protect you! 
And we will pray for you. 

Per. Arise, I pray you, rise; 

We do not look for reverence, but for love. 
And harbourage for ourself , our ships, and men. 

Cle. The which when any shall not gratify. 
Or pay you with unthankfulness in tbouglit. 
Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves. 
The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils! 
Tin when (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen). 
Your grace is welcome to our town and us. 

Per. Which welcome we '11 accept; feast here a 
while. 
Until our stars, that frown, lend us a smile. [Exe. 

ACT IL 
Enter Gower. 
Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king 

His child, I wis, to incest bring: 

A better prince and benign lord. 

That will prove awful in both deed and word. 

Be quiet then, as men should be, 

Till he hath past necessity. 

I '11 show you those in trouble's reign. 

Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 

The good, in conversation 

(To whom I give my benizon) 

Is still at Tharsus, where each man 

Thinks all is writ he spoken can; 

And, to remember what he does. 

Build his statue to make him glorious: 

But tidings to the contrary 

Are brought to your eyes; what need speak I? 
Dumb show. 

Enter at one door Pericles talking with Cleon; all the 
Train with them. Enter at another door a Gentle- 
man with a letter to Perifties; Pericles shows the let- 
ter to Cleon; Pericles gives the Messenger a reward, 
and knights him. 
[Exit Pericles at one door, and Cleon at another. 

Good Helieane hath stay'd at home. 

Not to eat honey, like a drone, 

Fi'om others' labours; for though he strive 

To klllen bad, keeps good alive; 

And, to fulfil his prince' desire, 



Sends word of all that haps in Tyre; 

How Thaliard came full bent with sin. 

And had intent to murder him; 

And that In Tharsus 't was not best 

Longer for him to m.ike his rest: 

He, knowing s<i, piil (iirth to seas. 

Where when nun bin, there 's seldom ease; 

For now the wind begins to blow; 

Thunder above, and deeps below. 

Make such unquiet, that tlu? ship 

Should house him safe, Is wrack'd and split; 

And he, good prince, having ail lost. 

By waves from coast to coast is toss'd: 

All perishen of man, of pelf, 

Ne aught escapen but himself; 

Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad. 

Threw him ashore to give liini glad; 

And here he comes; wliac shall be next. 

Pardon old Gower; this 'longs to the text. [Exit. 

Scene I.— Pentapolis. 
Enter Pericles, wet. 
Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven! 
Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man 
Is but a .substance, that must yield to you; 
And I, as fits my nature, do obey you. 
Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 
Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath, 
Nothing to think on, but ensuing death: 
Let it suffice tlie greatness of your powers, 
To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes; 
And having thrown him from your wat'ry grave, 
Here to have death in peace, is all he '11 crave. 

Enter three Fishermen. 

1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche! 

2 Fish. Ha, come, and bring away the nets. 
1 Fish. What, Patch-breech, I say! 

3 Fish. What say you, master? 

1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now; come away, 
or I '11 fetch thee with a wannion. 

3 Fish, 'Faith, master, I am thinking of tlie poor 
men that were cast away before us even now. 

1 Fish. Alas, poor souls! Itgriev'd my heart to hear 
what pitiful cries they made to us to help them, 
when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves. 

3 Fish. Nay, master, said I not as much, when I 
saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? the.y 
say, they are half fish, half flesh; a plague on theni! 
they ne'er come but I look to be wash'd. Master, I 
marvel how the fishet live in the sea. 

1 Fish. Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat 
up the little ones: lean compare our rich misers to 
nothing so fitly as to a whale; 'a plays and tumbles, 
driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours 
them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I heard 
on o' the land, who never leave gaping, till they 've 
swallow'd the whole ijarlsh, church, steeple, bells 
and all. 

Per. A pretty moral. 

3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I 
would have been that day in the belfry. 

1 Fish. Why, man? 

3 Fish. Because he should have swallow'd me too: 
and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept 
such a jangling of the bells, that he should never 
have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and par- 
ish up again. But if the good king Simonides were 
6f my mind 

Per. Simonides? 

3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones, 
that rob the bee of her honey. 

Per. How from the finny subject of the sea 
Tliese fishers tell the infirmities of men; 
And from their watery empire recollect 
All that may men approve, or men detect! 
Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 

2 Fish. Honest, good fellow, what 's that? If it be 
a day fits you, search out the calendar, and nobody 
look after it. 

Per. You may see, the sea hath cast me on your 
coast. 

2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to cast 
thee in our way ! 

Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind. 
In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball 
For them to play upon, entreats you to pity him; 
He asks of you, that never us'd to beg. 

1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here 's them in 
our country of Greece gets more with begging, than 
we can do with working. 

2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes then? 
Per. I never practis'd it. 

2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve sure; for here 's 
nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish 
for 't. 

Per. What I have been, I have forgot to know; 
But what I am, want teaches me to think on; 
A man throng'd up with cold; my veins are chill. 
And have no more of life than may suffice 
To give my tongue that lieat to asic your help: 
Whicli if you shall refuse, when I am dead. 
For that I am a man, pray see me buried. 

1 Fish. Die, qiioth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a 
gown here; come, put it on, keep thee warm. Now, 
afore me, a handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go 
home, and we '11 have flesh for holidays, fish for fast- 
ing days, and moreo'er puddings and fiap-jacks; and 
thou Shalt be welcome. 

Per. I thank you, sir. 

2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you could 

not beg. 

Per. I did but crave. 

2 Fish. But crave? then I '11 turn craver too, and 
so I shall 'scape whipping. 

Per. Why, are all your beggars whipp'd then? 

2 Fish. O, not all, my frieiul, not all; for if all your 
beggars were whipp'd, I would wish no better office 
than to be a beadle. But, master, I '11 go draw up 
the net. [Exeunt two of the Fishermen. 

Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their 
labour! 

1 Fish. Hark you, sir, do you know where you are? 

Per. Not well. 

1 Fish. Why, I '11 tell you; this is called Pentapolis, 
and our king, the good Simonides. 

Per. The good king Silnonides. do you call him? 

1 Fish. Ay, sir, and he deserves so to be called, for 
his peaceable reign, and good government. 

Per. He Is a happ.v king, since he gains from his 
subjects the name of good by his government. How 
far is his court distant from this shore? 

1 Fish. Marr.v, sir, half a day's journey; and I '11 
tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and tomorrow is 



328 



PERICLES. 



[Act n. 



her birthday, and there are princes and knights 
come from all parts of the world to joust and tourney 
for her love. 

Per. Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I 
could wish to make one there. 

1 Fish. O, sh-, things niu.st be as they may; and 
■what a num cannot get, he may lawfully deal for— 
his wife's soul. 

Reenter the two Fishermen, drawing up a net. 

2 Fish. Help, master, help; here 's a flsh hangs in 
the net, like a poor nuin's right In the law; 'twill 
hardly come out. Hal bots on 't. 't is come at last, 
and 't is turn'd to a rusty armour! 

Per. An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it. 
Thanks, Fortune, yet. that after all my crosses. 
Thou glv'st me somewhat to repair myself; 
And, though it was mine own, part of mine heritage 
Which my dead father did bequeath to me, 
With this strict charge (even as he left his lite), 
'Keep It, my Pericles, it hath been a shield 
Twixt me and death (and pointed to this brace); 
For that it sav'd me, keep it; in like necessity. 
The which the gods protect thee from! 't may de- 
fend thee.' 
It kept where 1 kept, I so dearly lov'd it; 
Till the rough seas, that spare not any man. 
Took it in rage, though calm'd they've given it 

again: 
I thank thee for it; my shipwrack now 's no ill. 
Since I have here my father's gift iu his will. 

1 Fish. What mean you, sir? 

Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth, 
For It was some time target to a king: 
1 know it by this mark; he lov'd me dearly. 
And for his sake, I wish the having of it: 
And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's court. 
Where with it I may appear a gentleman; 
And if that ever my low fortune 's better, 
1 '11 pav your bounties; till then, rest your debtor. 

1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady? 

Per. I '11 show the virtue I have borne in arms. 

1 Fish. Why, d' ye take it, and the gods give thee 
good on 't. 

2 Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend; 't was we 
that made up this garment through the rough seams 
of the water: there are certain condolements, cer- 
tain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you '11 remem- 
ber from whence you had it. 

Per. Believe it, I will; 
By your furtherance I am cloth'd In steel; 
And spite of all the rupture of the sea. 
This jewel holds his biding on my arm; 
TJnto thy value I will raount myself 
Upon a courser, whose delightful steps 
Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread.— 
Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
Of a pair of bases. 

2 Fish. We '11 sure provide: thou shalt have my 
best gown to make thee a pair; and I '11 bring thee 
to the court myself. 

Per. 'Then honour be but a goal to my will. 
This day I '11 rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — a public Way or Platform, leading to the 
Lists. A Pavilion by the side oj it, for the recep- 
tion of the King and Princess. 

Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, and Attendants. 

Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph? 

\ Lord. 'They are, my liege; 
And stay your coming, to present themselves. 

Sim. Return them, we are ready; and our daugh- 
ter. 
In honour of whose birth these triumphs are. 
Sits here, like beauty's child, whom Nature gat 
For men to see, and seeing wonder at. [_hx. a Lord. 

Ihai. It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express 
My commendations great, whose merit 's less. 

Sim. 'T is fit it should be so; princes are 
A model which heaven makes like to itself: 
As jewels lose their glory, If neglected. 
So princes their renown, if not respected. 
'T is now your honour, daughter, to explain 
The labour of each knight, iu his device. 

Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I 'U per- 
form. 

[Enter a Knight; he passes over the stage and 
his Squire presents his shield to the Princess. 

Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? 

Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father: 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is a black ^Ethiop reaching at the sun; 
The word. Lux tua vita mihi. 

Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. 
[The second Knight passes. 
Who is the second that presents himself? 

Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father; 
And the device he bears upon his shield 
Is an arm'd knight, that 's conquer'd by a lady: 
The motto thus, iu Spanish, Piuper dulcura que per 
fuerca. [The third Knight passes. 

Sim. And what 's the third? 

Thai. The third of Antioch; and his device, 
A wreath of chivalry: the word. Me pompcB pro- 
vexit apex. [Thefoutlh Knight passes. 

Sim. What is the fourth? 

Thai. A burning torch that 's turned upside down; 
The word. Quod me alit, me extinquit. 

Sim. Wliich shows that beauty hath his power and 
will. 
Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. 

[The fifth Knight passes. 

Thai. The fifth, an hand environed with clouds. 
Holding out gold, that 's by tlie touchstone tried: 
Tlie motto thus, Sic sjiectanda fides. 



I The sixth Knight passes. 
sixth and last, the which the 



Sim. And what 's the 
knight himself 
With such a graceful courtesy dellver'd? 

Thai. He seems to be a stranger; but his present 
Is a wither'd branch, that 's only green at top: 
The motto. In hue spe vivo. 

Sim. A pretty moral; 
From the dejected state wherein he is, 
He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 

1 Lord. He had need mean better than his outward 

show 
Can any way speak In his just commend: 
For, by his rusty outside, he appears 
To have practls'd more the whlpstock than the 

lance. 

2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes 
To an honour'd triumph, strangely furnish'd. 



8 Lord. And on set purpose let his armour rust 
Until this day, to scour It In the dust. 

Sim, Opinion 's but a fool, that makes us scan 
The outward habit by the inward man. 
But stay, the knights are coming; we '11 withdraw 
Into the gallery. 

[Exeunt. 
[Oreat shouts, and all cry. The mean Knight! 

Scene III.— A Hall of State. A Banquet prepared. 

Enter SImontdes, Thaisa, Lords, Attendants and 
the Knlghts/rom tilting. 

Sim. Knights, 
To say you are welcome, were superfluous 
To place upon the volume of your deeds, 
As In a title-page, your worth In arms. 
Were more, than you expect, or more than *s fit, 
Since every worth in show commends Itself. 
Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast- 
You are princes, and my guests. 

Thai. But you, my knight and guest; 
To whom this wreath of victory I give, 
And crown you king of this day's happiness. 

Per. 'T is more by fortune, lady, than by merit. 

Sim. Call it by what you will, the day Is yours; 
And here, I hope. Is none that envies it. 
In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed. 
To make some good, but others to exceed; 
And you 're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen of 

the feast, 
(For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place: 
Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 

Knights. We are honour'd much by good Simon- 
ides. 

Sim. Your presence glads our days ; honour we 
love. 
For who hates honour, hates the gods above. 

Marshal. Sir, yonder is your place. 

Per. Some other is more fit. 

1 Knight. Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen. 
That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes. 
Envy the great, nor do the low despise. 

Per. You are right courteous knights, 

Sim. Sit, sir, sit. 

By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts. 
These cates resist me, he not thought upon. 

Thai. By Juno, that is queen of marriage, 
All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury; 
Wishing him my meat : sure he 's a gallant gentle- 
man. 

Sim. He 's but a country gentleman ; has done no 
more 
Than other knights have done: has broken a staff 
Or so; so let it pass. 

Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 

Per. Yon king 's to me, like to my father's picture. 
Which tells me, in that glory once he was; 
Had princes sit like stars about his throne, 
And he the sun, for them to reverence. 
None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights. 
Did vail their crowns to his supremacy; 
Where now his son 's like a glow-worm iu the night. 
The which hath fire in darkness, none in light; 
Whereby I see that Time 's the king of men. 
For he 's their parent, and he is their grave. 
And gives them wliat he will, not what they crave. 

Sim. What, are you merry, knights? 

1 Knight. Who can be other in this royal presence? 

Sim. Here with a cup that 's stor'd unto the brim, 
(As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,) 
We drink this health to you. 

Knights. We thank your grace. 

Sim. Yet pause a while; yon knight doth sit too 
melancholy. 
As if the entertainment in our court 
Had not a show might countervail his worth. 
Note it not you, Thaisa? 

Thai. What is 't to me, m.v father? 

Sim. O, attend, my daughter; 
Princes, in this, should live like gods above. 
Who freely give to every one that comes 
To honour them: 

And princes, not doing so, are like to gnats. 
Which make a sound, but kiil'd are wonder'd at, 
Therefore to make his entrance more sweet, 
flei-e say, we drink this standing bowl of wine to 
him. 

Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me 
Unto a stranger knight to be so bold; 
He may my proffer take for an oflEence, 
Since men take women's gifts for impudence. 

Sim. How! do as I bid you, or you '11 move me 

Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please me 
better. [Aside. 

Sim. And further tell him, we desire to know of 
him. 
Of whence he is, his name and parentage. 

Thai. The king my father, sir, hath drunk to you. 

Per. I thank him. 

Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. 

Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge him 
freely. 

Thai. And further he desires to know of you. 
Of whence you are, your name and parentage. 

Per. A gentleman of Tyre— (my name Pericles; 
My education has been in arts and arms;) 
Who, looking for adventures in the world. 
Was by the rough sea reft of ships and men. 
And, after shipwrack, driven upon this shore. 

Thai. He thanks your grace; names himself 
Pericles. 
A gentleman of Tyre, who only by 
Misfortune of the sea has been bereft 
Of ships and men, and east upon this shore. 

Sim. Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune. 
And will awake him from his melancholy. 
Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles. 
And waste the time, which looks for other revels. 
Even in your armours, as you are address'd. 
Will very well become a soldier's dance: 
I will not have excuse, with saying, this 
Loud music Is too harsh for ladies' heads; 
Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. 

[The Knights dance. 
So, this was well ask'd; 't was so well perforra'd. 
Come, sir; here is a lady that wants breathing too: 
And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre 
Are excellent In making ladles trip; 
And that their measures are as excellent. 

Per. In those that practise them, they are, my lord. 

Sim. Oh, that 's as much as you would be denied 
[The Knights and Ladies dance. 
Of your fair courtesy.— Unclasp, unclasp 



Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well. 

But you the best. [To Pericles.] Pages and lights, to 

conduct 
These knights unto their several lodgings; Yours, 

sir, 
We have given order to be next our own. 

Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 

Si7n. Princes, It Is too late to talk of love, 
For that 's the mark I know you level at: 
Therefore each one betake him to his rest; 
To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. [Exeunt,. 

SCENR IV.— Tyre. 
Enter Heljcanus and Escanes. 

Hel. No, Escanes, know this of me, 
Antlochus from Incest llv'd not free; 
For which, the most high gods not minding longer 
To withhold the vengeance that they had In store. 
Due to this heinous capital offence; 
Even in the height and pride of all his glory. 
When he was seated in a chariot of 
An inestimable value, and his daughter 
With him, a fire from heaven came and shrlvell'd up 
Those bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk. 
That all those eyes ador'd them ere their fall. 
Scorn now their hand should give them burial. 

Esca. "t was very strange. 

Hel. And yet but justice; for though 

This king were great, his greatness was no guard 
To bar heav'n's shaft, but sin had his reward. 

Esca. 'T is very true. 

Enter three Lords. 

1 Lord. See, not a nian in private conference. 
Or council, hath respect with him but he. 

2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve without reproof. 

3 Lord. And curs'd be he that will not second it. 
1 Lord. Follow me then: lord Hellcane, a word. 
Hel, With me? and welcome: happy day, my 

lords. 

1 Lord. Know that our griefs are risen to the top. 
And now at length they overflow their banks. 

Hel. Your griefs, for what? wrong not your prince 
you love. 

1 Lord. Wrong not yourself then, noble Hellcane; 
But if the prince do live, let us salute him. 
Or know what ground's made happy by his breath. 
If In the world he live, we '11 seek iiim out; 
If in his grave he rest, we 'II find him there; 
And be resolv'd, he lives to govern us. 
Or dead, give cause to mourn his funeral. 
And leave us to our free election. 

3 iord!. Whose death's, Indeed, the strongest in our 
censure: 
And knowing this kingdom Is without a head, 
(Like goodly building left without a roof 
Soon fall to ruin,) your noble self. 
That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign. 
We thus submit unto,— our sovereign. 

Omnes; Live, noble Hellcane. 

Hel. For honour's cause, forbear your suffrages: 
If that you love prince Pericles, forbear. 
Take I your wish, I leap into the seaS: 
Where 's hourly trouble, for a minute's ease. 
A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you 
To forbear the absence of your king; 
If in which time expir'd, he not return, 
I shall with aged patience oear your yoke. 
But if I cannot win you to this love. 
Go search like nobles, like noble subjects. 
And In your search spend your adventurous worth; 
Whom if you find, and win unto return. 
You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 

1 Lord. To wisdom he 's a fool that will not yield; 
And since lord Hellcane enjolneth us, 
We with our travels will endeavour it. 

Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we '11 clasp 
hands: 
When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. [Exe. 

Scene v.— Pentapolls. 

Enter Simonides reading a Letter; the Knights 

meet him. 

1 Knight. Good morrow to the good Simonides. 
Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you 

know, 
That for this twelvemonth she will not undertake 
A married life: 

Her reason to herself is only known. 
Which from herself by no means can I get. 

2 Knight. May we not get access to her, my lord? 
Sim. 'Faith, by no means; she hath.so strictly tied 

her 
To her chamber, that it Is impossible. 
One twelve moons more she '11 wear Diana's livery; 
This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd. 
And on her virgin honour will not break. 

3 Knight. Loth to bid farewell, we take our leaves. 

[Exeimt 

Sim. So, 
They 're well despatch'd; now to my daughter's let- 

- ter: 
She tells me here, she '11 wed the stranger knight. 
Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
'T IS well, mistress, your choice agrees with mine; 
I like that well:— nay, how absolute she 's in 't. 
Not minding whether I dislike or no! 
Well, I do commend her choice. 
And will no longer have it be delay'd: 
Soft, here he comes;— I must dissemble it. 
Enter Pericles. 

Per. All fortune to the good Simonides. 

Sim. To you as much! Sir, I am beholden to you. 
For your sweet music this last night: I do 
Protest, my ears were never better fed 
With such delightful pleasing harmony. 

Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend; 
Not my desert. 

Sim. Sir, you are music's master. 

Per. The worst of all her scholars, my good lord. 

Sim. Let me ask you one thing. What do yoa 
think 
Of ray daughter, sir? 

Per. A most virtuous princess. 

Sim. And she is fair too, is she not? 

Per. As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair. 

Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you; 
Ay, so well, that you must be her master. 
And she will be your scholar; therefore look to it. 

Per. 1 am unworthy for her sclioolmaster. 

Sim. She thinks not so; peruse this writing else. 

Per. What 's here? 
A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre? 

[Aside, 



SCENE v.] 



PERICLES. 



!i 



'T is the king's sublilty to have my life. 
Oh, seek not to entrap me, Ki'iicious lord, 
A stranser and (ilstiessetl gentleman. 
That never aim'tl so hlKli to love your daughter, 
But bent all ottlces to honour lier. 
Sim. Thou hust bewltcU'd my daughter, and thou 
arc 
A villain. 

Per. By the gods I liave not; 
Never did thought of mine levy olTence; 
Nor never did mv ectlons yet commence 
A deed riiicht gain her love, or your displeasure. 
Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 
Per. Traitor. 

-Sim. Ay, traitor. 

Per. Even in his tliroat (unless it be a king). 
That calls me traitor, I return the lie. 
Sim. Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage. 

I Aside. 
Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts, 
That never rellstrd of a base descent. 
I came unto yoiirconrt for houour'.s cause. 
And not to be a rebel to her state; 
And he that otherwise accounts of me. 
This sword shall prove, he 's honour's enemy. 
Sim. Nol— 

Here comes my daugliter, she can witness it. 
Enter Thaisa. 
Per. Then as you are as virtuous as fair, 

Resolve your aiigry fatlier, If my tongue 

Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 

To any syllable that made love to you? 
Thai. Why, sir, say if you had, who takes offence 

At that vvoul'.i make me glad? 
Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory? 

1 am glad of it with all my heart. f.lside. 

I '11 tame youj I 'II bring yon in subjection. 

Will you, not having my consent, bestow 

Your love, and your affections upon a stranger? 

(Who, for aught I know, 

May be, nor can I think the contrary. 

As great in lilood as I myself.) \_Aside. 

Therefore, hear you, mistress; either frame 

Your will to mine— and .vou, sir, hear .you, 

Either be rul'd by me, or I will make you — 

Man and wife; 

Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it too: 

And, being join'd, I '11 thus your hopes destroy;— 

And for a further grief,— God give you joy!— 

What, are you both pleas'd? 
Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir. 
Per. Even as my life, or blood that fosters it. 
Sim. What, are you both agreed? 
Both. Yes, if it please your mlijesty. 
Sim. It pleaseth me so well, that I 'II see you wed: 

Then with what haste you can, get you to bed. 

{Exeunt. 
ACT III. 
Enter Gower. 
Gow. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout; 

No din but snores, the house about, 

Made louder by the o'er-fed beast 

Of this most pompous marriage feast. 

The cat, with eyne of burning coal. 

Now couches from tlie mouse's hole: 

And crickets sing at the oven's mouth, 

Are the biitlier for their drouth. 

Hymen hath brouglit the bride to bed. 

Where, by the loss of maidenhead, 

A babe is moulded:— Be attent. 

And time that is so briefly spent. 

With your fine fancies quaintly eche; 

What 's dumb in show, I '11 plain with speech. 
Dumb Show. 

.Bnfer Pericles and Simonides, af one door, with At- 
tendants; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and 
gives Ferlcles a letter, Pericles s/ioics ^( (o Simon- 
ides; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter Thaisa 
with child, and Lychorida, a nurse. Simonides 
shows [his daughter] the tetter; she rejoices; she 
and Peri<j^3 take leave of her father, and depart. 
Gow. By many a derne and painful perch, 

Of Pericles the careful search 

By the four opposing coignes. 

Which the world together joins. 

Is made, with all due diligence. 

That horse and sail and high expense 

Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre 

(Fame answering the most strange Inquire) 

To the court of king Simonides 

Are letters brought; the tenorthe.se: 

Antiochus and his daughter dead; 

The men of Tyrus on the head 

Of Hellcanus would set on 

The crown of Tyre, but he willjnone: 

The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress; 

Says to them. If king Pericles 

Come not home In twice six moons. 

He, ofeedient to their dooms. 

Will take the crown. The sum of this. 

Brought hither to Pentapolis, 

Yravished the regions round, 

And every one with claps can sound, 

" Our heir apparent is a king: 

Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing?" 

Brief he must hence depart to Tyre; 

His queen with child, makes her desire 

(Which who shall cross?) along to go; 

(Omit we all their dole and woe:) 

Lychorida her nurse she takes. 

And so to sea. Their vessel shakes 

On Neptune's billow; half the flood 

Hath their keel cut; but fortune mov'd. 

Varies again: tiie grizzled north 

Disgorges such a tempest forth. 

That, as a duck for life that dives. 

So up and down the poor ship drives 

The lady shrieks, and well-a-near 

Doth fall in travail with her fear: 

And what ensues in this fell storm. 

Shall for Itself itself perform: 

I nill relate: action may 

Conveniently the rest convey: 

Which might not what liy me is told, — 

In your imagination hold 

This stage, the ship, upon whose deck 

The sea-toss'd Pericles appears to speak. {Exit. 

Scene I. 

Enter Pericles on a ship at sea. 

Per. Thou God of this great vast, rebuke these 

surges, 



Wlilch wash'd lioth heaven and hell; and thou that 

hast 
Upon the winds command, bind them In brass, 
Having calrd them from the deep! O still 
The deaf'iiing, dreadfid thunders; gentle quench 
Thy nimble, sulphurous Hashes!— O how, Lychorida, 
How does m\- queen?— Thou storm, venomously. 
Wilt thou spit all thyself?- The seaman's whistle 
Is asawhisper in tlieiar of death. 
Unheard.— LyeliorKla!—Lueina, O 
Divinest patroness, and midwife, gentle 
To those Ihiit cry by night, convey thy deity 
Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs 
Of my queen's travails!— Now, Lychorida — 
Enter Lychorida. 

Li/c. Here is a thing too young for such a place, 
Who, if it ha'i conce.t, would die, as I 
Am like to do: take in your arms this piece 
Of your dcild queen. 

Per. How! how, Lychorida! 

Lj/c. Patience, good sir, do not assist the storm. 
Here 's all that is left living of your queen, 
A little daughter; for the sake of it. 
Be manly, and take comfort. 

Per. O ye gods! 

Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, 
.4nd sn.itcli them straight away? We, here below. 
Recall not what we give, and therein may 
Use lionour with you. 

Lijo. Patience, good sir. 

Even for this charge. 

Per. Now, mild may be thy life! 

For a more blust'rous birth had never babe: 
Quiet and gentle thy conditions! 
For thou art the rudeiiest welcom'd to this world. 
That e'er was prince's child. Happy vvliat follows! 
Thou hast as cniding a nativity. 
As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make. 
To herald thee from the womb: 
Even at the first, thy loss is more than can 
Thy portage quit, with all thou canst find here.— 
Now the gOQd gods throw their best eyes upon it! 
Enter two Sailoi's. 

1 Sail. What, courage, sir! God save you. 

Per. Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw; 
It hath done to me the w.irst. Yet for the love 
Of this poor infant, this fresh-new seafarer, 
I would i ; would be quiet. 

1 Sail. Slack the bolins there; thou wilt not, wilt 
thou? Blow and split thyself. 

2 Sail. But sea-room, ah the brine and cloudy bil- 
low kiss the moon, I care not. 

1 Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard; the sea 
worlis high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till the 
ship be elear'dof the dead. 

Per. That 's your superstition. 

1 Sail. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it hath been 
still observed; and we are strong in, astern. There- 
fore briefly yield her; for she must overboard 
straight. 

Per. Be it as you think meet.— Most wretched 
queen! 

Lye. Here she lies, sir. 

Per. A terrible childbed hast thou had. my dear; 
No light, no Are: the unfriendly elements 
Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time 
To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight 
Must cast thee, scarcely cofflu'd, in the ooze; 
Where, for a monumenc upon thy bones. 
And aye-remaining lamps, the belching whale 
And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse. 
Lying with simple shells. O, Lychorida, 
Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper. 
My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander 
Bring me the satin coffin: lay the babe 
Upon the pillow; hie thee, whiles I say 
A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman. 

2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, 
caulk'd and bltumed ready. 

Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is 
this? 
2 Sail. We are near Tharsus. 
Per. Thither, gentle mariner; 
Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach 
it? 
2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 
Per. O make for Tharsus. 
There will I visit Cleon, for the babe 
Cannot hold out to Tyrus; there I '11 leave it 
At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good marine^ , 
I '11 bring the body presently. [Exeunt. 

Scene II.— Ephesus. A Room in Cerlmon's 
House. 
Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some persons who 

have been shipwrecked. 
Cer. Philemon, ho! 

Enter Philemon. 
Phil. Doth my lord call? 
Cer. Get Are and meat for these poor men; 
It hath been a turbulent and stormy night. 
Ser. I have been in many; but such a night as 
this. 
Till now, I ne'er endur'd. 

Cer. Your master will be dead ere you return; 
There "s nothing can be minlster'd to nature, 
Tliat can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary 
And tell me how it works. [To Philemon. 

Enter Two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Good morrow. 

2 Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. 
Cer. Gentlemen, why do .you stir so early? 

1 Gent. Sir, our lodgings, standing bleak upon the, 
sea, 
Sliook as the earth did quake; 
Tile very principals did seem to rend. 
And all to topple: pure surprise and fear 
Made me to leave the house. 

a Ocnt. That is the cause we trouble you so early; 
'T is not our husbandry. 

Cer. O you say well. 

1 Gent. But I much marvel that your lordship, 
having 
Rich tire about you, should at these early hours 
Shake off the goldenslumber of repose: 
It is most strange. 

Nature should be so conversant with pain. 
Being thereto not compell'd. 

Cer. I held it ever. 

Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
Than nobleness and riches; careless heii's 
May the two latter ilarkeii and expend; 



But Immortality attends the former. 

Making a man a god. 'T is known, I ever 

Have studied physic, through which secret art. 

By turning o'er authorities, I have 

(Together with my practice) made familiar 

To me and to my aid, the bless'd infusions 

Tha' dwell in vegetives, In metals, stones; 

And I can speak of the disturbances 

That nature works, and of her cures; which gives 

me 
A more content in course of true delight 
Than to be thirst,y after tottering honour. 
Or tie my pleasure up in siikcn bags, 
To please the fool and death. 

2 Gent. Your honour hatli through Ephesus pour'd 
forth 
Your charit.y, and hundreds call themselves 
Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd: 
And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but 

even 
Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon 
Such strong renown as never shall decay. 
Enter Two Servants with a Chest. 

Ser. So; lift there. 

Cer. What 's that? 

Ser. Sir, 
Even now did the sea toss upon our shore 
This chest; 't is of some wrack. 

Cer. Set it down, let 's loolc upon it. 

2 Gent. 'T is like a cofBn, sir. 

Cer. Whate'er it be, 

'T is wondrous heavy. Wrench it open str.aight; 
If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold, 
It is a good constraint of Fortune it belches upon us. 

2 Qent. It is so, my lord. 

Cer. How close 't Is caulk'd and bitum'd! 

Did the sea cast it up? 

Ser. I never saw so huge a billow, sir. 
As toss'd it upon shore. 

Cer. Wrench it open; 

Soft— it smells most sweetly in my sense. 

2 Gent. A delicate odour. 

Cer. As ever hit my nostril; so,— up with it. 
O you most potent gods! what 's here? a corse! 

1 Gent. Most strange! 

Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state! 

Balm'd and entreasur'd with full bags of spices! 
A passport too! Apollo, perfect me 
In the characters! [He reads out of a scroll, 

' Here I give to understand 
(If e'er this cofSn drive a-land), 
i, king Pericles, have lost 
This queen, worth all our mundane cost. 
Who finds her, give her burying. 
She was the daughter of a king: 
Besides this treasure for a fee, 
Tlie gods requite his charity!' 
If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart 
That even cracks for woe! This chanc'd to-night. 

2 Gent. Most likely, sir. 
Cer. Nay, certainly to-night; 

For look how fresh she looks!— They were too rough 

That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within; 

Fetch hither all iny boxes in my closet. 

Death may usurp on nature many hours. 

And yet the Are of life kindle again 

The o'erpress'd spirits. I have heard of an Egypt Ian 

That had nine hours lien dead. 

Who was by good appliance recovered. 

Euter a Servant with napkins and fire. 
Well said, well said; the Are and cloths.— 
The rough and woeful music that we have. 
Cause it to sound, 'bseech you. 
The viol once more;— How thou stirr'st, thou 

block!— 
The music there.— I pray you, give her air;— 
Gentlemen, this queen will live: 
Nature awakes; a warmth breathes out of her; 
She hath not been entranc'd above Ave hours. 
See how she 'gins to blow into life's flower again! 

1 Gent. The heavens, through you. Increase our 

wonder 
And set up your fame for ever. 

Cer. She is alive; behold, 
Her eyelids, eases to those heavenly jewels 
Which Pericles hath lost. 
Begin to part their fringes of bright gold; 
The diamonds of a most prai.sed water 
Do appear, to make the world twice rich. O live, 
-Vnd make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature, 
Rare as you seem to be! [She moves. 

Thai. O dear Diana, 

Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is 
this? 

2 Gent. Is not this strange? 

1 Gent. Most rare. 

Cer. Hush, my gentle neighbours; 

Lend me your hands: to the next chamber bear her. 
Get linen; now this matter must be loolc'd to. 
For her relapse is mortal. Come, come. 
And Esculaplus guide us! 

[Exeunt, carrying her away. 

Scene III.— Tharsus. A Room in Cleon's House. 

Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, Lychorida, and 
Marina. 

Per. Most; honour'd Cleon, I niust needs be gone; 
My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands 
In a litigious peace. You and your lady 
Take from my heart all thankfi^ness! The gods 
Make up the rest upon you! 

Cle, Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you 
mortally. 
Yet glance full wond'rlngly on us. 

Dion. your sweet queen! 

That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought 

her hither. 
To have bless'd mine eyes with her! 

Per. We cannot but obey 

The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 
As dotli the sea she lies in, yet the end 
Must be as 't is. My gentle'babe, Marina, 
(Whom, for she was born at sea, I have nam'd so,) 
Here I charge your charity withal, 
Leaving her the infant of your care, beseeching you 
To give her princel.v training, that she may be 
Manner'd as she is born. 

Cle. Fear not, my lord; but think. 

Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, 
(For w-liieh the people's prayers still fall upon you,) 

fPAKT 41.1 



PERICLES. 



[Act rv. 



Must In your child be thought on. if neglectlon 
Should therein make me vile, the common body, 
By you rellev'd, would force me to my duty: 
But If to that my nature need a spur, 
The gods revenge It upon me and mine. 
To the end of generation! 

Per. I believe you; 

Your honour and your goodness teach me to it. 
Without your vows. Till she be married, madam, 
By bright Diana, whom we honour all, 
Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain, 
Though I show wild in 't. So I take my leave: 
Good madam, make me blessed in your care 
In bringing up my child. 

Dion. I have one myself, 

Who shall not be more dear to my respect, 
Than yours, my lord. 

Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 

Cle. We 'U bring your grace even to the edge o' 
the shore: 
Then give you up to mask'd Neptune, and 
The gentlest winds of heaven. 

Per. X will embrace 

Your offer. Come, dearest madam.— O, no tears, 
Lychorida, no tears: 

Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
You may depend hereafter.— Come, my lord. 

IKxeunt. 

Scene IV.- Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's House. 
Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. 

Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, 
Lay with you in your coffer; which are now 
At your command. Know you the character? 

Thai, it is my lord's. That I was shipp'd at sea 
I well remember, even on ray yearning time; 
But whether there delivered or no. 
By the holy gods I cannot rightly say; 
But since king Pericles, my wedded lord, 
I ne'er shall see again, a vestal livery 
Will I take me to, and never more have joy. 

Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak, 
Diana's temple is not distant tar. 
Where you may 'bide until your date expire: 
Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
Shall there attend you. 

TKai. My recompense is thanks, that 's all; 
Yet my good will Is great, though the gift small. 

[Exeunt 
ACT IV. 

Enter Gower. 
Gow. Imagine Pericles arriv'd at Tyre, 
Welcom'd and settled to his own desire. 
His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus, 
Unto Diana there a votaress. 
Now to Marina bend your mind. 
Whom our fast-growing scene must find 
At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd 
In music, letters; who hath gain'd 
Of education all the grace. 
Which makes her both the heart and place 
Of general wonder. But, alack! 
That monster Envy, oft the wrack 
Of earned praise, Marina's life 
Seeks to take off by treason's kuife. 
And in this kind hath our Cleon 
One daughter, and a wench full grovm, 
Even right for marriage rite; this mala 
Hight Pnlloten: and it is said 
For certain in our story, she 
Would ever with Marina be. 
Be 't when she weav'd the sleided silk 
With fingers long, small, white as milk; 
Or when she would with sharp neeld wound 
The cambric, which she made more sound 
By hurting it; or when to the lute 
She sung, and made the night-bird mute 
That still records with moan; or when 
She would with rich and constant pen 
Vail to her mistress Dian; still 
This Philoten contends in skill 
With absolute Marina: so 
The dove of Paphos might with the crow 
Vie feathers white. Marina gets 
All praises, which are paid as debts, 
And not as given. This so darks 
In Philoten all graceful marks. 
That Cleou's wife, with envy rare, 
A present murderer does prepare 
For good Marina, that her daughter 
Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 
The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, 
Lychorida, our nurse, is dead, 
And cursed Dionyza hath 
The pregnant instrument of wrath 
Prest for this blow. The unborn event 
I do commend to your content: 
Only I carry winged time 
Post on the lame feet of my rhyme; 
Which never could I .so convey. 
Unless your thoughts went on my way. 
Dionyza doth appear. 
With leonine, a murderer. lExit. 

Scene I. — Tharsus. An open place near the 
sea-shore. 
Enter Dionyza and Leonine. 
Dion. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do 
it. 
'T is but a blow, which never shall be known. 
Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon. 
To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience. 
Which Is but cold, inflaming love i' thy bosom. 
Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which 
Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be 
A soldier to thy purpose. 
Leon. I '11 do 't; but yet she Is a goodly creature. 
Dion. The fitter then the gods above should have 
her. 
Here she comes weeping for her only mistress' 

death. 
Thou art resolv'd? 
Leon. I am resolv'd. 

Enter Marina wirh a basket of flowers. 
Mar. No: I will rob Tellus of her weed, 
To strew thy giecn with flowers; the yellows, biues. 
The purple violets, and marigolds, 
Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave. 
While summer days do last. Ah me! poor maid. 
Born in a tempest, when my mother died. 
This world to me is like a lasting storm. 



Whirring me from my friends. 

Dion. How now, Marina! why do you keep alone? 
How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not 
Consume your blood with sorrowing; you have 
A nurse of me. Lord! how your favour 'a chang'd 
With this unprofltable woe! 

Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar them. 
Walk with Leonine; the air '9 quick there. 
And i; pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come, 
Leonine, take her by the arm walk with her. 

Mar. No, I pray you; 
I '11 not bereave you of your servant. 

Dion. Come, come; 
I love the king your father, and yourself. 
With more than foreign heart. We every day 
Expect him here: when he shall come, and And 
Our paragon to all reports thus blasted. 
He will repent the breadth of his great voyage; 
Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en 
No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, 
Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve 
That excellent complexion which did steal 
The eyes of young and old. Care not for me; 
I can go home alone. 

Mar. Well, I will go; 

But yet I have no desire to it. 

jD(on. Come, come, I know 't is good for you. 
Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least; 
Kemember what I have said. 

Leon. I warrant you, madam. 

Dion. I 'U leave you, my sweet lady, for a while; 
Pray walk sjftly, do not heat your blood: 
What! I must have a care of you. 

Mar. My thanks, sweet madam. 

[Eont Dionyza. 
Is this wind westerly that blows? 

Leon. South' west. 

Mar. When I was born the wind was north. 

Leon. Was 't so? 

Mar. My father, as nurse said, did ever fear. 
But cried, ' Good seamen,' to the sailors, galling 
His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes; 
And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea 
That almost burst the deck. 

Leon. When was this? 

ilfar. When I was horn. 
Never was waves or wind more violent; 
And from the ladder-tackle washes off 
A canvass climber: ' Ha!' says one, ' wilt out?' 
And with dropping industry they skip 
From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and 
The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 

i«on. Come, say your prayers. 

Mar. What mean you? 

Leon. If you require a little space for prayer, 
I grant it: pray; but be not tedious, 
For the gods are quick of ear, and 1 am sworn 
To do my work with iiaste. 

ilfar. Why will you kill me? 

I^eon. To satisfy my lady. 

Mar. Why would she have me kill'd? 
Now, as I can remember, by my troth, 
I never did her hurt in all my life; 
I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn. 
To any living creature: believe me, la, 
I never kiU'd a mouse, nor hurt a lly : 
I trod upon a worm against my will. 
But I wept for it. How liave I offended. 
Wherein my death might yield her any proflt, 
Or my life imply her any danger? 

Leon. My commission 
Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. 

Mar. You will not do 't for all the world, I hope, 
You are well-favour'd, and your looks foreshow 
You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately. 
When you caught hurt in parting two that fought: 
Good sooth, it show'd well in you; do so now: 
Your lady seeks my life;— come you between. 
And save poor me, the weaker. 

Leon. I am sworn. 

And will despatch. 

Enter Pirates whilst she is struggling. 

1 Pirate. Hold, villain! [Leon ritns away. 

2 Pirate. A prize! a prize! 

3 Pirate. Half -part, mates, half-part. Come, let 's 
have her aboard suddenly. 

[Exeunt Pirates tirith Marina. 
Scene II.— The same. 
Be-enter Leonine. 
Leon. These roguing thieves serve the great 
pirate Valdes; 
And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go; 
There 's no hope she '11 return. I 'U swear she 's 

dead. 
And thrown into the sea.— But t '11 see further; 
Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, 
Not carry her aboard. If she remain. 
Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain. [Ex. 

Scene III.— Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel. 
Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 

Pand. Boult, 

Boult. Sir. 

Pand. Search the market narrowly; Mitylene is 
full of gallants. We lost too much money this mart 
by being too wencliless. 

Bawd. We were never so much out of creatures. 
We have but poor three, and they can do no more 
than they can do; and they with continual action 
are even as good as rotten. 

Pand. Therefore let *s have fresh ones, whate'er we 
pay for them. If there be not a conscience to be 
used in every trade, we shall never prosper. 

Bawd. Thou say'st true: 't is not our bringing up 
of poor bastards, as I think I have brought up some 
eleven 

Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down 
again. But shall I search the market? 

Bawd. What else, man? The stuff we have, a 
strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so piti- 
fully sodden. 

Pand. Thou say'st true; they're too unwholesome 
o' conscience. Tlie poor Transylvanian is dead that 
lay with the little baggage. 

Boult. Ay, she quickly poop'd him; she made him 
roast-meat for worms;— but I '11 go search the mar- 
ket. [Exit Boult. 

Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as 
pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give over. 

Bawd. Wh.v, to give over, I pray you? Is it a 
shame to get when we are old? 

Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the commod- 



ity; nor the commodity wages not with the danger: 
therefore. If in our youths we could pick up some 
pretty estate, 't were not amiss to keep our door 
hatched. Besides, the sore terms we stand upon 
with the gods will be strong with us for giving over 

Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. 

Pand. As well as we! ay, and better too; we of- 
fend worse. Neither is our profession any trade; it 
's no calling; but here comes Boult. 

Enter the Pirates, and Boult dragging in Marina. 

Boult. Come your ways. [To Marina. J My masters, 
you say she 's a virgin? 

1 Pirate. O sir, we doubt it not. 

Boult. Master, I have gone through for this piece, 
you see: if you like her, so; if not, I have lost my 
earnest. 

Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities? 

Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and hath 
excellent good clothes; there 's no farther necessity 
of qualities can make her be refused. 

Bawd. What 's her price, Boult? 

Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand 
pieces. 

Pand. Well, follow me, my masters; you shall have 
your money presently. Wife, take her in: instruct 
her what she has to do, that she may not be raw in 
her entertainment. [Exeunt Pander and Pirates. 

Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her; thecolour 
of her hair, complexion, height, her age, with war- 
rant of her virginity; and crv, ' He that will give 
most, shall have her first.' Such a maidenhead were 
no cheap thing, if men were as they have been. Get 
this done as I command you. 

Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit Boult. 

ilfar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow' 
(He should have struck, not spoke;) or that these pi- 
rates. 
Not enough barbarous, had but overboard 
Thrown me, for to seek my mother! 

Bawd. Why lament you, my pretty one? 

Mar. That I am pretty. 

Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part In 
you. 

ilfar. I accuse them not. 

Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you are 
like to live. 

ilfar. The more my fault, to 'scape his hands 
where I 
Was like to die. 

Bated. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 

Mar. No. 

Bawd. Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen 
of all fashions. You shall fare well; you shall have 
the difference of all complexions, what! do you 
stop your ears? 

ilfar. Are you a woman? 

Bawd. What would you ha-^e me be, an I be not a 
woman? 

ilfar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 

Bawd. Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think I shall 
have something to do with you. Come, you are a 
young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would 
have you. 

ilfar. The gods defend me! 

Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by men 
then men must comfort you, men must feed you, 
men must stir you up.— Boult 's returned. 

.ffnter Boult. 
Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market? 

Boult. I have cried her almost to the number of 
her hairs; I have drawn her picture with mv voice. 

Bawd. And I prithee tell me, how dost thou find 
the inclination of the people, especially of the 
younger sort? 

Boult. 'Faith they listened to me, as they would 
have hearkened to their father's testament. There 
was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went 
to bed to her very description. 

Bated. We shall have him here to-morrow, with 
his best ruff on. 

Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you 
know the French knight that cowers i' the hams? 

Bated. Who? monsieur Veroles. 

Boult. Ay; he offered to cut a caper at the pro- 
clamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore he 
would see her to-morrow. 

Bawd. Well, well; as for him, he brought his dis- 
ease hither: here he doth but repair It. I know he 
will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the 
sun. 

Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, 
we should lodge them with this sign. 

Bawd. Pray you, come hither a while. You have 
fortunes coming upon you. Mark me; you must 
seem to do that fearfully which you commit will- 
ingly; to despise proflt where you have most gain. 
To weep that you live as you do makes pity in 
your lovers: Seldom but that pity begets you a good 
opinion, and that opinion a mere proflt. ' 

Mar. I understand you not. 

Boult. O take her home, mistress, take her home: 
these blushes of hers must be quenched with some 
present practice. 

Baiod. Thou say'st true 1' faith, so they must; for 
your bride goes to that with shame, which is her way 
to go with warrant. 

Boult. 'Faith some do, and some do not. But, 
mistress, if I had bargain'd tor the joint,— 

Bawd. Thou may'st cut a morsel off the spit. 

Boult. I may so. 

Bawd. Who should deny it? Come, young one, I 
like the manner of your garments well. 

Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed 
yet. 

Bated. Boult, spend you that in the town: report 
what a sojourner we have; you '11 lose nothing by 
custom. When Nature framed this piece, she meant 
thee a good turn; therefore say what a paragon she 
is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own re- 
port. 

Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not 
so awake the beds of eels, as my giving out of her 
beauty stir up the lewdly inclined. I 'II bring home 
some to-night. 

Bawd. Come your ways; follow me. 

ilfar. If flres be hot, knives sliarp, or waters deep. 
Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 
Diana, aid my purpose! 

Bated. What nave we to do with Diana? 
Pray you, will you go with us? ' [Exeunt. 



SCENK IV.J 



PERICLES. 



S31 



Scene IV.— ^ Room in Cleon's House at Tharsus. 

Enter Cleon and Dion.vza. 
Dion. Why, are you foolish? Can It be undoneT 
Cle. O DIonyza, such a piece of slaughter 
The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon. 
Dion. I think you Ml turn a child ap:aln. 
Cle. Were I chief lord of all this spacious world, 
I 'd give It to undo the deed. O lad.v. 
Much less In blood than virtue, yet a princess 
To equal any single crown o' the earth, 
I' the justice ot compare! O villain Leonine, 
Whom thou hast polson'd too! 

If thou hadst drunk to him. It had been a kindness 
Becoming well thy face: what canst thou say. 
When noDle Pericles shall demand his child'' 

Dion. That she Is dead. Nurses are not the fates. 
To foster It, nor ever to preserve. 
She died at night; I '11 say so. Who can cross It':" 
Unless you play the pious Innocent, 
And for an honest attribute, cry out, 
'She died by foul play.' 

Cle. O, go to. Well, well, 

Ot all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 
Do like this worst. 

Dion. Be one of those that think 

The pretty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence. 
And open this to Pericles. I do shame 
To think of what a noble strain you are. 
And of how coward a spirit. 

Cle. To such proceeding 

Who ever but his approbation added. 
Though not his preconsent, he did not flow 
From honourable courses. 

Dion. Be it so, then: 
Yet none doth know, but you, how she came dead. 
Nor none can know. Leonine being gone. 
She did disdain my child, and stood between 
Her and her fortunes: n<me would look on her, 
But cast their gazes on Marina's face; 
Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin 
JSfot worth the time of day. It plerc'd me through: 
And though you call my course unnatural. 
You not 5'our child well loving, yet I find, 
It greets me as an enterprise of kindness, 
Perform'd to your sole daughter. 
Cle. Heavens forgive Itl 

Dion. And as for Pericles, 
What should he say? We wept after her hearse, 
And even yet we mourn: her monument 
Is almost flnish'd, and her epitaphs 
In glittering golden characters express 
A general praise to her, and care In us 
At whose expense 't is done. 

Cle. Thou art like the harpy. 

Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face. 
Seize with thine eagle's talons. 

Dion. You are like one that superstittously 
Both swear to the gods that wlnt(!r kills the flies: 
But yet I know you '11 do as I advise. {Exeunt. 

Enter Gower, before the Monument of Marina at 

Tharsus. 
Oow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues 
make short. 
Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for 't; 
Making (to take your imagination) 
From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
To use one language, in each several clime 
Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you. 
To learn of me, who stand 1' the gaps to teach you, 
The stages of our scory. Pericles 
Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, 
(.attended on by many a lord and knight,) 
■To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
Old Eseanes, whom Helicanus late 
Advanc'd in time to great and high estate, 
Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind. 
Old Helicanus goes along behind. 
Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have 

brought 
This king to Tharsus (think his pilot thought; 
So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on). 
To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. 
Like motes and shadows see them move a while; 
Your ears unto your eyes I '11 reconcile. 

Dumb show. 
Enter Pericles at one door, vnth all his train; Cleon 
and Bionyza at the other. Cleon shoivs Pericles the 
tomfe fo/ Marina]; lohereat Pericles ma&cs lamenta- 
tion, puis on sackcloth, and in a mighty passion de- 
parts. 

Gow. See how belief may suffer by foul show! 
This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe; 
And Pericles, in sorrow alldevour'd. 
With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er 

show'r'd. 
Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears 
Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs; 
He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears. 
And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
The epitaph is for Marina writ 
By wicked Dionyza. [Reads the inscription on 

Marina's monument. 
'The fairest, sweetest, best, lies here. 
Who wither'd in her spring of year. 
She was of Tyrus, the king's daughter, 
On whom foul death hath made this slaughter; 
Marina was .she call'd; and at her birth, 
Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' the 

earth: 
Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd. 
Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens be- 

stow'd: 
Wherefore she does, and swears she 'U never stint. 
Make raging battery upon shores of flint.' 
No vizor does become black villainy. 
So well as soft and tender flattery. 
Let Pericles believe his daughter 's dead, 
And bear his courses to be ordered 
By lady Fortune; while our scene must play 
His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day, 
In her unholy service. Patience then. 
And think you now are all in Mitylene. [Exit. 

SCE.N-E v.— Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel. 
Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like? 

2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as 
this, she being once gone. 



1 Gent. But to have divinity preach'd there! did 
you ever dream of such a thing? 

2 Gent. No, no. Come, 1 am for no more bawdy- 
houses: shall we go hear the vestals sing? 

1 Gent. 1 '11 do anything now that Is virtuous, but 
I am out of the road ot rutting, for ever. [Exeunt. 

Scene VI.— The same. A Room in the Brothel. 

Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 

Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of 
her, she had ne'er come here. 

Bawd. FU", fie upon her; she is able to freeze the 
god Prlapus, and undo .a whole genonition. We 
must either get her ravish'd or he rid of lier. When 
she should do for clients her fitment, and <lo me the 
kindness ot our profession, she has mo her quirks, 
her reasons, her master-reasons, her prayers, her 
knees; that .she would make a puritan of the devil, 
if he should cheapen a kiss of her. 

Boult. 'Faith I must ravish her, or she '11 dlsfur- 
nlsh us of all our cavaliers, and make nil our swearers 
Viriests. 

Band. Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for 
me! 

Bawd. 'Faith, there 's no way to be rid on 't, but 
by the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Lysl- 
machus, disguised. 

Boult. We should have both lord and town, if the 
peevish baggage would but give way to customers. 
Enter Lysimachus. 

Jjys. How now? How a dozen of virginities? 

Bawd. Now, the gods to bless your honour! 

Boult. I am glad to see your honour In good 
health. 

Lys. You may so; 'tis the better for you that your 
resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, whole- 
some iniquity? Have you that a man may deal 
withal and defy the surgeon? 

Bawd, We have here one, sir. If she would— but 
there never came her like in Mitylene. 

Lys. If she 'd do the deed of darkness, thou 
would'st say. 

Bawd. Your honour knows what 't Is to say, well 
enough. 

Lys. Well; call forth, call forth. 

Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you 
shall see a rose; and she were a rose Indeed, if she 
had but 

Lys. What, prithee? 

Boult. O, sir, I can be modest. 

Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less 

than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. 

Enter Marina. 

Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk; 
-never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is she not a 
fair creature? 

Lys. 'Faith she would serve after a long voyage at 
sea. Well, there 's for you; leave us. 

Bawd. I beseech your honour, give me leave; a 
word, and I '11 have done presently. 

Lys. I beseech you, do. 

Bawd. First, I would have you note, this Is an hon- 
ourable man. [To Marina, whom she takes aside. 

Mar. I de^re to find him so, that I may worthily 
note him. 

Bawd. Next, he 's the governor of this country, 
and a man whom I am bound to. 

Mar. If he governs the country, you are bound to 
him Indeed; but how honourable he is in that, I 
know not. 

Bawd. Pray you, without any more virginal fenc- 
ing, will you use him kindly? He will line your 
apron with gold. 

Mar. What he will do graciously I will thankfully 
receive. 

Lys. Have you done? 

Bawd. My lord, she 's not pac'd yet; you must 
take some pains to work her to your manage. Come, 
we will leave his honour and her together. 

[Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and Boult. 

Lys. Go thy ways.— Now, pretty one, how long 
have you been at this trade? 

Mar. What trade, sir? 

Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend. 

Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please 
you to name it. 

Lys. How long have you been of this profession? 

Mar. Ever since I can remember. 

Lys. Did you go to it so young? Were you a 
gamester at five, or at seven? 

Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 

Lys. Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to 
be a creature of sale. 

Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of 
such resort, and will come into it? I hear say, you 
are of honourable parts, and are the governor of 
this place. 

Lys. Why, hath your principal made known unto 
you who I am? 

Mar. Who Is my principal? 

Lys. Why your herb-woman; she that sets seeds 
and roots of shame and Iniquity. O, you have 
heard something of m.r power, and so stand aloof 
for more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, 
pretty one, my authority shall not see thee, or else, 
look friendly upon thee. Come, bring me to some 
private place. Come. come. 

Mar. If you were born to honour, show it now; 
If put upon you, make the Judgment good 
That thought you worthy of it. 

Lys. How 's this? how 's this?— Some more:— be 
sage. 

Mar. For me, that am a maid, though most un- 
gentle 
Fortune have plac'd me in this loathsome sty, 
Where since I came, diseases have been sold 
Dearer than physic,— O that the gods 
Would set me free from this unhallow'd place. 
Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
That flys i' the purer air! 

Dys. I did not think 

Thou could'st have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd 

thou could'st. 
Had I brought hither a corrupted mind. 
Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here 's gold for 

thee: 
And the gods strengthen thee! 

Mar. The gods preserve you! 

Lys. For me, be you thoughten 

That I came with no ill intent; for to me 
The very doors and windows savour vilely. 
Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, 



And I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. 

Hold; here 's more gold for thee. 

A cur.se upon him, tile he like a thief. 

That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou hear'st from 

me • 

It shall be for thy good. 

[As Lysimachus is putting up hiajntrse, 
Boult enters. 

Boult. I beseech your honour, one piece for me. 

Lys. Avaunt. thou damned door keeper! 
Your house, but for this virgin that doth prop It, 
Would sink and overwhelm you. Away. [Exit. 

Boult. How 's this? We must take another course 
with you. If your peevish chastity, which is not 
worth a breakfast li\ the cheapest country under the 
cope, sliiill undo a whole household, let me be gelded 
like H spaniel. Come your ways. 

Mar. WliK her would you have me? 

Boult. 1 must have your maidenhead taken off, or 
the common hangman shall execute it. Come your 
ways. We 'II have no more gentlemen driven away. 
Come your ways, I say. 

Re-enter Bawd. 

Bawd. How now! what 's the matter? 

Boult. Worse and worse, mistress; she has here 
spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus. 

Bawd. O abominable! 

Boult. She makes our profession as It were stink 
afore the face of the gods. 

Baivd. Marry, hang her up forever! 

Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with her 
like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as 
a snow-ball; saying his prayers too. 

Bawd. Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleas- 
ure: crack the glass of her virginity, and make the 
rest malleable. 

Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground 
than she is, she shall be ploughed. 

Jlfar. Hark, hark, .ve gods! 

Bawd. She conjures: away with her. Would she 
had never come within my doors! Marry hang you! 
She 's born to undo us. Will you not go the way of 
womankind? Marry come up, my dish of chastity 
with rosemary and bays! [Exit Bawd. 

Boult. Come, mistress; come your way with me. 

Mar. Whither would you have me? 

Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so 
dear. 

Mar. Prithee, tell me one thing first. 

Boult. Come now, your one thing? 

3Iar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? 

Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master, or 
rather, mjf mistress. 

Jtfar. Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art. 
Since they do better thee In their command. 
Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend 
Of hell would not in reputation change: 
Thou art thedamn'd door-keeper to every coyst'rel 
That comes inquiring for his tib; 
To the choleric fisting of every rogue thy ear 
Is liable; thy food is such. 
As hath been belch'd on by Infected lungs. 

Boult. What would you have me do? go to the 
wars, would you? where a man may serve seven 
years for the loss of a leg, and have not money 
enough in the end to buy him a wooden one? 

Mar. Do anything but this thou doest. Empty 
Old receptacles, or common sewers of filth; 
Serve by indenture to the common hangman; 
Any of these ways are better yet than this: 
For what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak, 
Would own a name too dear. That the gods would 

safely 
Deliver me from this place! Here, here 's gold for 

thee. 
If that thy master would gain aught by me. 
Proclaim that I can sing, "weave, sew, and dance. 
With other virtues, which I '11 keep from boast; 
And I will undertake all these to teach. 
I doubt not but this populous city will 
Yield many scholars. 

Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of? 

Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again. 
And prostitute me to the basest gioom 
That doth frequent your house. 

Boult. Well, I will see what I can do for thee; if I 
can place thee, I will. 

Mar. But amongst honest women? 

Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst 
them. But since my master and mistress have 
bought you, there 's no going but by their consent: 
therefore I will made tliem acquainted with your 
purpose, and I doubt not but I snail find them tract- 
able enough. Come, I '11 do for thee what I can: 
come your ways. SExeunt, 

ACT V. 
Enter Gower. 
Gow. Marina thus the brothel scapes, and chances' 
Into an honest house, our story says. 
She sings like one immortal, and she dances 
As goddess-like to her admired lays: 
Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her neeld com- 
poses 
Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry; 
That even her art sisters the natural roses; 
Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry: 
That pupils lacks she none of noble race. 
Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain 
She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place. 
And to her father turn our thoughts again. 
Where we left him on the sea. We there him lost; 
Whence driven before the winds he is arriv'd 
Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast 
Suppose him now at anchor. The city strlv'd 
God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from whence 
Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies. 
His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense; 
And to him in his barge with fervour hies. 
In your supposing once more put your sight, 
Of heavy Pericles think this his bark: 
Where, what is done in action, more, if might. 
Shall be discover'd; please you sit and hark. lExit. 

Scene I.— On board Pericles' ship off Mitylene. A 
close Pavilion on deck, with a curtain before it; 
Pericles within it, reclined on a couch. A barge 
lying beside the Tyrian vessel. 

Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian vessel 
the other to the barge; to them, Helicanus, 
Tyr. Sail. Where Is the lord Helicanus? He can 

resolve you. [To the Sailor of Mltylene.J O, here 



333 



PERICLES. 



(Act v. 



he is. Sir, there Is a barge put off from MItylene, 
and In It Is Lyslmachus the governor, who craves to 
come aboard. What is your will? 

HeU That ha have his. Call up some centlenien. 

Tyr. Sail, lib, Keiitlemeu! my lord calls. 
hnter two Gentlemen. 

1 Gent. Doth your lordship call? 

Hel. Gentlemen, there is some of worth would 
comealioard; 1 pray, greet them fairly. 

[The Gentlemen ami the two Sailors descend, and 

go on board the barge. 

Enter from thenee Lysimacluis, attended; the 

Tirian Gentlemen, and tlie two .Sailors. 

Tyr. Sail. Sir, this is the man that can, in aught 
you would, resolve you. 

Lys. Hall, reveren<l sir! The gods preserve youl 

Jlel. And you, sir, to outlive the age 1 am. 
And die as I would do. 

Lys. You wish me well. 

Being on shore, honouring of Neptuiie's triumphs, 
Seeing lliis goodly vessel ride before us, 
I made to it, to Ivuow of wlience you are. 

Hel. First, what is your place? 

Lys. I am tlie governor of this place you lie before. 

Hel. Sir, our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king; 
A man, who for this three months hath not spoken 
To any one, or taken sustenance, 
Uat to prorogue his grief. 

Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature? 

flel. Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat; 
Bit the main grief springs from the loss 
Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 

Lys. May we not see him? 

Hel. You may. 

But bootless is your si.ght; he will not speak to any. 

Lys. Y'et let me obtain mv wish. 

Hel. Behold him. sir. | Pericles discovered.] This 
was a goodly person, 
nil the disaster tliat, one mortal night. 
Drove him to this. 

Lys. Sir, king, all hail! the gods preserve you! 
Hail, 
Koyal sir! 

Hel. It is in vain; he will not speak to you. 

Lord. Sir, we have a maid lu Mitylene, I durst 
wager. 
Would win some words of him. 

Lys. 'T is well bethought. 

She, questionless, with her sweet harmony. 
And other chosen attractions, would allure, 
And make a battery through his deafen'd parts. 
Which now are midway stopp'd: 
She is all happy as the fairest of all. 
And, with her fellow-maids, is now upon 
The leafy shelter that abuts against 
The island's side. 

l^Vhispers one of the attendant Lords. Exit 
Lord in the barge of Lysimaclius. 

Hel. Sure ail 's effectless; yet nothing we '11 omit 
That bears recovery's name. But, since your kind- 
ness 
We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you, 
That for our gold we may provision have, 
Wherein we are not destitute for want, 
But weary for the stateness. 

Lys. O, sir, a courtesy. 

Which if we should deny, the most Just gods 
For every graft would send a caterpillar. 
And so inflict our province.— Y'et once more 
Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
Of your king's sorrows. 

Hel. Sit, sir, I will recount it to you. 
But see, I am prevented. 

Enter from the barge. Lord, Marina, and a 
young Lady. 

Lys. O here 's the lady that I sent for. Welcome, 
fair one! 
Is 't not a goodly presence? 

Hel. Slie 's a gallant lady. 

Lys. She 's such a one, tliat were I well assur'd 
Came of a gentle kind, and noble stock, 
I 'd wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed. 
Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty 
Kxpect even liere, where is a kingly patient: 
jf tliat thy prosperous and artificial feat 
Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, 
'I?hy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
Asthy desires can wisli. 

Mar. Sir, I will use 

My utmost skill in his recovery. 
Provided none but I and my companion 
Be sui'ter'd to come near him. 

Lys. Come, let us leave her. 
And the gods m.ike her prosperous! fJIarina sings. 

Lys. Mark'd lie your music? 

Mar. No, nor look'd on us. 

Lys. See, she will speak to him. 

Mar. Hail, sir! my lord, 
Lend ear. 

Per. Hum, ha! 

Mar. I am a maid. 
My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes. 
But have been gaz'd on like a comet: she speaks. 
My lord, that, nuxy be, hatli endur'd a grief 
Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. 
Thougli wayward fortune did malign my state, 
My derivation was from ancestors 
Who stood equivalent with mighty kings: 
But time liath rooted out my little parentage, 
And to the world and awkward casualties 
Bound me in servitude.— I will desist; 
But there is something glows upon mv cheek, 
And whispers iu mine ear, ' Go not till he speak.' 

\Aside. 

Per. My fortunes— parentage— good parentage — 
To equal mine!— v.'as it not tnus? what say you? 

Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my parent- 
age, 
Y'ou would not do me violence. 

Per. I do flunk so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon 
me. 
You are lilce something, that— What countrywoman? 
Here of these shores? 

Zlar. No, nor of any shores: 

Ye. i was mortall.v brought forth, and am 
>.■(> other tlian I appear. 

Per. I am great with woe, and shall deliver weep- 
ing. 
My dearest wife was like this maid, and sucli a one 
My daughter might have been: my queen's square 

brows; 
Her stature to an Innh; as wand-llke straight; 



As silvei 'dvolc'd; her eyes as jewel-like. 

And cas'd as richly: in pace another Juno: 

Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them 

hungry. 
The more she gives tiiem speech. Where do yon 
live? 

Jlfar. Where I am but a stranger: from the deck 
You may discern the place. 

Per. Where were j'ou bred? 

Xnd how nclilev'd you these endowments, which 
You nuike more rich to owe? 

Mar. If I should tell my history, it would seem 
Like lies disdain'd iu the reporting. 

Per. Prithee speak; 

Falseness cannot come from tliee, for thou loolc'st 
Modest fs Justice, and thou seem'sta palace 
For thee crown'd Truth to dwell in: I '11 believe 

thee. 
And make my senses credit thy relation 
To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st 
Like one I lov'd indeed. Wh.Tt were thy friends? 
Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back, 
(Which was wheii I pei-eeiv'd thee,) that thou cam 'st 
From good descending? 

Mar. So indeed I did. 

Per. Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st 
Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to Injur.v, 
And that thou thought'st thy griefs miglit equal 

mine. 
If both were opened. 

Mar. Some sucii thing I said, and said no more 
But wliat mv thoughts did warrant me was likely. 

Per. Tell thy story; 
If thine, eonsider'd, prove the thousandth part 
Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I 
Have suffer'd like a girl: yet thou dost look 
Like Patience, gazing on kings' graves, and smiling 
Extremity out of act. What were thy friends? 
How lost thou them? Thy names, my most kind 

virgin? 
Recount, I do beseech thee; come, sit by me. 

Mar. My name is Marina. 

Per. O, lammock'd, 

And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
To make the world to laugh at me. 

Mar. Patience, good sir, or here I '11 cea.se. 

Per. Nay, I '11 be patient; 
Thou little knowest how thoudost startleme. 
To call thyself Marina. 

Mar. The name was given me 

By one that had some power; my father and a king. 

Per. How! a king's daughter, and call'd Marina? ■ 

Mar. You said you would believe me; 
But, not to be a troubler of your peace, 
I will end here. 

Per. But are you flesh and blood? 

Have you a working pulse? and are no falry-mo- 

tlen? 
Well; speak on. Where were you born? 
.4nd wherefore call'd Marina? 

Mar. Call'd Marina, 

For I was born at sea. 

Per. At sea? who was thy mother? 

31ar. My mother was the daughter of a king; 
Wiio died the very minute I was born. 
As my good nurse Lychorida iiath oft 
Deliver'd weeping. 

Per. O, stop there a little! 

This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep 
Did mock sad fools within: this cannot be 
My daughter buried. [Aside.\ Well;— where \Vere 

you bred? 
I '11 hear you more, to the bottom of your story. 
And never interrupt you. 

Mar. You '11 scarce believe me; 't were best 1 did 
give o'er. 

Per. I will believe you by the syllable 
Of what you shall deliver. Yet give me leave- 
How came you in these parts? where were you bred? 

Mar. The king, ray father, did in Tharsus leave 
me; 
Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife. 
Did seek to murther me: and having woo'd 
A villain to attempt it, who liaving drawn to do 't, 
A crew of pirates came and rescued me; 
Brought me to Mitylene. But, good sir, whither 
Will you have me? Why do you weep? It may be 
You think me an impostor; no, good faith; 
I am the daughter to king Pericles, 
If good king Pericles be. 

Per. Ho, Helicanus! 

Hel. Calls my lord? 

Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor. 
Most wise in general; tell me, if thou canst. 
What this maid Is, or what is like to be. 
That thus hath made me weep? 

Hel. I know not; but 

Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene 
Speaks nobly of her. 

Lys. She never would tell he:- parentage; 
Being demanded that, she would sit still and vpeep. 

Per. O Helicanus, strike me, houour'd sir; 
Give me a gash, put me to present pain; 
Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, 
O'erbear the shores of my mortality. 
And drown me with their sweetness. O come hither, 
Thou that begett'st him that did thee beget; 
Thou that wast born at sea, burled at Tharsus, 
.ind found at sea again!— O Helicanus, 
Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud 
As thunder threatens us. This is Marina.— 
What was thy mother's name? tell me but that, 
For truth can never be conflrm'd enough. 
Though doubts did ever sleep. 

Mar. First, sir, I pray, what is your title? 

Per. I am Pericles of Tyre; but tell me now 
My drown'd queen's name: as in the rest you said. 
Thou hast been god-like perfect, the heir of king- 
doms, 
And another like to Pericles thy father. 

Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than 
To say my mother's name was Thaisa? 
Thaisa was my mother, who did end 
•The minute I began. 

Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise; thou art my 
child. 
Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus, she 

is; 
Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been. 
By savage Cleon; she shall tell tliee all; 
When thou shall kneel, and justify in knowledge. 
She is thy very princess.— Who is this? 

Hel. Sir, 't is the governor of Mitylene, 



Who, hearing of your melancholy state. 
Did come to see you. 

Per. I embrace you. 

Give me m.v robes; I am wild in m.v beholding. 

heavens bless my girl! But hark, what music 's 

this? 
Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him 
O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt. 
How sure you aie my daughter.— But what music? 

Hel. My lord, I hear none. 

Per. None? 

Tlie music of the spheres: list, my Marina. 

Lys. It is not good to cnws him; give him way. 

Per. Rai'est sounds do .ve not liear? 

Lys. Music? My lord, I hear— 

Per. Most heavenly music: 

Tt nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber 
Hangs on mine eyes; let me rest. \_He sleeps. 

Lys. A pillow for his head. 
So leave him all. Well, my companion-friends. 
It this hut answer to my just belief, 
X '11 well remember you. 

lExeunt Lysiniachus, Helicanus, Marina, and! 
attendant Lady. 

Scene II.— The same. 

Pericles on devTc asleep; Diana appearing to him as 
in a Vision. 

Dia. My temple stands in Ephesus; hie thee thither. 
And do upon mine altar saerillce. 
There, when my maiden priests are met together. 
Before the people all 

Reveal how thim at sea didst lose thy wife: 
To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call, 
And give them repetition to the like. 
Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe: 
Do 't, and be happy: by my silver bow 
Awake, and tell thy dream. [Diana d/sap^«ars. 

Per. Celestial Diiin, goddess argentine, 
Iwilloijey thee!— Helicanus! 

i'nferLysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. 
My purpose was for Tliarsus, there to strike 
Til' inhospitable Cleon; but lam 
For other service first: toward Ephesus 
■Turn our blown sails; eftsoous I '11 tell thee why. 

(To Helicanus. 
Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore. 
And give you gold for sueli provision 
As our intents will need? 

Lys. Sir, 

With all my heart; and when you come ashore, 

1 have another suit. 

Per. You shall prevail. 

Were it to woo m.v daughter; for it seems 
You have been noble towards her. 
Lys. Sir, lend me your arm. 

Per. Come, hiy Marina. [Exeunt. 

Enter Gower, before the Temple of Diana at 
Ephesus. 
Gow. Now our sands are almost run; 

More a little, and then dumb. 

This, my last boon, give me, 

(For such a kindness n\ust relieve me,) 

That you aptly will suppose 

What pageantry, what feats, what shows, 

Wliat min.strel.sy, what pretty din. 

The regent made lu Mitylin, 

To greet the king. So he has thriv'd, 

•riiat he is promis'd to i)e wiv'd 

To fair Marina; but in no wise. 

Till lie had done his sacrifice, 

As Dian bade: whereto being bound, 

Tlie interim, pra.v you, all confound. 

In featlier'd briefness sails are fiU'd, 

And wishes fall out as they 're will'd. 

At Ephesus the temple see. 

Our king, and all his company, 

■That he can hither come so soon. 

Is by your fancy's thankful doom. lExtt. 

Scene 111.— The Temple of Diana at Ephesus; Thaisa 
standing near the altar, as high prietess; a number 
o/ Virgins on. eot/i Side; Cerinion and oWier Inhabi- 
tants o/ Ephesus a((enduigr. 

Enter Pericles with his Train; Lysimachus, Heli- 
canus, Marina, and a Lady. 

Per. Hail, Dian! to perform ;hy just demand, 
I here confess myself the king of Tyre; 
Who, flighted from my country, did wed 
At Pentapolis the ."air Thaisa. 
At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth 
A niaid-child call'd Marina; who, O goddess. 
Wears yet thy silver livery. She, at Tharsus 
Was nursed with Cleon; whom at fourteen years 
He sought to murther: but her better stars 
Brought her to Mitylene; against whose shore 
Riding, her fortunes brought the maid abo»rd us 
Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she 
Made known herself my daughter. t 

Thai. Voice and favour!— 

You are, you are— O royal Pericles!— [She faints. 

Per. What means the woman? she. dies: help, gen- 
tlemen! 

Cer. Noble sir. 

If you have told Diana's altar true. 
This is your wife. 

Per. Reverend appearer, no; 

I threw her o'erboard with tliese very arms. 

Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 

Per. 'T is most certain. 

Cer. Look to the lady;—®, she 's but o'erjoy'd. 
Early in blust'ring morn this lady was 
Thrown upon this shore. I op'd the coffin; 
Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and placed 

her 
Here in Diana's temple. 

Per. May we see them? 

Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my 
house. 
Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is 
Recovered. 

Thai. O, let me look! 

If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
Will to my sense bend no licentious ear. 
But curb it, spite ot seeing. O, my l<n-d. 
Are you not Pericles? Like him you speak. 
Like him you are: Did you not name a tempest, 
A birth, and death? 

Per. The voice of dead Thulsa! 

I'hai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead 
And drowu'd. 



Scene hi.] 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



a33 



Per. Inimoital Dianl 

TiMi. Now I know you better.— 

When we with tears partpil Pentapolls. 
The king, my father, gave you such a ring. 

[Shows a ring. 

Per. This, this; no more, you godsl your present 
kindness 
Makes my past miseries sports: You shall do well. 
That on the touching of her lips I may 
Melt, and no more be seen. O come, be buried 
A second time within these arms. 

Mav. My heart 

Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 

[Kneels to Thaisa. 

Per. Look, who kneels here! Flffsh of thy flesh 
Thaisa; 
Thy burthen at the sea. and call'd Marina, 
For she was yielded there. 

Thai. Blessed, and mine own: 

Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen'. 

Thai. I know you not. 

Pur. You liave heard me say, when I did fly from 
Tyre. 
I left behind an ancient substitute. 
Can you remember what I cali'd the man'? 
I have nam'd him oft. 

TJiai. 'T was Helicanus then. 

Per. Still confirmation: 
Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he. 



Now do I Ipng to hear how you were found; 
How possibly pre.serv'd; and whom to thank, 
Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 

Thai. Lord Cerimon my lord: this man, through 
whom 
Tlie gods have shown their power; that can from 

first 
To last resolve you. 

Per. Reverend sir, the gods 

Can have no mortal officer more like 
A god than you. Will you deliver how 
This dead queen re-lives? 

Cer. I will, my l</rd. 

Beseech you, first go with me to my house. 
Where shall be shown you all was found with her; 
How she came placed here within the temple; 
No needful thing omitted. 

Per. Pure Diana! 

I bless thee for thy vision, and will offer 
Night-oblations to thee. Thaisa, 
This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter. 
Shall marry her at Pentapolls. And now. 
This ornament that makes me look so dismal. 
Will I, mv lov'd Marina, clip to form; 
And what tins fouiteeic years no razor touch'd 
To grace thy marriage-day, I '11 beautify. 

Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, 
Sir, that my father 's dead. 



Per. Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my 
queen. 
We '11 celehrati- their nupti.<ils, and ourselves 
Will in that kingdom spend our lollowing days; 
Our son and daui-'liter shall In Tyrus reign. 
Lord Cei-inion, we do our longing stay. 
To hear the rest untold,— Sir, load the way. 

[Exeunt omnes. 
Enter Gower. 

Gow. In Antiochus and his daughter, you have 
heard 
Of PKmstrous lust the due and just reward; 
In Pericles. Ins queen and daughier. seen 
{Although assail'tl with fortune fierce and keen) 
Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast. 
Led on i>y heaven, and crown'd with joy at last. 
In Helicanus may you well descrv 
A fi:.;ure of Inith. of f.-iitli, of loyalty: 
In reverend Ceriition there wejl appears. 
The woi'th rliMt learned charity aye wear.s. 
For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
Had spread their cursed deed, and houour'd name 
or Pericles, to rage the city turn; 
That hini and his they in his palace burn. 
The gods for iiiurther seemed so content 
To punish tlieni; aithoimli not done, but meant. 
So, on your patience ever more intending. 
New joy wait on you! Here our play hath ending. 

[Exit Gower. 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



' Vilia miretur vulgus, mihi flavus Apollo 
Pocula Castalla plena ministret aqua.'— Ovid. 

TO THE 

RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD. 
RiOHT HOSOURABLIC, , . . , , ... , . 

I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my impolished Inies to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop 
to support so weak a burthen: only if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours till I have 
honoured vou with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godlather, and never after ear so 
barren a land, for fear It yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may 
always answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful expectation. Your Honour's in all duty, 

William Sh.i.kespeaue. 



Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face 
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, 
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase; 
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn; 
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, 
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him. 

'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began, 
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare. 
Stain to all nymphs, more lovel.v than a man, 
More white and red than doves or roses are; 
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, 
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 

' Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow; 
If thou wilt (feign this favour, for thy meed 
A thousand honey-secrets shalt thou know: 
Here come and sit, where never seipent hisses, 
Aud being set I '11 smother thee with kisses; 

■And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety. 
But rather famish them amid their plenty. 
Making them red and pale with fresh variety, 
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty; 
A summer's day will seem an hour but short, 
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.' 

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm. 
The precedent of pith and livelihood. 
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm. 
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 
13eing so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force. 
Courageously to pluck him from his horse. 

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, 

Under her other was the tender boy. 

Who blush'd and pouted in a full disdain, 

With leaden appetite, unapt to toy; 
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, 
He red for shame, but frosty In desire. 

The studded bridle on a ragged bough 

Nimbly she fastens; lO how quick is love!) 

The s'eed is stalled up, and even now 

To tie the rider she begins to prove: 
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust. 
And govern'd him in strength, thougli not in lust. 

So soon was she along, as he was dosvn. 
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips: 
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown. 
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips; 
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, 
' If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.' 

He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears 
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks: 
Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs. 
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks: 

He siths she Is immodest, blames her 'miss; 

What follows more she murders with a kiss. 

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast. 
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone. 
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste. 
Till eitlier gorge be stuff'd, or prey be gone; 
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin. 
And where she ends she doth anew begin. 

Forc'd to content, but never to obey. 
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face; 



She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey. 
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers. 
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers. 

Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, 

So fastened in her arms Adonis lies; 

Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret. 

Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes; 
Rain added to a river that is rank. 
Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 

For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale; 

Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets, 

'Twixt crimson shame, and anger ashy pale; 
Being red, she loves him best; and being white. 
Her best is better'd with a more delight. 

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; 
And by her fair immortal hand she swears 
From his soft bosom never to remove, 
Till he take truce with her contending tears. 

Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet; 

And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. 

Upon this promise did he raise his chin. 
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave. 
Who, being looK'd on. ducks as quickly in; 
So offers he to give what she did crave; 
But when her lips were ready for his pay. 
He winks, and turns his lips another way. 

Never did passenger in summer's heat 
More thirst for drink, than she for tliis good turn: 
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get; 
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn: 

'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy! 

'T is but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy? 

' I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now. 
Even by the stern and direful god of war. 
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow. 
Who conquers where he comes, in every jar; 
Yet hath he been my captive and m.y slave. 
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have. 

' Over my altars hath he hung his lance. 
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest. 
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance. 
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest; 
Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red. 
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 

* Thus he that overrul'd I oversway'd. 

Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain: 

Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd, 

Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 
O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might. 
For mastering her that toil'd the god of fight! 

' Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, 
(Tliough mine be not so fair, yet are they red,) 
■The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:— 
What seest tliou in the ground, liold up th.v head; 

Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies; 

Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 

'Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again. 
And I will wink, so shall the day seem night: 
Love keeps his revels where there aie but twain; 
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight: 



These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean 
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. 

•The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 
Shows thee unripe; yet may'st thou well be tasted; 
Make use of time, let not advantage slip: 
Beauty within itself should not be wasted: 
Fair flowers that are not gatlier'd in their prime 
Rot and consume themselves in little time. 

' Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, 
Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
O'er-worn, despised, iheumatie, and cold, 
Tliick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice. 

Then might'st thou pause, for then I were not for 
thee; 

But having no defects, why dost abhor me''' 

* Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow; 

Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in turn- 
ing; 

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow. 

My flesh is soft and plump, n;y marrow burning; 
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy handfelt, 
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 

' Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear. 
Or, like a fairy, trijj upon the green. 
Or, like a nymph, with long di.-^hevell'd hair. 
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen: 
Love is a spirit all compact of fire, 
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 

' Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie! 

The forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me; 

Two strengthless doves will draw me through the 
sky. 

From morn to night, even where I list to sport me: 
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
That thou should'st think it heavy unto thee? 

' Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? 

Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? 

Then woo thyself, be of tliyself rejected. 

Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft. 
Narcissus so himself himself forsook. 
And died to kiss his shadow iu tlie brook. 

' Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, 
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty f<n- the use. 
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; 
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse. 

Seeds spring from seeds, aud beauty breedeth 
beauty. 

Thou wast begot,— to get it is thy duty. 

'Upon the earth's increa.se why should'st thou feed, 

Unless tile earth with tliy im-rease be fed? 

By law of Nature thou art bound to breed, 

•That thine may live, wlien thou thy.self art dead; 

And so in spite of death thou dost survive. 

In that thy likeness still is left alive.' 

By this the love-sick queen began to .sweat, 

For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them. 

And Titan, 'tired in the mid-day heat, 

Witli burning eye did liotly overlook them; 

Wishing Adonis had his team to guide. 

So he were like him, aud by Veuus' side. 

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright, 
Aud with a heavy, dark, disliking eye. 



&^ 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



His lowering brows o'erwholmlni? his fair sight, 
Like misty vapours when thev blot the sky. 

Souring his cheeks, cries, ' Fie, no more of love! 

The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.' 

'Ah me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind! 
What bare excuses mak'st thou to begonel 
1 '11 sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind 
Shall cool the heat of tliis descending sun; 

I '11 make a shadow for thee of my hairs; 

If they burn too, I '11 quench them with my tears. 

'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm. 
And lo, I lie between that sun and thee: 
The heat I have from thence doth little harm, 
Thine eye darts forth the Are that burneth me: 
And were I not immortal, life were done. 
Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 

' Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel. 
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain'relenteth? 
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 
What 't is to love? how want of love tormenteth? 
O had thy mother borne so hard a mind. 
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 

' What am I, that thou should 'st contemn me this? 

Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? 

What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? 

Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute: 
Give me one kiss, 1 'U give it thee again, 
And one for Interest, if thou wilt have twain. 

'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone. 
Well-painted Idol, image dull and dead, 
Statue contenting but the eye alone. 
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred; 
Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion. 
For men will kiss even by their own direction.' 

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, 

And swelling passion doth provoke a pause; 

Ked cheeks and flery eyes blaze forth her wrong; 

Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause: 
And now .she weeps, and now she fain would speak. 
And now her sobs do her Intendments break. 

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand. 
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band; 
She would, he will not in her arms be bound; 

And when from thence he struggles to be gone, 

She locks her lily fingers one in one. 

'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemra'd thee 
here. 

Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 

1 'II be a park, and thou shalt be my deer; 

Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: 
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry. 
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. 

'Within this limit is relief enough, 
Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain, 
Round rising hiUoclis, brakes obscure ana rough, 
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain; 

Then be my deer, since I am such a park; 

No dog shall rouse thee, tho' a thousand bark.' 

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain. 
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple; 
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
He might be buried in a tomb so simple; 
Foreknowing well if there he came to lie, 
Wliy there Love liv'd and there he could not die. 

The lovely caves, these round enchanting pits, 
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking: 
Being mad before, how doth she now forwits? 
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking? 
Poor queen of love. In thine own law forlorn. 
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! 

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say? 

Her words are done, her woes the more Increasing, 

The time is spent, her object will away, 

And from her twining arms doth urge releasing: 
"Pity '—she cries,— 'some favour— some remorse—' 
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. 

But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by, 
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy. 
And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud: 
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, 
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds. 
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder; 
The bearing earth with his hard roof he wounds, 
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder; 
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth. 
Controlling what he was controlled with. 

His ears up prlck'd; his braided hanging mane 
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end; 
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again. 
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send; 
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire. 
Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 

Sometimes he trots, as If he told the steps, 
With gentle majesty, and modest pride: 
Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps. 
As who should say, lo! thus my strength Is tried; 
And this I do to captivate the eye 
Of the fair breeder that is standing by. 

What racketh he his rider's angry stir, 

His flattering 'holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'? 

What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur? 

For rich caparisons, or trapping gay? 
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees. 
Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 

Look, when a painter would surpass the life, 
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed. 
His art with nature's, workmanship at strife. 
As if the dead the living should exceed; 
So did this horse excel a common one. 
In sliape, In courage, colour, pace, and bone. 

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long. 
Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide. 



High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing 
strong. 

Thin mane, thick tall, broad buttock, tender hide: 
Look what a horse should have, he did not lack, 
Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 

Sometime he scuds far off, and there he stares; 
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather. 
To bid the wind a base he now prepares. 
And whe'r he run, or fly, they knew not whether: 
For thro' his mane and tail the high wind sings. 
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings. 

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her; 
She answers him as if she knew his mind: 
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her. 
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind; 
Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, 
Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 

Then, like a melancholy malecontent. 
He vails his tail, that, like a falling plume. 
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent; 
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume: 
His love, perceiving how he is enrag'd. 
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd. 

His testy master goeth about to take him; 
When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear. 
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, 
With her the horse, and left Adonis there: 
As they were mad unto the wood they hie them. 
Out-stripping crows that strive to overfly them. 

All swol'n with chasing, down Adonis sits, 
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast; 
And now the happy season once more fits, 
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest; 
For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong. 
When it is barr'd the aldance of the tongue. 

And oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, 

Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 

So of concealed sorrow may be said; 

Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage; 
But when the heart's attorney once is mute. 
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 

He sees her coming, and begins to glow. 
Even as a dying coal revives with wind. 
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow; 
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 
Taking no notice that she is so nigh. 
For all askaunce he holds her in hiS eye. 

O what a sight it was, wistly to view 

How she came stealing to the wayward boy! 

To note the fighting conflict of her hue! 

How white and- red each other did destroy! 
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by 
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 

Now was she just before him as he sat. 
And like a lowly lover down she kneels. 
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat. 
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: 
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print 
As apt as new-fallen snow takes any dint. 

O what a war of looks was then between them! 

Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing: 

His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them; 

Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing: 
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain 
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. 

Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 

A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, 

Or ivory in an alabaster band; 

So white a friend engirts so white a foe; 
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a billing. 

Once more the engine of her thoughts began: 

' O fairest mover on this mortal round. 

Would thou wert as I am, and I a man. 

My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound; 
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee 
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure 
thee. 

' Give me thy hand,' saith he, ' why dost thou feed it? 
' Give me thy heart,' saith she, ' and thou shalt have 
it 

give it me lest thy hard heart do steel it. 
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it; 

Then love's deep groans I never shall regard. 
Because Adonis heart hath made mine hard. 

' For shame,' he cries, ' let go, and let me go; 
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone. 
And 't is your fault I am bereft him so; 

1 pray you hence, and leave me here alone: 
For ail my mind, my thought, my busy care. 
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.' 

Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, asheshould. 

Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire. 

Affection is a coal that must be cool'd; 

Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire: 
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none. 
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. 

' How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree. 

Servilely master'd with a leathern rein! 

But when he saw his love, Iiis youth's fair fee, 

He held such petty bondage in disdain; 
Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, 
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 

'Who sees his true love in her naked bed. 
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white. 
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed. 
His other agents aim at like delight? 
Who is so faint that dare not be so bold 
Touch the fire, the weather being cold? 

' Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy; 

And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee. 

To take advantage on presented joy; 

Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach 
thee. 
O learn to love; the lesson Is but plain. 
And, once made perfect, never lost again.' 



'I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know It, 
Unless It be a boar, and then I chase it: 
'T is much to borrow, and I will not owe it; 
My love to love Is love but to disgrace it; 
For I have heard it Is a life in death. 
That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath. 

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd? 

Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 

If springing things be any jot dimlnish'd. 

They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth: 
The colt that 'sback'd and burthen'd being young 
Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 

' You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part, 
And leave this Idle theme, this bootless cnat: 
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart; 
To love 's alarm it will not ope the gate. 

Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flat- 
tery; 

For where a heart is hard, they make no battery." 

'What: canst thou talk,' quoth she, 'hast thou a 
tongue? 

would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing! 
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong; 

1 had my load before, now press'd with bearing: 
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sounding. 
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore 

wounding. 

' Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love 
That inward beauty and invisible: 
Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 
Each part in me that were but sensible: 
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, 
Yet should I be in love, by touching thee. 

'Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me. 
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 
And nothing but the very smell was left me. 
Yet would my love to thee be still as much; 
For from the stiU'tory of thy face excelling 
Comes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love by 
smelling. 

'But O, what banquet were thou to the taste. 
Being nurse and feeder of the other four! 
Would they not wish the feast might ever last, 
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door? 
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest. 
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast.' 

Once more the ruby colour'd portal open'd, 
Which to his speech did honey passage yield; 
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd 
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field. 
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, 
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds. 

This ill presage advisedly she marketh: 
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth, 
Dr as the wolf doth grin before it barketh. 
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth. 
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun. 
His meaning struck her ere his words begun. 

And at his look she flatly falleth down. 
For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth: 
A smile recures the wounding of a frown. 
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth! 
The silly boy, believing she is dead. 
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red; 

And all-amaz'jd brake off his late intent, 
For sharply he did think to reprehend her. 
Which cunning love did wittily prevent: 
Fair fail the wit that can so well defend her! 
For on the grass she lies as she were slain. 
Till his breath breatheth life in her again. 

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks, 
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard; 
He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks 
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd; 
He kisses her; and she, by hergood will, 
Will never rise so he will kiss her still. 

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day: 
Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth, 
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array 
He cheers the morn, and all the world relleveth: 

And as the bright sun glorifies the sky. 

So is her face illumin'd with her eye; 

Whose beams upon his hairless face are flx'd. 
As It from thence they borrow'd all their shine. 
Were never four such lamps together'd mlx'd. 
Had not his clouded with nis brows' repine; 
But hers, which thro' the crystal tears gave light. 
Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 

' O, where am I?' quoth she, ' in earth or heaven, 
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire? 
What hour is this? or morn, or weary even? 
Do I delight to die, or life desire? 

But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy; 

But now I died, and death was lively joy. 

' O thou didst kill me;— kill me once again: 
Thy eyes shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine. 
Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such dis- 
dain 
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine; 
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen, 
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 

■Long may they kiss each other, for this cure! 

O never let their crimson liveries wear! 

And as they last, their verdure still endure, 

'lo drive infection from the dangerous year! 
That the star-gazei-s, having writ on death. 
May say the plague is banished by thy breath. 

'Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lip imprinted, 
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing? 
To sell myself I can be well contented. 
So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing; 
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slip^ 
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. 

'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; 
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. 
What is ten thousand touches unto thee? 



i 



' 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



335 



Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone? 
Say, for nonpay ment that the debt should double, 
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble? 

'Fair queen," quoth he, 'If any love you owe me. 

Measure my strangeness with my unripe years; 

Before I know myself seek not to know me; 

No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears: 
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, 
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste. 

'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait. 
His day's hot task hath ended In the west: 
The owl, night's herald, shrieks.— 't Is very late; 
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest: 
The coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light 
Do summon us to part, and bid good night. 

'Now let me say "good night," and so say you; 
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.' 
'Good night,' quoth she; and, ere he says 'adieu,' 
The honey fee of parting telider'd is: 

Her arms do lend his neck a ssveet embrace; 

Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face. 

Till, breathless, hedisjoln'd, and backward drew 
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth. 
Whose pi-ecious taste her thirsty lips well knew, 
"Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth: 
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, 
(Their lips together glued,) fall to the earth. 

Now quick Desire hath caught the yielding prey. 
And Elutton-llke she feeds, yet never fllleth; 
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey. 
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth; 
whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high, 
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry. 

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil. 

With blindfold fury slie begins to forage; 

Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil. 

And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage; 

Planting oblivion beating reason back. 

Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honour's 
wrack. 

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing. 
Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much hand- 
ling. 
Or as the fleet-foot roe that 's tlr'd with chasing. 
Or like the Iroward infant stilt'd with dandling. 
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth. 
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering. 
And yields at last to every light impression? 
This out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing, 
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission: 
Affection faints not like a palefac'd coward, 
.But then woos best when most his choice is [tro- 
ward. 

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over. 

Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. 

Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover; 

What though the rose have prickles, yet 't is pluck'd: 
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast. 
Yet love breaks through, and picks them all at 
last. 

For pity now she can no more detain him; 

The poor fool prays her that he maj' depart: 

She IS resolv'cl no longer to restrain him; 

Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart. 
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, 
He carries thence incaged in his breast. 

' Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I '11 waste in sorrow, 

For my sicli heart commands mine eyes to watch. 

Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow? 

Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?' 
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends 
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 

' The boar!' quoth she, whereat a sudden pale. 
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, 
Usurps her cheeks; she trembles at his tale. 
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws: 
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck. 
He on her belly falls, she on her back. 

Now Is she In the very lists of love. 

Her champion mounted for the hot encounter: 

All Is imaginary she doth prove. 

He will not manage her, although he mount her; 

That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, 

To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy. 

Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes. 
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw. 
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps. 
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw: 
The warm effects which she In him finds missing. 
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing. 

But all In vain; good queen, it will not be: 
She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd; 
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee; 
She 's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd 

'Fie, fle,' he says, ' you crush me; let me go; 

You have no reason to withliold me so.' 

• Thou hast been gone,' quoth she, ' sweet boy, ere 

this. 
But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. 
O be advis'd! thou know'st not what it is 
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, 

Whose tushes never sheath'd he ■whetteth still, 

Uke to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. 

' On his bow-back he hath a battle set 
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; 
His eyes like glowworms shine when he doth fret: 
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes; 
Being mov'd. he strikes whate'er is in his way. 
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay. 

'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd. 

Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter; 

His short thickneck cannot be easily harm'd; 

Being ireful on the lion he will venture: 
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes. 
As fearful of him, part; through whom he rushes 



' Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, 
To whicli Love's eyes pay tributary gazes; 
Nor thy .soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne. 
Whose full perfection all the world amazes; 
But having thee at vantage (wondrous dread!) 
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. 

'O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still! 
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends: 
Come not within his danger by thy will: 
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. 
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, 
I fear'd thy fortune, and my Joints did tremble. 

' Didst thou not mark my face? Was it not white? 

Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk In mine eye? 

Grew I not faint? And fell I not downright? 

Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie. 
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest. 
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast. 

' For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy 
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel; 
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny. 
And in a peaceful hour doth cry, " kill, kill;" 

Distempering gentle Love in his desire. 

As air and water do abate the fire. 

'This sour Informer, this bate-breeding spy, 

This canker that eats up love's tender spring. 

This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy, 

That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring. 
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear. 
That if I love thee 1 thy death should fear: 

' And, more than so presenteth to mine eye 
The picture of an angry chafing boar. 
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth He 
An image like thyself, all staln'd with gore; 
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed 
Doth make them droop with grief, and nang the 
head. 

'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed. 

That tremble at the imagination? 

The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed. 

Ana fear doth teach it divination: 
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow. 
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. 

' But If thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me; 

Uncouple at the timorous flying hare. 

Or at the fox which lives by subtilty. 

Or at the roe, which no encounter dare: 
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs. 
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy 
hounds. 

' And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, 
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles. 
How he outruns the wind, and with what care 
He cranks and crosses, with a thousand doubles: 
The many musits through the which he goes 
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 

' Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep. 
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, 
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep. 
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell; 

And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer; 

Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear: 

' For there his smell with others being mingled. 
The hot scent-snufflng hounds are driven to doubt. 
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled 
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out: 

Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, 

As if another chase were in the sliies. 

' By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill. 

Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear. 

To hearken it his foes pursue him still: 

Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; 
And now his grief may be compared well 
To one sore sick that hears the passing belL 

' Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch 
Turn, and return, indenting with the way; 
Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch. 
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: 

For misery is trodden on by many. 

And being low never reliev'd by any. 

' Lie quietly, and hear a little more; 
Nay, do not struggle for thou shalt not rise: 
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar. 
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize, 

Applying this to that, and so to so; 

For love can comment upon every woe. 

'Where did I leave?' — 'No matter where, quoth 

he; 
' Leave me, and then the story aptly ends: 
The night is spent.'— 'Why, what of that?' quoth 

she. 
'lam, quoth he, 'expectedof my friends; 
And now 't Is dark, and going I shall fall. 
' In night,' quoth sue, ' desire sees best of all. 

' But If thou fall, O then imagine this. 

The earth in love with thee thy footing trips. 

And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 

Rich preys make trueinen thieves: so do thy lips 
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn. 
Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn. . 

' Now of this dark night I perceive the reason: 
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, 
■Till forging n.ature be condemn'd ot treason. 
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine. 
Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's despite, 
To shame the sun by day, and her by night. 

' And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies, 
To cross the curious workmanship of nature. 
To mingle beauty with infirmities, 
And pure perfection with impure defeature; 
Making it subject to the tyranny 
Of mad mischances and much misery; 

'As burning fevers, agues pale and faint. 
Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood. 
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint 
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood; 



Surfeits, Imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair. 
Swear Nature's death for framing thee so fair. 

' And not the least of all these maladies. 
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under: 
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities, 
Whereat the Impartial gazer late did wonder. 
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done. 
As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun. 

' Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity. 
Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns. 
That on the earth would breed a scarcity 
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons. 
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night 
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light. 

' What Is thy body but a swallowing grave. 

Seeming to bury that posterity 

Which by the rights or time thou needs must have. 

If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity? 
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, 
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 

'So in thyself thyself art made away; 
A mischief worse than civil home bred strife. 
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay 
Or butcher sire, that reaves his son of lite. 
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets. 
But gold that 's put to use more gold begets.' 

' Nay, then,' quoth Adon, ' you will fall again 

Into your idle over-handled theme; 

The kiss I gave you Is bestow'd in vain. 

And all in vain you strive against the stream; 
For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul nurse. 
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. 

' It love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, 
And every tongue more moving than your own. 
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs. 
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown; 
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear. 
And will not let a false sound enter there; 

'Lest the deceiving harmony should run 

Into the quiet closure of my breast; 

And then my little heart were quite undone. 

In this bed-chamber to be barr'a of rest. 
No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan. 
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. 

' What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove? 

The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; 

I hate not love, but your device In love. 

That lends embracements unto every stranger. 
You do it for Increase; O strange excusel 
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse. 

' Call It not love, for love to heaven Is fled. 
Since sweating lust on earth usur'd his name; 
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed 
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame; 

Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves. 

As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 

' Love comforteth like sunshine afterrain. 
But lust's effect is tempest after sun; 
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain. 
Lust's winter comes ere summer halt be done. 

Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies; 

Love Is all truth; lust full of torged lies. 

' More I could tell, but more I dare not say; 

The text is old. the orator too green. 

Therefore, in sadness, now I will away: 

My face is full of shame, my heart of teen; 
Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended. 
Do burn themselves for having so offended.' 

With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast. 
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace 
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. 
Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky. 
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye; 

Which after him she darts, as one on shore 
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend. 
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, 
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend; 
So did the merciless and pitchy night 
Fold in the object that did feed her sight. 

Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware 
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood. 
Or 'stouish'd as night-wanderers often are. 
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood; 
Even so confounded in the dark she lay. 
Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans. 

That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled, 

Make verbal repetition of her moans; 

Passion on passion deeply is redoubled: 
'Ah me!' she cries, and twenty time, 'woe, woe!' 
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. 

She, marking them, begins a walling note. 

And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty; 

How love makes young men thrall, and old me 
dote; 

How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty: 
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe. 
And still the choir of echoes answer so. 

Her song was tedious, and outwore the night. 
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short: 
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight 
In such like circumstances, with such like sport: 
Their copious stories, oftentimes begun. 
End without audience, and are never done. 

For who hath s'ic to spend the night withal, 

But idle sounds resembling parasites, 

Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call. 

Soothing the humour of fantastic wits? 
She says, ' 't is so:' they answer all. ' 't Is so;' 
And would say after her , if she said ' no.' 

Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest. 
From his moist cabinet mounts np on hiyh. 
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast 
The sun arlseth iu his majesty; 



VENUS AND ADONIS. 



Who cloth tho worUl so gloriously behold, 
The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 

Venus salutes him with this fair good morrow: 
'O thou clear god, aii<l patron of all light. 
From whom each lamp and shiuingst^.rdoth borrow 
The beauteous influence timt makes him bright. 
There lives a son, tiiat snci^'d an eanldy mother. 
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend toother. 

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 
Musing the morning Is so miieh o'erworn, 
And yet she hears no tidings of her love; 
She hearlcens for his lionnds, and lor his horn: 
Anon she hears them chant it lustily. 
And all in haste site coastetii to tlie cry. 

And as she runs, the bushes In rhe way 
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 
Some twine about her tliigli to malse her stay; 
She wilelly l)ri'aketh from their strict. embrace, 
).*ke a miloli doe, whose swellin,g dugs do aehe, 
Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some )rake. 

By this she he.trs the hotinds are at a b.ay. 
Whereat she starts, like one Iliat spin's an adder 
AVreath'd up in fatal fold, just in Ins w:iy. 
The fear whereof doth make him sluike and shud- 
der. 
Even so the timorous velpiug of ihe hounds 
Appals her senses, and her .-.priglit euufounds. 

For now she knows it is no gentle chase. 
But tile blunt boar, rougii b>ar, or li m proud. 
Because tlieery i-f-mainetii in one place. 
Where fearfully the <l;'gs exclaim aloud: 
Fiiuling their enemy lo lie so curst. 
They all strain court'sy who sliall cope him first. 

This dismal cry rings sndlv in her ear. 
Through whicl'i it enters to surpiise iier heart, 
Who, overcome by doubtand bl lodlc-ss fe ir. 
With cold-paie weakness numbs each feeling part: 
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield. 
They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. 

Thus stands she In a trembling ectasv; 

Till, cheering up her senses sore-<lismay'd, 

She tells them 't is a causele.ss fantasy. 

And childish error that tliey are afraid; 
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fearno more;— 
And with that word »he spied the iiunted boar; 

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all wifh red. 
Like milk and blood, being mingled both together, 
A second fear through all her sinews spread. 
Which madly hurries hersh? knows not whither: 
This w.ay she runs, and now she will no further. 
But back retires, to rate tlie boar tor iniirther. 

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways; 

She treads the path that siie nntreads again; 

Her more than liaste is mated with delays. 

Like the proceedings of a drunken brain. 
Full of respect, yet nought at all respecting. 
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. 

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound. 
And asks the weary caitiff for his master; 
And there another licking of his wound, 
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster; 
And hei-e she meets another sadly scowling. 
To whom slie speaks, and he replies with howling. 

Wlien he liath ceas'd his ill-resounding noise. 
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim. 
Against the welkin volleys out his voice; 
Another and another answer him. 
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, 
Shaking their scratch'd ear's, bleeding as they go. 

Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd 
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies. 
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz'd. 
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies: 
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath. 
And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death. 

'Hard-favotir'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 
Hateful divorce of love,' (thus clddes she Death,) 
' Grlni-grinnlng ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou 

mean 
To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath. 

Who when lie liv'd, his breath and beauty set 

Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet? 

'If he be dead, — O no. It cannot be. 

Seeing his beauty, thou should'st strike atlt— 

O yes, it may; thou liast no eyes to see. 

But hatefully at r.andom dost thou hit. 
Thy mark is feeble age; but thy false dart 
Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart. 

' Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke. 
And hearing him thy power had lost his power. 
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke: 
They bid theecropa weed, tliou pluck'st a flower; 
Love's golden arrow at him siiould have fled. 
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such 
weeping';' 

What may a lieavy groan advantage thee? 

Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 

Those eyes that tauglit all other eyes to see? 
Now Nature cares not for tuy mortal rigour. 
Since iter best work isruin'd with thy vigour.' 

Here overcome, as one full of despair. 
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopp'd 
The crystal ti<le that from her two cheeks fair 
In the sweet channel ut her bosom di'opp'd; 
But through tlie floodgates breaks the silver rain 
And with his stiongcourse opens them again. 

O how'her eyes and tears did lend and borrowl 
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye; 
Both crystals, where{the.y vlew'd each otlier's sorrow. 
Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry; 
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, 
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. 

Varl.".ble passions throng he? constant woe, 
.\s striving ^^•ho should best become her grief; 



All entertaln'd, each passion labours .so 
That every present sorrow seemeth chief. 

But none is best; then Join tiiey all together. 

Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 

By this, far off she hears some huntsmen hollo: 
A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd lier babe so well: 
Tile dire imagin:Uiou slie did follow 
This sound of liope doth lal)our to expel; 

For now reviving joy bids her rejoice. 

And flatters her it is Adonis' voice. 

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide. 
Being prison'ci u< lier eye, like pearls in glass; 
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, 
Whieii iter elx'cic melts, as .scorning it should pass. 
To w;usli tile foul face of the sluttish ground. 
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd. 

hard-believing love, how strange it seems 
Not to believe, and yet too credulous! 

Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes. 
Despair and hope make thee ridiculous; 
The one <iotii flatter thee in tlioughts unlikel.v. 
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. 

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought; 

Adonis lives, tind Death is not to blame; 

It was not she that called him allto naught: 

Now she add honours to his h;iteful name; 
She cleps him king of graves, and grave for kings. 
Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 

'No. no,' quoth she, 'sweet Deatli, I did but jest; 
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear, 
When as I met tiie boar, that bloody beast, 
Whieli knows no pity, but is still severe; 
Then, gentle sliadow (truth I must confess), 
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 

' 'T is not my fault: the bo.ar provok'd my tongue; 

Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander; 

'T is he, foul creature, tliat hatii done thee wrong; 

1 did but act, he 's author of tliy slander: 
Grief hatli tivo tongues, and never woman yet 
Could rule them both, without ten women's wit.' 

Thus, hoping that Adonis is alive. 

Her rash suspect she doth extenuate; 

And that his beauty may the better thrive. 

With Death she humbly doth insinuate; 
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories 
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. 

' O Jove,' quoth she, ' how mtich a fool was I, 

To be of such a weak and silly mind. 

To wail his death who lives, and must not die, 

Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind' 
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain. 
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 

' Fie, fle, fond love, thou art so full of fear 

As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves, 

Trifles, unwitnessed \vith e.ve or ear. 

Thy coward hearts with false bethinking grieves.' 
Even at this word she hears a merry horn. 
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn. 

As falcon to the lure away she flies; 

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; 

And in her haste unfortunately spies 

The foul boar's conquest on lier fair delight; 
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with tlie view. 
Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew. 

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit. 
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain. 
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit. 
Long after fearing to creep forth again: 
So, at this bloody view, lier eyes are fled 
Into the deep dark cabins of her head; 

Where the.v resign their ofBce and their light 

To the disposing of her troubled brain; 

Who lids them still consort with ugly night. 

And never wound the heart with looks again; 
Who. like a king perplexed in his throne. 
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 

Whereat each tributary subject quakes: 
As when tlie wind, imprisoii'd in tlie ground. 
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes. 
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound, 
The mutiny each part doth so surprise. 
That from their dark beds once more leap hereyes; 

And, being open'd, throw unwilling light 
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd 
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white 
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was 
drench'd; 
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed. 
But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed. 

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth; 

Over one shoulder doth she hang her head; 

Diimbl.v she passions, franticly she doteth; 

She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. 
Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow: 
Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. 

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly. 

That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem 

three; 
And then she reprehends her mangling eye 
That makes more gashes where no breach should be: 

His face .seems twain, each several limb isdoubled; 

For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubleil. 

' M.v tongue cannot express my grief for one. 
And yet,' quoth siie, ' beholdtwo Adons deadi 
l\I.y slglis are blown away, my salt tears gone. 
Mine eyes are turn'd to Are, my heart to lead; 

Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes' red fire! 

So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 

' .\Ias, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! 
What face remains alive that 's worth the viewing? 
Wliose tongue 's music now? what canst thou boast 
Of things long since, or anything ensuing? 

The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; 

But true-sweet beauty liv'd and died wltli him. 

' Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear! 



Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you- 
Having no fear to lose, you need not fear; 
The sun doth scorn you. and the wind doth hiss you: 
But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air 
Lurk'd like two thieves to rob him of his fair: 

' And therefore would he put his bonnet on. 
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone, 
Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep: 
And straight, in pity of his tender years. 
They both would strive who first should dry his 
tears. 

'To see his face the lion walk'd along 
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him- 
To recreate himself, when he hath sung. 
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him: 
If he had spoke the wolf would leave his prey. 
And never fright the silly lamb that day. 

' When he beheld his shadow in the brook, 
The fishes spread on it their golden gills; 
When he w.as by. the birds such pleasure took 
That some would sing, some other in their bills 

Would bring him mulberries, and ripe-red cherries; 

He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 

'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar. 
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, 
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore; 
Witness tlie entertainment that he gave; 
If he did see his face, why then I know 
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. 

' 'T is true, 't is true; thus was Adonis slain; 
He ran upon the boar with his .sharp spear. 
Who did not whet his teeth at him again. 
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there; 
And mizzling in his flank the loving swine 
Sheath'd, unaware, the tusk in his soft groin. 

' Had I b' en tooth'd like him, T must confess 
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first. 
But he is dead, and never did he bless 
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.' 
With this she falleth in the place she stood. 
And stains her face with his congealed blood. 

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale; 

She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; 

She whispers in his ears a heavy tale. 

As if they heard the woeful words she told; 
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes. 
Where, lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies: 

Two glasses where herself herself beheld 

A thousand times, and now no more reflect; 

Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd. 

And every beauty robb'd of his effect: 
' Womler of time,' quoth she, ' this is my spite. 
That you being dead the day should yet be light. 

'Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy. 
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend; 
It shall be waited on with jealousy. 
Find sweet beginning but unsavoury end; 

Ne'er settled equally, but high or low; 
I That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe, 

' It shall be flckle, false, and full of fraud; 

Bud and be blasted in a breathing while; 

The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd 

With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile: 
The strongest body shall it make most weak. 
Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak. 

' It shall be sparing, and too full of riot. 
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measure; 
The staring ruffian shall it keep In quiet. 
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures; 
It shall be raging mad, and silly mljd, 
Make the young old, the old become a child. 

' It shall suspect where is no cause of fear; 

It shall not fear where it should most mistrust; 

It shall be merciful, and too severe. 

And most deceiving when it seems most just; 
Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward. 
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. 

'It shall be cause of war and dire events. 

And set dissensions 'twixt the son and sire; 

Subject and servile to ail discontents. 

As dry combustions matter is to fire; 
Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy. 
They that love best their love shall not enjoy.' 

B.y this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd 
Was melted like a vapour from her sight. 
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, 
A purple flower sprung up, enequer'd with white. 
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood 
Which in round drops on their whiteness stood. 

She bows her head, the new sprung flower to smell. 

Comparing it to her Adonis' breath; 

And says, within her bosom it shall dwell. 

Since he himself is reft from her by death: 
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears 
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. 

'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy father's 
giii.se, 

(Svveet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,) 

For every little grief to wet his eyes: 

To grow unto himself was his desire. 
And so 't is thine; but know, it is as good 
To wither in my breast as in his blood. 

'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast; 

Tliou art the next of blood, and 't is thy right: 

Lo! in this hollow cradle fake thy rest. 

My throbbing heart shall i.-ck thee day and Dlght: 
There shall not be one minute in an hour 
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.' 

Thus weary of the world, away she hies. 
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid 
Their mistress, mounted, through the empty skies 
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd, 
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen 
Means "to immure herself, and not be seen. 



THE BAPE OF LVCRECE. 



837 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



TO THE 

RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 

EARL OP SOUTHAMPTON AND BARON OP TITCHPIELD. 



The love I dedicate 
honourable disposition 
\n all I have, devoted yours. Were my 
still lengthened with all happiness. 



ate to vour Lordship Is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beglnnlni;, Is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your 
not the worth of mv untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do Is your.s; being part 

ours. Were my woith greater my duty would show greater: meantime, as it Is, It is bound to your Lordship, co whom I wish long lite, 

11 happiness. Your Lordship's In all duty , 

William Shakespeare. 
THE ARGUMENT. 
Lucius TARQuiNitis (for his excessive pride sumamed Supei bus), after he had caused his own father-in-law, ServhisTuUius, to be cruelly murdered, and, 
contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of a kinRdom went, accompanied with his 
soS' and other nohlpinen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During the siege, the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquiniiis, the 
klng'sson in their discourses^^^^^ one commended the virtues of his own wife; among whom, Collatinus exto led the incomparable chastity of 

h s «Mf^ Liicretla In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome: and intending by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had 
before avmichedonlv CollStinus nnds his wife (though it were late in the night) spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were a 1 found dancing and 
revelling or in several dis^ the nobl? men yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarqumius, being inflanied 

with Li crece's beaiitv, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp; trom whence he shortly after pnvlly withdrew him- 
self and was (accodinj to his estate) lovallv entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatlum The same night he treacherously steafeth Into her chamlier, 
violently ravished her, and early in the moiriingspeedeth .away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily despatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, 
another to the camp for CoUatine. Thev came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutu.s. the other with Publms Valerius: and, finding Lucrece attired in mourn- 
ing habit dem.ande^ the cause of her sorrow. She. first taking an oath of them for revenge, revealed the actor and the whole manner of his dealing, and withal 
suadenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquiiis; and, bearing the dead body to 
Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people 
tv^re so moved that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to consuls. 



From the besieged Ardea all in post. 
Borne bv the trustless wings of false desire. 
Lust -breathed Tarquln leaves the Roman host. 
And to Collatlum bears the lightless fire 
'Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire. 
And girdle with embracing flames the waist 
Of CoUatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. 

Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set 
This bateless edge on his keen appetite; 
When Collatine unwisely did not let 
■To praise the clear unmatched red and white 
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight. 
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, 
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state. 
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent 
In the possession of his beauteous mate; 
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate. 
That kings might be espoused to more fame, 
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few! 

And, if possessed, as soon decay'd and done 

As is the morning's silver-melting dew 

Against the golden splendour of the sun! 

An expli'd date, cancell'd ere well begun: 
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms. 
Are weakly f ortress'd from a world of harms. 

Beauty Itself doth of itself persuade 

The eyes of men without an orator; 

What needeth then apologies be made 

To set forth that which is so singular? 

Or why is Collatine the publisher 
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown 
From thievish ears, because it is his own? 

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty 
Suggested this proud issue of a king; 
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be: 
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing. 
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting 

His highpitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should 
vaunr. 

That golden hap which their superiors want. 

But some untimely thought did instigate 
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those: 
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
Neglected all. with swift intent he goes 
To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold. 
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! 

When at Collatlum this false lord arriv'd. 
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame. 
Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd 
Which of them both should underprop her fame: 
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame; 
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite 
Virtue would stain that or with silver white. 

But beauty. In that white intituled. 
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field: 
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 
Wliich virtue gave the golden age, to gild 
Their silver cheeks, and call'd It then their .shield; 
Teaching them thus to use It in the fight,— 
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the 
white. 

This heraldry In Lucrece' face was seen. 
Argued by beauty's red. and virtue's white: 
Of cither's colour was the other queen. 
Proving from world's minority their right: 
Yet their ambition makes them still to flght; 
The sovereignty of either being so great. 
That oft they interchange each other's seat. 

This silent war of lilies and of roses 
Which Tarquln vtew'd in her fair face's field, 
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; 
Where, lest between them both it should be klU'd, 
The coward captive vanquished doth yield 
To those two armies that would let hira go, 
Rather than triumph In so false a toe. 



Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue 
(The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) 
In that liigh task hath done her beauty wrong. 
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show: 
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe, 

Enchanted Tarquln answers with surmise, 

In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 

This earthly saint, adored by this devil. 

Little suspecteth the false worshipper; 

For unstaiu'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil; 

Birds never llm'd no secret bushes fear: 

So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
And reverend welcome to her princely guest. 
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd: 

For that he colour'd with his high estate, 

Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty; 

That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, 

Save sometime too much wonder of his ej'e. 

Which, having all, ail could not satisfy; 
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store 
That cloy'd with much he pineth still for more. 

But she. that never eop'd with stranger eyes. 
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, 
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies 
Writ in the glassj' margents of such books: 
She touch'd no unknown baits, norfear'd no hooks; 
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight. 
More than his eyes were open'd to the light. 

He stories to her ears her husband's fame. 

Won in the fields of fruitful Italy; 

And decks with praises CoUatine's high name. 

Made glorious by his manly chivalry. 

With bruised arms and wreaths of victory; 
Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express. 
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. 

Far from the purpose of his coming thither 

He makes excuses for his being there. 

No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 

Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear; 

Til! sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, 
Upon the world dim darkness doth display. 
And in her vaulty prison stows the day. 

For then is Tarquln brought unto his bed, 
Intending weariness with heavy spright; 
For. after supper, long he questioned 
With modest Lucrece. and wore out the night; 
I Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth flght; 
And every one to rest themselves betake. 
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that 
wake. 

As one of which doth Tarquln lie revolving 
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining; 
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, 
Tliough weak-built hopes persuade him to abstain- 
ing; 
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining; 
And when great treasure is the meed propos'd. 
Though death be adjunct, there 's no death sup- 
pos'd. 

Those that much covet are with gain so fond 
•That what they have not, that which they possess 
They scatter and unloose it from their bond. 
And so, by hoping more, they have but less; 
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess 
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain. 
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. 

The aim of all is but to nurse the life 
With honour, wealth, and ease, in ^vaning age; 
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife. 
That one for all, or ail for one we gage; 
As lite for honour in fell battles' rage; 
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost 
The death of all, and all together lost. 

So that in vent'ring ill we leave to be 
The things we are, for that which we expect; 
And this ambitious foul infirmit.y. 
In having much, torments us with defect 
Of that we have: so then we do neglect 
The king we have, and, all for want of wit. 
Make something nothing, by augmenting It. 



Such hazard now must doting Tarquln make. 

Pawning his honour to obtain his lust; 

And for nimself himself he must forsake: 

Then where is truth if there be no self-trust? 

When shall he think to find a stranger just, 
When he himself himself confounds, betrnys 
To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days? 

Now stole upon the time the dead of night. 
When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes; 
No comfortable star did lend his light. 
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries; 
Now serves the season that they may surprise 
The silly lambs, pure thoughts are dead and still, 
While lust and murder wake to stain and kilL 

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed. 

Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm; 

Is madly toss'd between desire and dread; 

Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm; 

But honest Fear, bewitch'd witli lust's foul charm. 

Doth too too oft betake him to retire. 

Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. 

His falchion on a flint he softly smlteth. 
That from the cold stone sparks of Are do fly. 
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he ligliteih. 
Which must oe lode-star to his lustful eye; 
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly: 

'As from this cold Hint I entorc'd this fire, 

So Lucrece must I force to my desire. 

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, 
And in his inward mind he doth debate 
What following sorrow may on this arise; 
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise 
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lu.st. 
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust: 

'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not 
To darken her vvho.se light excelleth thine! 
And die unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot 
With your uncleanness that which is divine! 
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine: 

Let fair humanity abhor the deed 

That spots and stains love's modest snow-white 
weed. 

'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! 
O foul dishonour to my household's grave! 
O impious .act, including all foul harms! 
A martial man to be sott fancy's slave; 
True valour still a true respect should have; 

Then my digression is so vile, so base. 

That it will live engraven in my face. 

'Yea, though I die. the scandal will survive. 

And be an eyesore in my golden coat; 

Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive. 

To cipher me how fondly I did dote; 

That my posterity, sham'd with the note. 
Shall curse my honest, and hold it for no sin 
To wish that I their father had not been. 

' What win I if I gain the thing I seek? 

A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy: 

Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? 

Or sells eternity to get a toy? 

For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? 
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crow'n. 
Would with the sceptre straiglit be strucken 
down? 

' If Collatinus dream of my intent. 
Win he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent? 
This siege that hath engirt his marriage. 
This blur to youth, this .sorroiv to tho sage. 

This dying virtue, this surviving shame. 

Whose crime will bear an cver-during blame? 

' O what excuse can my invention make 
When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? 
Will not m.v tongue be mute, my frail Joints shake? 
Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed? 
The guilt being great the fear doth still exceed; 

fPART 42-1 



838 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly. 
But, coward-like, with trembling terror ule. 

' Had CoUatlnus klU'd my son or sire. 
Or lain In ambush to betray my life, 
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
Might have excuse to work upon his wife; 
As In revenge or qiilttal of such strife: 
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend. 
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. 

' Shameful It Is:— ay. If the fact be known: 
Hateful It Is;— there Is no hate In loving; 
I '11 beg her love;— but she Is not her own; 
The worst Is but denial, and reproving: 
My will is strong, past reason's Areak removing. 
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw 
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.' 

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation 
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will, 
And with good thoughts makes dispensation. 
Urging the worser sense for vantage still; 
Which in a mcmeiit doth confound and kill 
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed. 
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. 

Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand. 

And gaz'd for tidings In my eager eyes, 

Fearing some hard news from the warlike band 

Where her beloved Collatinus lies. 

O how her tear did make her colour rise! 
First red as roses that on lawn we lay. 
Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 

' And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 

Forc'd It to tremble with her loyal fear; 

Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, 

Until her husband's welfare she did hear; 

Whereat she smffed with so sweet a cheer. 
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood. 
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 

' Why hunt I then for colour or excuses? 

All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth; 

Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses; 

Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dread- 
eth: 

Affection is my captain, and he leadeth: 
And when his gaudy banner is display'd. 
The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd. 

"Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die! 
Respect and reason wait on wrinkled agel 
My heart shall never countermand mine eye; 
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage; 
My part Is youth, and beats these from the stage: 

Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize; 

Then who rears sinking where such treasure lies?' 

As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 

Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. 

Away he steals with opening listening ear. 

Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust; 

Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 
So cross him with their opposite persuasion. 
That now he vows a league, and now Invasion. 

Within his thought her heavenly Image stts. 

And lu the selfsame seat sits CoUatine: 

That eye which looks on her confounds his wits; 

That eye which him beholds, as more divine. 

Unto a view so false will not incline; 
But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart. 
Which once corrupted takes the worser part; 

And therein heartens up his servile powers. 
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show. 
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; 
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, 
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
By reprobate desire thus madly led. 
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 

The locks between her chamber and his will. 
Each one by him enforc'd retires his ward; 
But as they open they all rate his III, 
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard, 
The threshold grates tlie door to have him heard; 

Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him there; 

They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. 

As each unwilling portal yields him way. 
Through little vents and crannies of the place 
The wmds wars with his torch, to make him stay. 
And blows the smoke of it into his face. 
Extinguishing his conduct in this case; 
But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, 
Puffs forth another wind that flres the torch: 

And being lighted, by the light he spies 
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks; 
He takes it from the rushes where It lies. 
And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks: 
As who should say, this glove to wanton tricks 

Is not inur'd; return again In haste; 

Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste. 

But all these poor forblddings could not stay him; 
He In the worst sense construes their denial: 
The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him. 
He takes for accidental things of trial: 
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial. 
Who with a lingering stay his course doth let. 
Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 

' So, so,' quoth he, ' these lets attend the time. 
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring. 
To add a more rejoicing to the prime. 
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. 
Pain pays the Income of each precious thing: 

Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and 
sands. 

The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.' 

Now is he come unto the chamber door 
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought. 
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more. 
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. 
So from himself Impiety hath wrought, 

That for his prey he doth begin. 

As if the heaven should countenance his sin. 



But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer. 
Having solicited the eternal power. 
That his foul thought's might compass his fair fair, 
That they would stand auspicious to the hour. 
Even there he starts:— quoth he, 'I must deflower; 

§he powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, 
'ow can they then assist me in the act? 

' Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide! 

My will is back cl with resolution: 

Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried. 

The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution; 

Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution. 
The eye of heaven is out, and misty nlglit 
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.' 

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch. 

And with his knee the door he opens wide: 

The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch; 

Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. 

Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside; 

But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such tiling, 

Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks. 

And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. 

the curtains being close, about he walks, 

Rolling his greedy eyeballs In his head; 

By their high treason in his heart misled; 
Which gives the watchword to his hand full soon. 
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 

Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, 
flushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight; 
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
To wink, being blinded with a greater light: 
Whether it is that she reflects so bright, 

That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed; 

But blind they are. and keep tliemselves enclosed. 

O, had they In that darksome prison did. 
Then had they seen the period of their illl 
Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side 
In his clear bed might have reposed still: 
But they must ope. this blessed league to kill; 
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. 

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under. 
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss; 
Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, 
Swelling on either side to want his bliss;- 
Between whose hills her head entombed is: 
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies. 
To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes. 

Without the bed her other fair hand was. 
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white 
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass. 
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. 
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light. 
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay. 
Till they might open to adorn the day. 

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath; 
O modest wantons! wanton modesty I 
Showing life's triumph in the map of death. 
And death's dim look in life's mortality; 
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify. 
As if between them twain there were no strife. 
But that life liv'd in death, and death in life. 

Her breasts, like Ivory globes circled with blue, 

A pair of maiden worlds unconquered. 

Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew. 

And him by oath they truly honoured. 

These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred: 
Who like a foul usurper went about 
From this fair throne to heave the owner out. 

What could he see but mightily he noted? 

What did he note but strongly he desir'd? 

What he beheld on that he firmly doted. 

And in his will his wilful eye he tlr'd. 

With more than admiration he admir'd 
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin. 
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. 

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey. 
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied. 
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay. 
His rage of lust by gazing qualified; 
Slack'd, not supress'd; for standing by her side. 
His eye, whicn late this mutiny restrains. 
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins: 

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting. 
Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting. 
In bloody death and ravishment delighting. 
Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respecting, 
Swell In their pride, the onset still expecting; 
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking, 
Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their liking. 

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye. 
His eye commends the leading to his hand; 
His hand, as proud of such a dignity. 
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand 
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land; 
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale, 
Left their round turrets destitute and pale. 

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet 

Where their dear governess and lady lies. 

Do tell her she is dreadfully beset. 

And fright her with confusion of their cries: 

She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes, 

Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold. 

Are by his fiaming torch dimm'd and controU'd. 

Imagine her as one in dead of night 
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking. 
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite. 
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking; 
What terror 't Is! but she, in worser taking. 
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view 
The sight which makes supposed terror true. 

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, 
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies; 
She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears 
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes: 
uch shadows are the weak brain's forgeries: 



Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights. 
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful 
sights. 

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast, 
(Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!) 
May feel her heart, poor citizen, dlstress'd. 
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall. 
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 
This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity. 
To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. 

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 
To sound a parley to his heartless foe. 
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin. 
The reason of this rash alarm to know. 
Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show; 
B^it she with vehement prayers urgeth still 
Under what colour he commits this HI. 

Thus he replies: ' The colour In.thy face 
(That even for anger makes the lily pale 
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace) 
Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale: 
Under that colour am I come to scale 
Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine. 
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 

■Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide: 
Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night, 
Where thou with patience must my will abide. 
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight. 
Which I to conquer sought with all my might; 
Buu as reproof and reason beat it dead. 
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. 

' I see what crosses my attempt will bring; 
I know what thorns the growing rose defends; 
I think the honey guarded with a sting: 
All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends: 
But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends; 
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,- 
And dotes on what be looks, 'gainst law or duty. 

' I have debated, even in my soul. 

What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed; 

But nothing can Affection's course control. 

Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. 

I know|repentant tears ensue the deed. 

Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity; 

Yel strive I to embrace mine infamy.' 

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, 
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies, 
Coucheth the fowl below with his wing's shade. 
Whose crooked beak threats if he mounts he dies: 
So under his insulting falchion lies 
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells 
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells. 

'Lucrece,' quoth he, ' this night I must enjoy thee: 
If thou deny, then force must work my way. 
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee; 
That done, some worthless slave of thine I '11 slay. 
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay; 
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him. 
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace hlra. 

' So thy surviving husband shall remain 

The scornful mark of every open eye; 

Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain. 

Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy: 

And thou, the author of their obloquy, 
Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes. 
And sung by children in succeeding times. 

' But If thou yield I rest thy secret friend: 
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted; 
A little harm, done to a great good end. 
For lawful policy remains enacted. 
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 

In a pure compound; being so applied. 

His venom In effect is purified. 

' Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake. 
Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot 
The shame that from them no device can take. 
The blemish that will never be forgot; 
Worse than a slavish wipe, or birtlihour's blot: 
For marks descried in men's nativity 
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy." 

Here with a cocKatric' dead-killing eye 
He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause; 
While she, the picture of pure piety. 
Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claws, 
Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws, 
•To the rough beast that knows no gentle right. 
Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite: 

But when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat. 
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding. 
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust <loth get. 
Which blows these pitchy vapours from thtir biding. 
Hindering their present fall by this dividing; 
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, 
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. 

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, 
While in his holdfast foot the weak mouse panteth; 
Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, 
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth: 
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth 
No penetrable entrance to her plaining: 
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with rain- 
ing. 

Her pity -pleading eyes are sadly flx'd 
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face; 
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd. 
Which to her oratory adds more grace. 
She puts the period often from his place. 
And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks. 
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. 

She conjures him by high almighty Jo"e. 
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath. 
By her untimely tears, her husband's love. 
By holy human law, and common troth. 
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both. 
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire. 
And stoop to honour, not to foul desli-e. 



I 



THE RAPE OF LVCRKCE. 



Quoth she, ' Reward not hospitality 
with such blaclc payment as thou hast pretended; 
Mild not the fountain that gave drinli to thee; 
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended; 
End thy illaiin, before thy shoot be ended: 

He is no woodman that doth bend his bow 

To strllce a poor unseasonable doe. 

' My husband is thy friend, for his salte spare me; 

Thyself art mighty, for thine own salce leave me; 

Myself a wealjling, do not then ensnare me; 

Thou loolt'st not like deceit; do not deceive me; 

Mv sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee, 
If ever man were niov'd with woman's moans. 
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans; 

' All which together, like a troubled ocean. 
Beat at thy rocky and wreck threatening heai't; 
To soften it with their continual motion; 
For stones dissolv'd to water do convert. 
O, if no harder than a stone thou art; 

Melt at my tears, and be compassionate! 

Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 

' In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee; 

Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame? 

To all the host of heavenri complain me. 

Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely 

name. 
Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same. 

Thou seem'st not what ihou art, a god, a king; 

For kings like gods should govern everything. 

' How will thy shame baseeded in thine age. 
When thus tliy vice-s bud before thy sprinsf 
If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage. 
What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king! 

be reraember'd, no outrageous thing 
From vassal actors can be wip'd away; 
Then kings misdeeds cannot be hid In clay. 

' This deed will make thee only lov'd foirfear. 
But happy monarchs still are rear'd for love: 
With foul offenders Ihou perforce must bear. 
When they in thee the like offences prove; 
If but for fear of this thy will remove; 
For princes are the glass, tlie school, the book. 
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. 

■ And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn? 

Must he in thee read lectures of such shame: 

Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern 

Authority for sin, warrant for blame, 

To privilege dishonour in thy name? 
Thou back'st reproach against long-lived laud, 
And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. 

'Hast thou command? by him that gave It thee. 
From a pure heart command thy rebel will. 
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity. 
For it was lent thee all that brood to kilL 
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil. 
When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may say, 
He learu'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way! 

•Think but how vile a spectacle it were 
To view thy present trespass in another. 
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear; 
Their own transgressions partially they smother: 
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. 
O how are they wrapp'd In with infamies. 
That from their own misdeeds askaunce their 
eyes! 

' To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal, 
Kot to seducing lust, thy rash relier; 

1 sue for exll'd majesty's repeal; 

Let him return and flattering thoughts retire: 
His rue respect will 'prison false desire. 
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, 
That thou, Shalt see thy state, and pity mine.' 

• Have done,' quoth he; ' my uncontrolled tide 
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. 
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, 
And with the wind in greater fury fret: 

The petty streams that pay a daily debt 
To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste. 
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.' 

' Thou art,' quoth she, ' a sea, a sovereign king; 
And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood 
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning. 
Who seek to stain the ocean qf thy blood. 
If all these petty ills shall change thy good. 
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hears'd. 
And not the puddle in thy sea dispers'd. 

'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave; 

Thou nobly base, they basely dignified; 

Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave; 

Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride: 

The lesser thing should not the greater hide; 
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, 
But low shrubs wither at the cedars root. 

• So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state'— 

' No more," quoth he; ' by heaven, I will not hear 
thee: 

Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate. 

Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee; 

That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee 
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, 
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.' 

This said, he sets the foot upon the light. 

For light and lust are deadly enemies; 

Shame folded up In blind concealing night. 

When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. 

The wolf hath selz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries 
Till with her own white fleece her voice controU'd 
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold: 

For with the nightly linen that she wears 
He pens her piteous clamours in her head; 
Cooling his hot face in tlie chastest tears 
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. 
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed! 
The spots whereof could weeping purify 
Her tears should drop on them perpetually. 

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life. 
And he hath won what he would lose again. 



This forced league doth force a further strife. 
This momentary joy breeds months of pain. 
This hot desire converts to cold disdain: 
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store. 
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. 

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
Unapt for tender smell or speiKly flight. 
Make slow pursuit, or altogetiier balk 
The prey wherein by nature they delight; 
SoBUrfeit taking Tarquin fares this night: 
His taste delicious, in digestion souring. 
Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring. 

Odeeper sin than bottomless conceit 
can comprehend in still imagination! 

grunken desire must vomit his receipt, 
relie can see his own abomination. 
Whtle lust is in his pride no e.xclaniation 
Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire. 
Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. 

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek. 
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, 
Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek. 
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case: 
The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace, 

For there it revels; and when that decays. 

The guilty rebel for remission prays. 

So fares it with this faithful lord of Rome, 
Who this accomplishment so hotly chas'd; 
For now against himself he sounds this doom, 
That through tlie length of times he stands dls- 

grac'd: 
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defac'd; 
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares, 
To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall. 
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection 
He)' immortality, and make her thrall 
To living death, and pain perpetual; 
Which in her prescience she controlled still. 
But her foresight could not forestall their will. 

Even In this thought through the dark night he 

stealeth, 
A captive victor th^t hath lost in gain; 
Bearing away the wound that nothing healetb. 
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain. 
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain. 

She bears the load of lust he left behind, 

And he the burthen of a guilty mind. 

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence; 
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there; 
He scowls, and hates himself for his offence; 
She, desperate, with her nails her fiesh doth tear; 
He faintly flies, sweating with guilty tear; 

She stays, exclaiming on the direful night; 

He runs, and chides his vanquish'd, loath'd delight. 

He thence departs a heavy convertite; 
She there remains a hopeless castaway: 
He in his speed looks for the morning light: 
She prays she never may behold the day; 
' For day,' quoth she, ' night's scapes doth open lay; 
And my true eyes have never practis'd how 
To oioak offences with a cunning brow. 

' They think not but that every eye can see 
The same disgrace which they themselves behold; 
And therefore would they still in darkness be. 
To have their unseen sin remain untold; 
For they their guilt witli weeping will unfold. 
And grave, like water, that dotli eat in steel. 
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.' 

Here she exclaims against repose and rest. 
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. 
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast. 
And bids it leap from thence, where It may flnd 
Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. 

Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite 

Against the unseen secrecy of night: 

' O comfort-killing night, image of hell! 

Dim register and notary of shame! 

Black stage for tragedies and murders fell! 

Vast sill-concealing chaos! nurse of blame! 

Blind mulHed bawd! dark harbour for defame! 
Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator. 
With close-tongued treason and the lavisher! 

' O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night. 
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, 
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light. 
Make war against proportion'd course of time! 
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb 
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed. 
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 

With rotten damps ravish the morning air; 

Let their exhai'd unwholesome breaths make sick 

The life of purity, the supreme fair. 

Ere he arrive his weary noontide prick; 

And let thy misty vapours march so thick. 
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light. 
May set at noon, and make perpetual night. 

'Were Tarquin night (as he is but night's child). 
The silver-shining queen he would distain; 
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defll'd. 
Through night's black bosom should not peep again. 
So should I have copartners in my pain: 
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage. 
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 

' Where now I have no one to blush with me. 
To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine. 
To mask their brows, and hide their infamy; 
But I alone alone must sit and pine. 
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine. 
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans. 
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 

'O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke. 
Let not the jealous day behold that face 
Which underneath thy black all-liiding cloak 
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace! 
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place. 



That all the faults which In thy reign are made 
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade! 

'Make me not object to the tell tale day! 

The light will show, character'd In my brow. 

The story of sweet chastity's decay. 

The impious breach of holy wedlock vow: 

Yea, the Illiterate, that know not how 
To 'cipher what Is writ In learned books, 
Win quote my loathsome trespass In my looks, 

'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, 
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name' 
The orator, to deck his oratory. 
Will couple iny reproach to Tarquin's shame: 
Feast finding minstrels, tuning my defame. 
Win tie the hearers to attend each line. 
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 

' Let my good name, that senseless reputation. 
For Col'latine's dear love be kept unspotted: 
If that be made a theme for disputation. 
The branches of another root are rotted. 
And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted. 

That is as clear from this attaint of mine. 

As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. 

' O unseen shame! invisible disgrace! 
O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar! 
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus''face, 
And Tarquin's eye may read tiie mot afar. 
How he in peace is wounded, not in war. 
Alas, how many bear such shameful.blows. 
Which not themselves but he that gives them 
knows! 

' If, Collatinej thine honour lay in me, 

From me by strong assault it is bereft. 

My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee. 

Have no perfection of my summer left. 

But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft: 
In thy wealc hive a wandering wasp hath crept. 
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. 

' Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack,— 
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him; 
Coming from thee, I could not put him back. 
For it had been dishonour to disdain him: 
Besides of weariness he did complain him. 
And talk'd of virtue:— O, unlook'd for evil, 
When virtue is profan'd in such a devil! 

' Wliy should the worm intrude the maiden bud? 
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests? 
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud? 
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts? 
Or kings be breakers of their own behests? 

But no perfection is so absolute. 

That some impurity doth not pollute. 

' The aged man that coffers up his gold 
Is plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits, 
And scar -» hath eyes his treasure to behold, 
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits. 
And useless barns the harvest of his wits; 
Having no other pleasure of his gain 
But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 

'So then he hath it, when he cannot use it 
And leaves it to be master'd by his young 
Who in their pride do presently abiise it: 
Their father was too weak, and they too strong, 
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. 
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours. 
Even in the moment that we call them ours. 

' Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; 
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers; 
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; 
What virtue breeds iniquity devours: 
We have no good that we can say is ours, 

But ill-annexed Opportunity 

Or kills his life, or else his quality. ■' ■ / 

' O Opportunity! thy guilt is great: 
'T is thou that execut'st the traitor's treason; 
Thou sett'st the wolf where he the lamb may get. 
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season; 
'T is thou that spurn'st at right, at law. at reason; 
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, 
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. 

'Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath; 

Thou biow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd; 

Thou smother'st honesty, thou murther'st troth; 

Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd! 

Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud: 
Thou ravlsher, thou traitor, thou false thief, 
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! 

' Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 

Thy private feasting to a public fast; 

Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name; 

Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste: 

Thy violent vanities can never last. 
How comes it then, vile Opportunity, 
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee? 

' When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend. 
And bring him where his suit may be obtaln'd? 
When wilt thou sort au hour great strifes to end? 
Or free that soul which wretcliedness hath chain'd? 
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd? 

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee; 

But they ne'er meet with Opportiinity. 

' The patient dies while the physician sleeps; 

The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; 

Justice is feasting wliile the witJow weeps; 

Advice is sporting while infection breeds; 

Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds: 
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages. 
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages. 

' When truth and virtue have to do with thee, 
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid; 
They buy thy help: but Sin ne'er gives a fee. 
He gratis comes; and thou art well appay 'd 
As well to hear as grant what he hath said. 
My Collatine would else have come to me 
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. 

' Guilty thou art of murder and of theft; 
Guilty of perjury and subornation; 



mo 



THE RAPE OF LVCRECE. 



Guilty of treason, forgery, nnd shift; 

Guilty of incest, thnt abomination; 

An necessary by thine Inclination 
To all sins past, and all that are to come, 
Kroni the creation to the general doom. 

' Mis sh.npen Time, coposmate of ugly night, 

Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care. 

Enter of youth, false slave to false delight. 

Base watch of woes, .sirs pnckhorse, virtue's snare; 

Thou nursest all, and murtherest all that are. 

hear me then. Injurious, shifting Tin;e: 
Be gailty of my death, since of my crime. 

• Why hoth thy servant, Opportunity, 
Betrny'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose? 
Cancell'd my fortunes anil enchained me 
To endle.ss date of never-ending woes'-" 
Time's olTice is to fine the hate of foes; 

To eat up errors by opinion bred, 

Not .spend the dowry of a lawful bed. 

'Time's glory is toc.-ilm contending kings. 
To unmask falseliood, and bring truth to light. 
To stamp the seal of time in aged things, 
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night. 
To wrong tlie wronger till he render right; 
To ruinate proud buildings with thy houi's. 
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers: 

'To fill with worm-holes stately monnments. 
To feed oblivion with decay of things. 
To blot old books, and alter their contents. 
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
To dry the old oak's sap, and clierish springs; 
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel. 
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel; 

'To show the beldame daughters of her daughter, 
To make the child a man, the man a child. 
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, 
To tame the unicorn and lion wild. 
To mock the subtle, In themselves begnll'd^ 
To cheer the ploughman with Increaseful crops, 
And waste huge stones with little water-drops. 

'Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, 
Unless thou could'st return to make amends? 
One poor retiring minute in an age 
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, 
Lending him wic that to bad debtors lends: 
O, this dread night, would'st thou one hour come 
back, 

1 could prevent this storm, and shun thy wrack.' 

'Thou cea.seless lackey to eternity. 

With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight; 

Devise extremes beyond extremity. 

To make liim curse this cursed crimeful night; 

Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright. 
And the dire thought of his committed evil 
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. 

' Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 
Afflict liim in his bed with bedrid groans; 
Let tliere bechance iiim pitiful mischances, 
To make him moan, but pity not his moans: 
Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones; 
And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 

'Let him have time to tear his curled hair. 
Let htm have time against liiinseif to rave. 
Let him have time of Time's help to despair, 
Let him have time to live a loathed slave. 
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave; 
And time to see one that by alms doth live 
Disdain to hiin dlsdainad scraps to give. 

'Let him have time to see his friends his foes. 
And merry fools to mock at him resort; 
Let him have time to mark how slow time goes 
In time of sorrow, and how swift and slioj't 
His time of folly and his time of sport: 
And ever let his unrecalling crime 
Have time to wall the abusing of his time. 

'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad. 
Teach me to curse him that thou taught's this ill! 
At his own shadow let the thief run madl 
Himself himself seek every hour to kill! 
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should 
spill: 
For who so base would such an office have 
As slanderous deatli'sman to so base a slave? 

' Tlie baser Is he, coming from a king. 
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. 
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
That makes him honnur'd, or begets him hate) 
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd. 
But little stars may hide them when they list. 

' The ci'ow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire. 

And unperceiv'd fly with tiie filth away, 

But if the like the snow-white swan desire. 

The stain upon his silver down will stay. 

Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day. 

Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, 

But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. 

'Out, idle words, servants to .shallow foola! 
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators' 
Busy yourselves In skill-contending schools. 
Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters; 
To trembling clients be your mediators; 
For me, I force not argument a straw. 
Since that my case is past the help of law. 

'In vBln I rail at Opportunity, 

At Time, at Taiquiji, and uncheerful night; 

In villa, 1 ravil «ltli my Infamy, 

In vain I spurn at my contlrm'd despite: 

This helpless smoke o words doth me no right, 

Tlie remedy Indeed to do me good, 

Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood. 

' Poor hand, why qulver'st thou at this decree? 
Honour iliy.self to rid me of this shame; 
For if I die my honour lives in thee. 
But if I live tliou liv'st In my defame: 
Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame. 



And was afear'd to scratch her wicked foe. 
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.' 

This said, from her betumbled couch she starteth. 
To fliid some desperate instrument of death: 
But this no slaughter house no tool imparteth. 
To make more vent for passage of her hrnath. 
Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth 
As smoke from i'Ktna, that In air consumes. 
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. 

' In vain,' quoth she. '1 live and .seek in vain 
Some happy mean to end a hapless life. 
I fear'd by Tarquin s falchion to be slain. 
Yet for the self same purtiose seek a knife: 
But when I fear d I was a loyal wife; 

So am t now:- no, that cannot be; 

Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 

' 0! that is gone for which I sought to live, 

And therefore now I need not fear to die. 

To clear this spot by death, at least I give 

A badge ot fame to slander's livery; 

A dying lite to living infamy; 
Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away. 
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay! 

' Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know 

The stained taste of violated troth; 

I will not wrong thy true affection so 

To flatter thee with an infringed oath; 

This bastard graft shall never come to growth: 
He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute 
That thou art doting father ot his fruit. 

' Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought. 
Nor laugh with his companions at thy .state; 
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought 
Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. 
For me, I am mistress of my fate. 
And with my trespass never will dispense, 
Till life to death acquit my fore'd offence. 

' I will not poison thee with my attaint, 
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses; 
My sable ground of sin I will not paint. 
To hide tlie truth of this false night's abuse."): 
My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes like sluices, 
As from a mountain spring that feeds a dale. 
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale. 

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended " 
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow. 
And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended 
To ugly hell; when lo, the blushing morrow 
Lends light to ail fair eyes that light will borrow: 
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see. 
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. 

Revealing day through every cranny sjjies. 

And seems to point her out where she sits weeping 

To whom she sobbing speaks, "O eye of eyes. 

Why pryest thou through my window? leave thy 

peeping; 
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping: 
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light. 
For day hath nought to do what 's done by night.' 

Thus cavils she with everything she sees: 

Ti'ue grief is fond and testy as a child. 

Who wayward once, his mood with noxight agrees. 

Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild; 

Continuance tames the one; the other wild, 
Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still 
With too much labour drov^ns for want of skill. 

So she, deep drenched in a sea of care. 
Holds disputation with each thing she views, 
And to herself all sorrow doth compare; 
No object but her passion's strength renews; 
And as one shifts, another straight ensues: 

Sometime her grief Is dumb and hath no words? 

Sometime 't Is mad, and too much talk affords. 

The little birds that tune their morning's joy 
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody. 
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy; 
Sad souls are slain in merry company: 
Grief best is pleas 'd with .grief's society: 
True sorrow then is feelingly sufflc'd 
When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. 

'T is double death to drown in ken of shore; 

He ten times pines that pines beholding food; 

To see the salve dotli make the wound ache more? 

Great grief grieves most at tliat would do it good; 

Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood. 
Wlio, being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows: 
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. 

' You mocking birds,' quoth she, ' your tunes entomb 
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts. 
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb.' 
(My restless discord loves no stops nor rests; 
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:) 

Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears; 

Distress like dumps when time is kept with tears. 

' Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishments 
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair. 
As the dank earth weeps at thy langulshment, 
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, 
And witli deep groans the diapason bear: 
For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, 
While thou on Tereus deseant'st better skill. 

' And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, 
To keep thy sharp woes waking, w-retched I, 
To imitate thee well, against my heart 
Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye; 
Who, It It wink, shall thereon fall and die 
These means, as frets upon an instrument. 
Shall tune our heartstrings to true langulshment. 

' And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, 
As shaming any eye should thee behold. 
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way. 
That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold. 
We will find out; and there we will unfold 
To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their 

kinds: 
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle 
minds. 



As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze. 

Wildly determining which way to fly. 

Or one encompass'u with a winding maze. 

That cannot tread the way out readily; 

So with herself Is she in mutiny. 
To live or die which of the twain were better. 
When life is sham'd, and Death reproach 's debtor. 

'To kill myself,' quoth she, ' alack! what were it, 
But with my body my poor soul's pollution? 
They that lose half with greater patience bear it 
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
That mother tries a merciless conclusiim 

Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes 
one. 

Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. 

' My body or my soul, which was the dearer? 
When the one pure, the other made dlvinfe. 
Whose love of cither to myself was nearer? 
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine. 
Ah me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, 

His leaves will wither, and his sap decay; 

So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 

'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted. 

Her man.sion batter'd by tiie enemy; 

Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted. 

Grossly engirt with daring infamy: 

Then let it not be call'd impiety 
If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole 
Through which I may convey this troubled soul. 

' Yet die I will not till my Collatine 
Have heard the cause ot my untimely death; 
That he may vow. In that sad hour of mine. 
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. 
My stained blood to Tarquin 1 '11 bequeath, 

Which b,v him tainted shall for him be spent, 

And as his due writ in my testament. 

'My honour I '11 bequeath unto the knife 

That wounds my body so dishonoured. 

'T is honour lo deprive dislionour'd life; 

The one will live, the other being dead: 

So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred; 
For in my death I murther shameful .scorn: 
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. 

' Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, 
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee? 
My resolution. Love, shall be thy boast. 
By whose example thou reveng'd may'st be. 
How Tarquin must be used, read it In me: 

Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe; 

And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so. 

'This brief abridgment of my will I make: 

My soul and body to the skies and ground; 

My resolution, husband, do thou take; 

Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound; 

My shame be his that did my fame confound; 
And ail my fame that lives disbursed be 
To those that live, and think no shame of me. 

' Thou, Collatine. .shalt oversee this will; 

How was I overseen that thou shalt see it! 

My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill; 

My life's foul deed my life's fair end shall free It. 

Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, "so be it." 

Yield to my hand, my hand aiiall conquer thee; 

Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be." 

This plot of death when sadly she had laid, 
And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes. 
With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid, 
Thosr swift obedience to her mistress hies; 
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies. 
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid .seem so 
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. 

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow. 
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty. 
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorroiv, 
(For why? her face wore sorrow's livery, J 
But durst not ask of her audaciously 
Why her two suns were cloudecllp.sed so. 
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. 

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set. 
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye; 
Even .so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet 
Her circled eyiie, enforc'd by sympathy 
Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky. 
Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light. 
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. 

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand. 
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns fliling: 
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand 
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling: 
Their gentle se.x to weep are often willing; 
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts, 
And then they drown their eyes, or break their 
hearts. 

f'or men have marble, women waxen minds. 
And therefore are they formed as marble will; 
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds 
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill: 
Then call them not the authors of their 111, 
No more than wax shall be accounted evil. 
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, 
Lays open all the little worms that creep; 
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep: 
Through crystal w^alls each little mote will peep: 

Though men can cover crimes with bold stern 
looks. 

Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. 

No man inveigh against the wlther'd flower. 
But chide rough winter that the flower hath klli'd! 
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour 
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hid 
Poor women's faults that they are so fulflll'd 
With men's abuses! those proud lords, to blame. 
Make weak made women tenants to their shame. 

The precedent whereof In Lucrece view, 
Assall'd by night with circumstances strong 
Of present death, and shame that might ensue 



THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 



341 



By thaf, her death, to do her husband wrong: 
Such danger to reslstanci- did belong, 

That ilying fear through all her body spread: 

And who cannot abuse a body dead? 

By this, mild Patience bid fair I^ucrece spealc 
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining: 
' My girl,' quoth she, ' on what occasion break 
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are 

raining? 
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining. 
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood: 
If tears could help, mine own would do me good. 

■But tell me, girl, when went'— (and there she stay'd 
Till after a deep groan) 'Tarquin from hence?' 
' Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid, 
■The more to blame my sluggard negligence: 
Yet witli the fault I thus tar can dispense; 
Myself was stirring ere the break of da.v, 
And, ere 1 rose, was Tarquin gone away. 

' But, lady, if .vour maid may be so bold. 

She would request to know your heaviness.' 

' O peace" quoth Lucrece; ' if It should be told. 

The repetition cannot make it less; 

For more it is than 1 can well express: 
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell. 
When more Is felt than one hath power to tell. 

■ Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen- 
Yet save that labour, for I have them here. 
What should I say?— One of my husband's men 
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear 
A letter to my lord, mv love, my dear; 
Bid him with speed prepare to carry It: 
The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.' 

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write 
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill: 
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight; 
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will; 
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill- 
Much like a press of people at a door. 
Throng her inventions, wliich shall be before. 

At last she thus begins:— 'Thou worthy lord 
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth tnee, 
Health to thy person! next vouchsafe to afford 
(If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see) 
Some present speed to come and visit me: 

So I commend me from our liouse in grief; 

My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.' 

Here folds she up the tenor of her woe, 

Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. 

By this short schedule Collatiue may know 

Her grief, but not her grief's true quality; 

She dares not thereof make discovery. 
Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, 
Ere she with blood had stain'd ner stain'd excuse. 

Besides, the lite and feeling of her passion 
She hoards, to speed when he is by to hear her; 
When sighs, and groans, and tears may grace the 

fashion 
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 
From that suspicion which the world might bear her. 
To shun this blot, she would not blot tlie letter 
With words, till action might become them better. 

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told; 

For then the eye interprets to the ear 

The heavy motion that it doth behold. 

When every part a part of woe doth bear. 

'T is but a part of sorrow that we hear: 
Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords, 
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words. 

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ, 
■ At Ardea to my lord with more than haste;' 
The post attends, and she delivers it, 
Chargmg.his sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast 
As lagging fowls before the northern blast. 

Speed more than speed but dull and slow she 
deems: 

Extremity still urgeth such extremes. 

The homely villalQ court'sies to her low; 
And blushing on her, with a steadfast eye 
Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, 
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. 
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie 

Imagine every eye beholds their blame; 

For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame; 

When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect 

Of spirit, lite, and bold audacity. 

Such harmless creatures have a true respect 

To talk in deeds, while others saucily 

Promise more speed, but do it leisurely: 
Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age 
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. 

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust. 
That two red fires in both their faces blaz'd; 
She thought he blush'd as knowing Tarquin's lust, 
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gaz'd; 
Her earnest eye did make him more amaz'd: 
The more she saw the blood his clieeks replenish. 
The more she thought he spied in her some 
blemish. 

But long she thinks till he return again. 
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 
The weary time she cannot entertain. 
For now 't is stale to sigh, to weep, and groan: 
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tiied moan, 
Tliat she her plaints a little while doth stay. 
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. 

At last she oalls to mind where hangs a piece 
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy; 
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, 
For Helen's rape the citj' to destroy, 
Threat'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy; 
Which the conceited painter drew so proud, 
As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd. 

A thousand lamentable objects there. 
In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life: 
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear. 
Shed for the slaughter'd husband hy the wife: 
The red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife; 



And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights. 
Like dying coals burnt out In tedious nights. 

There might .vou see the labouring pioneer 
Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared ail with dust; 
And from the towers of Troy there would appear 
The very eyes of men through loopholes tlirust. 
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust: 
Such sweet oijservance In this work was had. 
That one might see those tar-oft eyes look satl. 

In great commanders grace and majesty 
You might behold, triumphing in their faces; 
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity; 
And here and there the painter interlaces 
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces; 
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, 
That one would swear he saw them quake and 
tremble. 

In Ajax and Ulysses, O what art 

Of physiognomy might one behold! 

The face of either 'cipher'd cither's heart; 

Their face their manners most expressi.v told; 

In AJax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd; 
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent 
Show'd deep regard and smiling government. 

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, 
As 't were encouraging the Greeks to fight; 
Making such sober action with his hand 
That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight: 
In speech, it seem'd, his beard all silver white 
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly 
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. 

About him were a press of gaping faces, 
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice; 
All jointly listening, but with several graces. 
As it some mermaid did their ears entice; 
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice: 
The .scalps of many, almost hid behind. 
To jump up higher seem'd to mock the mind. 

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head. 

His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear; 

Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and 
red; 

Another smother'd seems to peH and swear; 

And in their rage such signs of rage they bear. 
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words. 
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. 

For much imaginary work was there; 
Conceit deceitful, so compact^ so kind. 
That for Achilles' image stood his spear, 
Grip'd in an armed hand; himself, behind. 
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind: 

A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, 

Stood for the whole to be imagined. 

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy 

When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to 

field. 
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy 
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield; 
And to their hope the.v such odd action yield. 
That through their light joy seemed to appear 
(Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear. 

And, from the strond of Dardan where they fought, 
ToSimois' reedy banks, the red blood ran. 
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought 
With swelling ridges; and their ranks began 
To break upon the galled shore, and then 
Eetire again, till meeting greater ranks 
They join, and shoot their foam at Simuis' banks. 

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come. 
To find a face where all distress is stel'd. 
Many she sees where cares have carved some, 
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd. 
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld. 
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes. 
Which bleeding -under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. 

In her the painter had anatomiz'd 

Time's ruin, beauty's wrack, and grim care's reign; 

Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguis'd; 

Of what she was no semblance did remain: 

Her blue blood, chang'd to black in every vein. 

Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had 
fed, 

Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead. 

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, 
And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes. 
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries. 
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes: 
The painter was no god to lend her those; 
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong. 
To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. 

'Poor instrument,' quoth she, 'without a sound, 
I '11 tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue: 
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound. 
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong. 
And with my tears (juench Troy that burns so long; 
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 

' Show me the strumpet that began this stir, 
That with my nails her beauty I may tear. 
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
This load of wrath that burning Troy "oth bear; 
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth lere: 
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye. 
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter, die. 

' Why should the private pleasure of some one 
Become the public plague of many mo'? ■ 
Let sin, alvne committed, light alone. 
Upon his head that hath transgressed so. 
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe: 

For one's offence why should so many fall, 

To plague a private sin in general? 

' Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies. 
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds; 
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies. 
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds. 
And one man's lust these many lives confounds: 
Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 
Troy had been bright with fame, and not with Are. 



Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes: 
For sorrow, like a heavy hanging bell. 
Once .set on ringing, with his own weight goes: 
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell: 
So Lucrece seta work sad tales doth tell 
To penclU'd penslveness and oolour'd sorrow: 
She lends them words, and she their looks doth 
borrow. 

She throws her eyes about the painting round. 
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament: 
At last she sees a wretched Image bound, 
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherd's lent; 
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content: 
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes. 
So mild that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. 

In him the painter labour'd with his skill 
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show 
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes walling still, 
A brow unl>ent, that seem'd to welcome woe; 
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so 
That blushing red no guilty instance gave. 
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 

But, like a constant and confirmed devil. 
He entertain'd a show so seeming just. 
And thei-ein so ensconc'd his secret evil. 
That jealousy itself could not mistrust 
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust 
Into so bright a day sucli black-fac'd storms. 
Or blot with hell-born sin sucli saint-like forms. 

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew 
For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story 
The credulous old Priam after slew; 
Whose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory 
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorr.v. 
And little stars shot from their fixed places. 
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their 
faces. 

This picture she advisedly perus'd. 

And chid the painter for his wondrous skill; 

Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd. 

So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill; 

And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still. 
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied. 
That she concludes the picture was belied. 

' It cannot be,' quoth she, 'that so much guile'— 
(She would have said) ' can lurk in such a look;' 
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while. 
And from her tongue 'can lurk' from 'cannot' took, 
' It cannot be' she in that sense forsook. 
And turn'd it thus: 'It cannot be, I find, 
But such a face should bear a wick'd mind: 

' For even as subtle Sinon here is painted. 
So sober-sad, so wear.v, and so mild, 
(As if with grief or travail he had fainted,) 
To me came Tarquin armed; so beguil'd 
With outward honesty, but yet defll'd 
With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish. 
So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish. 

'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, 

To.see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds. 

Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise? 

For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds; 

His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds; 
Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity 
Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 

' Such devils steal effects from lightless hell; 
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold. 
And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell; 
These contraries such unity do hold 
Only to flatter fools, and make them bold; 
So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears iloth flatter. 
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.' 

Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails. 
That patience is quite beaten from her breast. 
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails. 
Comparing him to that unhappy guest 
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest; 

At last she smilingly with this gives o'er; 

'Fool! fool!' quoth she, 'his wounds will not be 
sore.' 

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow. 
And time doth weary time with her complaining. 
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow. 
And both she thinks too long with her remaining: 
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining. 

Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps; 

And they that watch set time how slow it creeps. 

Which ,111 this time hath over.slipp'd her thought. 

That she with painted images hath spent; 

Being from tlie feeling of her own grief brought 

By deep surmise of other's detriment; 

Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 
It easeth some, though none it ever cur'd. 
To think their dolour others have eudur'd. 

But now the mindful messenger, come back, 
Brings home his lord and other company; 
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black; 
And round about her tear-distained eye 
Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky. 
These water-galls in her dim element 
Foretell new storms to those already spent. 

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 

Amazedly in her sad face he stares: 

Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw. 

Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. 

He hath no power to asK her how she fares. 
But stood like old acquaintance in a trance, 
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. 

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand. 
And thus begins. ' What uncouth ill event 
Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling stand? 
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent? 
Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent? 
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness. 
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.' 

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, 
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe: 
At length address'd to answer his desire, 



343 



SONNETS. 



She modestly prepares to let them know 
Her lionour is ta'en prisoner by the foe; 
While Collatlne and his consorted lords 
With sad attention long to hear her words. 

And now this pale swan In her watery nest 
Begins the sad dirse of her certain ending: 
' Few words,' qiiotli she. ' shall fit tlie trespass best, 
Where no excuse can give the fault amending; 
In me more woes than words ai'eiiow depending; 
And my laments would be drawn out too long. 
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. 

■ Then be this all the task it hath to say:— 
Dear husband, in the Interest of thy bed 
A stranger came, and on that pillow lay 
Where thou was wont to rest thy weary head; 
And what wrong else may be Imagined 
By foul enforcement might be done to me. 
From that, alas! thy Lucrece is not free. 

' For In the dreadful dead of dark midnight. 
With shining falchion in my chamber came 
A creeping creature, with a flaming light. 
And softly cried, Awake, thou Roman dame, 
And entertain my love; else lasting shame 
On thee and thine this night I will inflict, 
If tliou my love's desire do contradict. 

' For some hard-tavour'd groom of thine, quoth he, 
Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 
I '11 murder straight, and then I '11 slaughter thee. 
And swear I found you where you did fulfil 
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 

The lechers in their deed: this act will be 

My fame, and thy perpetual infamy. 

' With this I did begin to start and cry. 
And then against my heart he set his sword, 
Swearing, tmless I took all patiently, 
I should not live to speak another word; 
So should my shame still rest upon record, 
And never be forgot in mighty Rome 
The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. 

' Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 
And far the weaker with so strong a fear: 
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak; 
No rightful plea might plead for justice there: 
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 
That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes. 
And when the judge is robo'd, the prisoner dies. 

' O teach me how to make mine own excuse! 

Or, at the least, this refuge let me find; 

Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse. 

Immaculate and spotless is my mind; 

That was not forc'd; that never was inclin'd 
To accessary yieldings, but still pure 
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.' 

Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss. 
With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe, 
With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across, 
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow 
The grief away that stops his answer so: 

But wretched as he Is he strives in vain; 

What he breathes out his breath drinks up again. 

As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste; 
Yet m the eddy boundeth in his pride 
Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast; 
In rage sent out, recall'd In rage, being past: 
Even so he sighs, his sorrows make a saw. 
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. 

Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth. 
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh: 
'Death lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
Another power; no flood by raining slaketh. 
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh 
More feeling-painful: let it thensufflce 
To drowu one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 

' And for my sake, when I might charm thee so. 
For she that was thy Lucrece,— now attend me; 
Be suddenly revenged on my foe. 
Thine, mine, his own; suppose thou dost defend me 
From what Is past: the help that thou shalt lend me 

Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die; 

For sparing justice feeds Iniquity. 

But ere I name him, you, fair lords,' quoth she, 
(Speaking to those that came with Collatlne) 
•Shall plight your honourable faiths to me. 
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine; 



For 't is a meritorious fair design 
To chase injustice wlih revengeful arms: 
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' 
harms.' 

At this request, with noble disposition 
Each present lord began to promise aid. 
As bound in knighthood to her imposition. 
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. 
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said. 
The protestation stop. ' O speak,' quoth she, 
• How may this forced stain be wlp'd from me? 

' What is the quality of mine offence. 

Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance 

May my pure mind with the foul act dispense. 

My low-declined honour to advance? 

iSIay any terms acquit me from this chance? 

The poison'd fountain clears itself again; 

And why not I from the compelled stain?' 

With this, they all at once began to say, 
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears; 
While with a joyless smile she turns away 
The face, that map which deep impression bears 
Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears. 
'No, no,' quoth she, ' no dame, hereafter living. 
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.' 

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break. 

She throws forth Tarquin's name: ' He, he,' she says. 

But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not 

speak; 
Till after many accents and delays. 
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays. 
She utters this: ' He, he, fair lords, 't is he. 
That guides this hand to give this wound to me.' 

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath'd: 
That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
Of that polluted prison where it bi-eath'd: 
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd 

Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth 
fly 

Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. 

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed. 
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew; 
Till Lucrece's father that beholds her bleed. 
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw: ~ 
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
The murderous knife, and as It left the place, 
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase; 

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood 
Circles her body in on every side. 
Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood 
Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. 
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd. 
And some look'd black: and that false Tarquin 
stain'd. 

About the mourning and congealed face 
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes. 
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place: 
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes. 
Corrupted blood some watery token shows; 
And blood untainted still doth red abide. 
Blushing at that which Is so putrefied. 

' Daughter, dear daughter," old Lucretius cries, 
'That life was mine which thou hast here depriv'd. 
If in tlie child the father's image lies. 
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unliv'd? 
Thou was not to this end from me deriv'd. 
If children predecease progenitors. 
We are their offspring, and they none of ours. 

' Poor broken glass, I often did behold 
In thy sweet semblance my old age new born; 
But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old. 
Shows me a barebon'd death by time outworn; 
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn! 
And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass. 
That I no more can see what once I was. 

' O time, cease thou thy course, and last no longer, 
If they surcease to be that should survive. 
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger. 
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive? 
The old bees die, the young possess their hive: 
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again, and see 
Thy father die, and not thy father thee!' 

By this starts Collatlne as from a dream, 
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place; 



And then In key cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
He falls, and bathes the pale fear In his face, 
And counterfeits to die with her a space; 
Till manly shame bids him po.s.sess his breath, 
And live, to be revenged on her death. 

The deep vexation of his inward soul 
Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue; 
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control. 
Or keep him from heart easing words so long. 
Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng 
Weak words, so thick come, in his poor heart's aid. 
That no man could distingish what he said. 

Yet sometime Tarquin was pi-onounced plain. 
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore. 
This windy tempest, till It blow up rain. 
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more; 
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er: 
Then son and father weep with equal strife. 
Who should weep most for daughter or for wife. 

The one doth call her his, the other his. 
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. 
The father says, 'She 's mine,' ' O, mine she is,* 
Replies her husband: ' do not take away 
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner .say 
He weeps for her, for she was only mine. 
And only must be wail'd by Collatlne.' 

' O,' quoth Lucretius, ' I did give that life 
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.' 
' Woe, woe,' quoth Collatlne, * she was my wife, 
I ow'd her, and 't is mine that she hath kill'd.' 
' My daughter!' and ' My wife!' with clamours fiU'd 
The dlspers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life, 
Answer'd their cries, ' My daughter!' and ' My 
wife!' 

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece" side, 
Seeing such emulation In their woe. 
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride. 
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. 
He with the Romans was esteemed so 
As silly jeering idiots are with kings. 
For sportive words, and uttering foolish things. 

But now he throws that shallow habit by, 

Wherein deep policy did him disguise; 

And arm'd his long hid wits advisedly. 

To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. 

' Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth he, ' arise; 
Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool. 
Now set thy long-experlenc'd wit to school. 

' Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? 

Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous 
deeds? 

Is It revenge to give thyself a blow. 

For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds? 

Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds. 
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so. 
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. 

' Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
In such relenting dew of lamentations. 
But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, 
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations. 
That the.v will suffer these abominations, 
(Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgrac'd.i 
By our strong arm$ from forth her fair streets 
chas'd. 

' Now, by the Capitol that we adore. 
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd. 
By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store,. 
By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd. 
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late oomplajn'd 
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife. 
We will revenge the death of this true wife.' 

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 
And klss'd the fatal knife to end his vow ; 
And to his protestation urg'd the rest. 
Who, wondering at him, did his words allow; 
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bowr 

And that deep vow which Brutus made before,. 

He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 

When they had sworn to this advised doom. 
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence; 
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, 
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence: 
Which being done with speedy diligence. 

The Romans plausibly did give consent 

To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 



SONNETS. 



TO . THE .ONLIE . BEGETTER . OF . 

THESE . INSUING . SONNETS . 

MR. W. H. ALL . HAPPINESSE . 

. AND . THAT . ETERNITIE . 

PROMISED . 

BY . 

OUR . EVER-LIVING . POET . 

WISHETH . 

. THE . WELL-WISHING . 

ADVENTURER . IN . 

SETTING . 

FORTH . 

T. T. 



From fairest creatures we desire Increase, 
That thereby beauty's rose might never die, 
But as the riper should by time decrease. 



His tender heir might bear his memory : 
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, 
Making a famine where abundance lies. 
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 
Thou that are now the world's fresh ornament. 
And only herald to the gaudy spring. 
Within thine own bud buriest tiiy content, 
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding. 
Pity the world, or else this glutton be. 
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 

II. 

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow. 
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field. 
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now. 
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held : 
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies. 
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days ; 
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes. 
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. 
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, 
If thou could'st answer—' This fair child of mine 
Shall sum my count, aud make my old excuse—' 



Proving his beauty by succession thine ! 
This were to be new-made when thou art old. 
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold- 



Look In thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest. 
Now is the time that face should form another; 
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest. 
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mothoi 
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb 
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? 
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb 
Of his self-love, to stop posterity? 
Thou art thv mother's glass, and she in thee 
Calls back the lovely April of her prime: 
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see. 
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. 
But if thou live, remember'd not to be. 
Die single, and thine image dies with thee. 

IV. 

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend 

Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy? 

Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, 



SONNETS. 



348 



And. being frank, she lends to those are free. 
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse 
The liounteous iargess given thee to give? 
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use 
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? 
For having traffic with thyself alone. 
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. 
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, 
What acceptable audit canst thou leave? 
The unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, 
Which, used, lives th' executor to be. 



Those hours that with gentle work did frame 
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, 
Will play the tyrants to the very same. 
And that unfair which fairly doth excel; 
For never-resting time leads summer on 
To hideous winter, and confounds him there; 
Sap check'd with frost, and iusty leaves quite gone, 
Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness everywhere: 
Then, were not summer's distillation left, 
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, 
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft. 
Nor It, nor no remembrance what It was. 
But flowers distlU'd, though they with winter meet, 
Leese but their show; their substance still lives 
sweet. 

VI. 

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface 

In thee thy slimmer, ere thou be distlU'd: 

Make sweet some phial; treasure thou some place 

With beauty's treasure, ere it be selt-klU'd. 

That use Is not forbidden usury. 

Which happies those that pa.v the willing loan; 

That 's.for thyself to breed another thee. 

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; 

Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, 

If ten of thine ten times rengur'd thee: 

Then what could Death do if thou should'st depart, 

Leaving thee living in posterity? 
Be not self-wlU'd, for thou art much too fair 
To be Death's conquest and make worms thine 
heir. 

VII. 

Lo, in the orient when the gracious light 
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye 
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight. 
Serving wltn looks his sacred majesty; 
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, 
Resembling strong youth in his middle age, 
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still. 
Attending on his golden pilgrimage; 
But when from high-most pitch, with weary car. 
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day. 
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are 
From his low tract, and look another way: 
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon, 
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 



Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? 
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in Joy; 
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly? 
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? 
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, 
By unions married, do offend thine ear, 
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds 
In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear. 
Mark now one string, sweet husband to another. 
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; 
Kesembling sire and child and happy mother. 
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing: 
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one. 
Sings to thee, ' thou single wilt prove none,' 

IX. 

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye 
That thou consum'st thyself in single life? 
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die. 
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife; 
The world will be thy widow, and still weep 
That thou no form of thee hast left behind. 
When every private widow well may keep, 
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. 
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend 
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it: 
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end. 
And kept unus'd, tlie user so destroys it. 
No love toward others in that bosom sits. 
That on himself such murderous shame commits. 



For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any. 
Who for thyself art so unpfovident. 
Grant if thou wilt thou art belov'd of many. 
But that thou none lov'st is most evident ; 
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate, 
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire. 
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate. 
Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind ! 
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love ? 
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, 
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove ; 
Make thee another self, for love of me. 
That beauty still may live in thine or thee. 

XI. 

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st 
In one of thine, from that which thou departest ; 
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, 
Tiiou niay'st call thine, when thou from youth con- 

vertest. 
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; 
Without this folly, age, and cold decay. 
If all were minded so the times should cease. 
And threescore years would make the world away. 
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store. 
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish : 
Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the more ; 
Which bounteous gift thou should'st in bounty 
cherish ; 
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby 
Thou should'st print more, nor let that copy die. 

XII. 
When I do count the clock that tells the time. 
And see tlie brave day sunk in hideous night ; 
When I behold the violet past prime. 
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white ; 



When lofty trees I see barren of leaves. 
Which eist from heat did canopy the herd. 
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves. 
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ; 
Then of thy beauty do I question make. 
That thou among the wastes of time must go. 
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, 
And die as fast as they see others grow ; 

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make de- 
fence 

Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. 

xm. 
O that you were yourself ■ but, love, you are 
No longer yours than you yourself here live : 
Against this coming end you should prepare. 
And your sweet semblance to some other give. 
So should that beauty which you hold in lease 
Find no determination ; then you were 
Yourself again, after yourself's decease. 
When your sweet issue your sweet form should 

bear. 
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay. 
Which husbandry In honour might uphold 
Against the stormy gusts ef winter's day. 
And barren rage of death's eternal cold 1 
O ! none but unthrifts :— Dear my love, you know 
You had a father ; let your son say so. 

xjv. 
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ; 
And yet methinks I have astronomy. 
But not to tell of good or evil luck. 
Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality : 
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell. 
Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind, 
Or say with princes it It shall go well, 
By oft predict that I in heaven And : 
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive. 
And (constant stars) in them I read such art, 
As truth and beauty shall together thrive. 
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert : 
Or else of thee this I prognosticate. 
Thy end Is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 



When I consider every thing that grows 
Holds in perfection but a little moment. 
That this huge state presenteth nought but shows 
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; 
When I perceive that men as plants increase. 
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky; 
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease. 
And wear their brave state out of memory; 
Then the conceit of this Iftconstant stay 
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight. 
Where wasteful time debateth with decay. 
To change your day of youth to sullied night; 
And,- all in war with Time, for love of you. 
As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 



But wherefore do not you a mightier way 

Make war upon this bloody tyrant. Time? 

And fortify yourself in your decay 

With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? 

Now stand you on the top of happy hours; 

And many maiden gardens, yet unset. 

With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers. 

Much liker than your painted counterfeit: 

So should the lines of life that life repair. 

Which this. Time's pencil, or my pupil pen. 

Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair. 

Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. 

To give away yourself keeps yourself still; 

And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. 



Who win believe my verse in time to come. 
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? 
Though yet, Heaven knows. It is but as a tomb 
Which hides your life, and shows not half your 

parts. 
If I could write the beauty of your eyes. 
And in fresh numbers number all your graces. 
The age to come would say, this poet lies. 
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch d earthly faces. 
So should my papers, yellow'd with their age. 
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue; 
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage, 
And stretched metre of an antique song: 
But were some child of your alive that time. 
You should live twice;— in it, and in my rhyme. 

xviil. 
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
And summer's lease hatii all too short a date; 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines. 
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 
And every fair from fair sometime declines. 
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrlmm'd; 
But thy eternal summer shall not fade. 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; 
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade. 
When In eternal lines lo time thou growest; 
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see. 
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 



Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws. 
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; 
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws. 
And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood; 
Make glad and sorrow seasons, as thou fleets. 
And do what'er thou wilt, swift footed Time, 
To the wide world, and all her fading sweets; 
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: 
O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow. 
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique peu; 
Him in thy course untainted do allow. 
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong. 
My love shall in my verse ever live young. 



A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted. 
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; 
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted 
With shifting change, as is false woman's faBhion; 



An eye more bright than theirs, less false In rolling, 

Qilding the object whereupon it gazeth; 

A man in hue, all hues in his controlling. 

Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls amaz- 

eth. 
And for a woman wertthou first created; 
Tin Nature, as she wrought thee, fell adoting, 
And by addition me of thee defeated. 
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 

But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleas- 
ure. 

Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure. 

XXI. 

So is it not with me as with that muse, 
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse; 
Who heaven Itself for ornament doth use, 
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse; 
Making a couplement of proud compare. 
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, 
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare 
That heaven's air In this huge rondure hems. 
O let me, true in love, but truly write, 
And then believe me, my love is as fair 
As any mother's child, though not so bright 
As those gold candles flx'd In heaven's air; 
Let them say more that like of hearsay well: 
I win not praise, that purpose not to selL 

xxn. 
My glass shall not persuade me I am old. 
So long as youth and thou are of one date; 
But when in thee time's furrows I behold. 
Then look I death my days should expiate. 
For all that beauty that doth cover thee 
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart. 
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine In me: 
How can I, then, be older than thou art? 
O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary. 
As I not for myself, but for thee will; 
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
As tender nurse her babe from faring 111. 

Presume not on thy heart when mine Is slain; 

Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again- 

XXIII. 

As an unperfect actor on the stage. 
Who with his fear is put besides his part. 
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage. 
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; 
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
The perfect ceremony of love's rite. 
And In mine own love's strength seem to decay, 
O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might. 
O let my books be then the eloquence 
And dumb presages of my speaking breast; 
Who plead for love and look for recompence 
More than that tongue that more hath more eX' 
press'd. 
O learn to read what silent love hath writ: 
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 

xxrv. 
Mine eye hath played the painter, and hath stell'd . 
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart: 
My body is the frame wherein 't is held. 
And perspective it is best painter's art. 
For through the painter must you see his skill, 
Toflnd where your true image pictur'd lies. 
Which In my bosom's shop is hanging still. 
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. 
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes hath done; 
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me 
Are windows to my breast, where through the sun 
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; 

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art. 
They draw but what they see, know not the heart. 



Let those who are in favour with their stars, 
of public honor and proud titles boast. 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. 
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread 
But as the marigold at the sun's eye; 
And in themselves their pride lies buried. 
For at a frown they in their glory die. 
The painful warrior famoused for fight. 
After a thousand victories once foil'd. 
Is from the book of honour razed quite, 
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd; 
Then happy I, that love and am belov'd 
Where I may not remove, nor be lemov'd. 

XXVI. 
Lord of my love, to whom In vassalage 
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit. 
To thee I send this written embassage. 
To witness duty, not to show my wit. 
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 
May make seem bare, in wanting words to showltj 
But that I hope some good conceit of thine 
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow It: 
Till whatsoever star shall guide by moving. 
Points on me graciously with fair aspect. 
And puts apparel on my tattered loving. 
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: 
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee. 
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst 
prove me. 

XXVII. 
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed. 
The dear repose for limbs with travel tlr'd; 
But then begins a journey In my head. 
To work my mind, when body's work 's expired: 
For then my thoughts(from far where I abide) 
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to tliee. 
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide. 
Looking on darkness which tlie blind do see: 
Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view. 
Which, like a jewel hung In ghastly night. 
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. 
Lo, thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind 
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. 

XXVllI. 

How can I then return In happy plight. 
That amdebarr'd the benefit of rest? 
When day's oppression Is not eas'd by night. 
But day by night and night by day oppressed? 



M4 



SONNETS. 



And each, thoueh enemies to elther's reign. 
Do In consent shake hands to torture me, 
The one by toll, the oilier to complain 
How far I toll, still farther off from thee. 
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright. 
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: 
So flatter I the swartcomplexion'd night; 
When sparkling stars twiro not, thou gUd'st the 
even. 
But day doth dally draw my sorrows longer. 
And night tloth nightly make grief's strength seem 
stronger. 

XXIX. 

When In disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 

I all alone beweep my outcast state. 

And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries, 

And look upon myself, and curse my fate. 

Wishing me like to <me more rich in hope, 

Featur'd like him. like him with friends possessed. 

Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope. 

With what I most enjoy contented least; 

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. 

Haply I think on thee,— and then my state 

(Like to the lark at break of day arising 

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate; 

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth 
brings. 

That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 

XXX. 

When to tBe sessions of sweet silent thought 
1 summon up remembrance of things past, 
I sigh the lack of many a thing I souglit. 
Ana with old woes new wail my dear times' waste: 
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow. 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night. 
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe. 
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd s'ght. 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone. 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan. 
Which I new pay as if not paid before. 
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend. 
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. 

XXXI. 

Thy bosom Is endeared with all hearts. 
Which 1 by lacking have supposed dead; 
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts. 
And all those friends which I thought burled. 
How many a holy and obsequious tear 
Hatli dear religious love stolen from mine eye. 
As interest of tne dead, which now appear 
But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie: 
■Thou art the grave where burled love doth live. 
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
Who all their parts of me to thee did give; 
That due of many now Is thine alone: 
Their Images I lov'd I view In thee. 
And thou (all they) hast all the all ot me. 

XXXII. 

If thou survive my well contented day. 

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall 

cover. 
And Shalt by fortune once more re survey 
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover. 
Compare them with the battering of the time; 
And though they be outstrlpp'd by every pen, 
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme. 
Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought; 
' Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age 
A dearer birth that this his love had brought, 
lo march in ranks of better equipage: 
But since he died, and poets better prove, 
Tkelrs for their style I '11 read, his for his love ' 

XXXIII. 
Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye. 
Kissing with golden race the meadows green. 
Gliding pale streams witli heavenly alchymy; 
Anon perinit the basest clouds to ride 
With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
And from the forlorn world his visage hide. 
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: 
Even so my sun one early morn did shine 
With all triumphant .splendour on my brow; 
But outl alack: he was but one hour mine. 
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 

Yet him for this my love no whitdisdaineth; 

Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun 
staineth. 

XXXIV. 

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day. 
And make me travel forth without my cloak. 
To let bast clouds o'ertake me in my way. 
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? 
Tit not enough that through the cloud thou break 
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, 
For no man well of such a salve can speak. 
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: 
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; 
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: 
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
To him that bears the strong offence's cross. 
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, 
And they are rich, and ransom all 111 deeds. 

XXXV. 
No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done: 
flosps have tliorns, and silver fountains mud; 
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon .and sun. 
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
All men make faults, and even I in this. 
Authorising thy trespass with compare. 
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, 
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are: 
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, 
(Tliy adverse party Is thy advocate,) 
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: 
Such civil war is In my love and hate, 
That I an accessory needs must be 
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. 

xxxvi. 
liOtme confess that we two must be twain, 
Although our undivided loves are one: 
So sholl those blots that do with me remain. 
Without thy help, by me be borne alone. 



In our two loves there Is but one respect. 
Though In our lives a separable spite. 
Which though it alter not love's sole effect. 
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. 
I may not evermore acknowledge thee. 
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame; 
Nor though with public kindness honour me, 
unless thou take that honour from thy name: 
But do not so; I love thee in such sort. 
As, thou being mine, mine Is thy good report. 

xxxvii. 
As a decrepit father takes delight 
To see his active child do deeds of youth. 
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite. 
Take all my comfort ot thy worth and truth; 
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, 
Or any of these all, or all, or more. 
Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, 
I make my love engrafted to this store: 
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd. 
Whilst that this shadow dost such substance give. 
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd. 
And by a part of all thy glory live. 

Look what is best, that best 1 wish in thee; 

This wish I have; then ten times happy me! 

xxxviii. 
How can my muse want subject to invent. 
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse 
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 
For every vulgar paper to rehearse? 
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught In me 
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight; 
For who 's so dumb that cannot write to thee. 
When thou thyself dost give invention light? 
Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth 
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate: 
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth 
Eternal numbers to outlive long date. 
If my slight muse do please these curious days. 
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 

XXXIX. 

O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, 
When thou art all the better part of me? 
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? 
And what is 't but mine own, when I praise thee? 
Even for this let us divided live. 
And our dear love lose name of single one, - 
That by this separation 1 may give 
That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone. 
O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove. 
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave 
To entertain the time with thoughts of love, 
(Which time and tlioughts so sweetly doth deceive,) 
And that thou teachest how to make one twain. 
By praising him here, who doth hence remain! 



Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; 
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? 
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; 
AH mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. 
Then If for my love thou my love recelvest, 
I cannot blame thee for my love tliou usest; 
But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest 
By wilful taste of what thysslf refusest. 
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief. 
Although thou steal thee all my poverty; 
And yet, love knows. It is a greater grief 
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known Injury. 
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows. 
Kill me with spites: yet we must not be foes. 



Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits 
When I am sometime absent from thy heart. 
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits. 
For still temptation follows where thou art. 
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won. 
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assall'd; 
And when a woman woos, what woman's son 
Will soui-Iy leave her till she have prevail'd? 
Ah me! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear. 
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth. 
Who lead thee in tiieir riot even there 
Where thou art forc'd to break a twofold truth; 
Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee. 
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me 



That thou hast her, it is not all my grief. 

And yet It may be said I lov'd her dearly; 

That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 

A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 

Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:— 

Thou dost love her, because thou knew'st I love 

her; 
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me. 
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. 
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain. 
And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss; 
Both find each other, and I lose both twain. 
And both for my sake lay on me this cross: 

But here 's the joy; my friend and I are one; 

Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone. 



When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see. 
For all the day they view things unrespected; 
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee. 
And, darkly briglit, are bright in dark directed; 
Then thou whose shadow shadows doth malce bright. 
How would thy shadow's form form happy show 
To the clear day with thy much clearer light. 
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! 
How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made 
By looking on thee in the living day. 
When In aead night thy fair imperfect shade 
Through heavy sleep on sllghtless eyes doth stay? 
All days are nights to see, till I see thee. 
And nights, bright days, when dreams do show 
thee me. 

XLIV. 

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, 
Injurious distance should not stop my way; 
For then, despite of space, I would be brought 
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. 
No matter then, although my foot did stand 
Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee, 



For nimble thought can jump both sea and land. 
As soon as think the place wliere he would be. 
But ah! thought kills me, that 1 am not thought. 
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone. 
But that, so much of earth and water wrought, 
I must attend time's leisure with my moan; 
Kecelving nought by elements so slow 
But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe: 



The other two, slight air and purging Are, 
Are both with thee, wherever 1 abide; 
The first my thought, the other my desire. 
These present-absent with swift motion slide. 
For when these quicker elements are gone 
In tender ernbas-sy of love to thee. 
My life, being made of four, with two alone 
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy; 
Until life's composition be recur'd 
By those swift messengers return'd from thee. 
Who even but now come back again, assur'd 
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me: 
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad, 
I send them back again, and straight grow sad. 

XLVI. 

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war. 
How to divide the conquest of thy sight; 
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar. 
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, 

iA closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,) 
Jut the defendant doth that plea deiiy. 
And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
To 'cide this title Is impannelled 
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; 
And by their verdict is determined 
The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part- 
As thus; mine eye's due is thine outward part. 
And my heart's right thine inward love of heart. 

XLVII. 
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league Is took. 
And each doth good turns now unto the other 
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look. 
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother. 
With my love's picture than my eye doth feast. 
And to the painted banquet bids my heart; 
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, 
And in his thoughts ot love doth share a part: 
So, either by thy picture or my love. 
Thyself away art present still with me; 
For thou no'i farther titan my thoughts canst move. 
And I am still with them, and they with thee; 
Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight 
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. 

XLVIII. 

How careful was I when I took my way, 
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, 
That, to my use, it might ui.used stay 
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! 
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are. 
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief. 
Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care, 
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. 
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest. 
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art. 
Within the gentle closure of my breast. 
From whence at pleasure thou may'st come an<t 
part; 
And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear. 
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. 

XLIX. 
Against that time. If ever that time como. 
When I shall see thee frown on my defects, 
Whenas thy love hath cast his utmost sum, 
Call'd to that audit by advls'd respect*; 
Against that time, when thou Shalt sti-angely pass. 
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thiue eye, 
When love, converted from the thing It was, 
Shall reasons flnd of settled gravit.v: 
Against that time do I ensconce me here 
Within the knowledge of mine own desert. 
And this my hand against myself appear. 
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: 
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, 
Since, wliy to love, 1 can allege no cause. 



How heavy do I journey on the way. 
When what I seek— my weary travel's end— 
Dotli teach that ease and that repose to say. 
' Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend!* 
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe. 
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me. 
As is by some instinct the wretcii did know 
His ricter lov'd not speed, being made from thee: 
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on 
That sometimes anger thrusts Into his hide. 
Which heavily he answers with a groan, 
More sharp to me than spurring to his side; 
For that same groan doth put this in my mind, 
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. 



Thus can my love excuse the slow offence 
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed: 
From where thou art why should I haste me t!ience? 
Till I return, of posting Is no need. 
O what excuse will my poor beast then flnd. 
When swift extremity can seem but slow? 
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind; 
In winged speed no motion shall I know: 
Then can no horse with niy desire keep pace; 
Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made. 
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) In his fiery race: 
But love, tor love, thus shall excuse my jade; 
Since from thee going he went wilful slow. 
Towards thee I '11 run, and^lve him leave to go. 



So am I as the rich, whose blessed key 
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, 
■The which he will not every hour survey. 
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. 
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare. 
Since .seldom coming. In the long year set. 
Like stones ot worth they thinly placed are. 
Or captain jewels in tlie carcanet. 



n 



SONNETS. 



aa 



So Is the time that keeps you, as my chest, 
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide. 
To make some special Instant special blest, 
By new unfolding his imprison 'd pride. 
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, 
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd. to hope. 



What is your substance, whereof are you made. 
That millions of strange shadows on you teud? 
Since every one hath, every one, one's shade. 
And y.iu, but one, can every shadow lend. 
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
Is poorly imitated after you; 
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
And you in Grecian tires are painted new; 
Speak of the spring, and folson of the year; 
The one doth sliadow of your beauty show. 
The other as vour bounty doth appear. 
And you In every blessed shape we know. 
In all external grace you have some part. 
But you like none, none you, for .constant heart. 



O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, 

Bv that sweet ornament which truth doth give! 

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 

For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 

The canker blooms have full as deep a dye 

As the perfumed tincture of the roses. 

Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 

When summer's breath their masked buds dls- 

closes* 
But, for their virtue only is their show, 
'■Jiey live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; 
Of theirsweet deaths are sweetest odours madei 
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth. 
When that shall fade, by verse distils your truth. 



Not marble, nor the gilded monumentn 

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; 

But you shall shine more bright in these contents 

Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. 

When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 

And broils root out the work of masonry. 

Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick Are shall burn 

The living record of your memory. 

>Galnst death and alfoblivious enmity 

Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find 

room. 
Even in the eyes af all posterity 
That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
So, till the judgment that yourself arise. 
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 



Sweet love, renew thy force ; be It not said. 
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, 
Wliich but to-day by feeding is allay'd, 
To-niorrow sharpen'd in his former might : 
So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou All 
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness. 
Tomorrow see again, and do not kill 
The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. 
Let this sad Interim like the ocean be 
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new 
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 
Return of love, more blest may be the view ; 
Or call it winter, which, being full of care. 
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, 
more rare. 

Lvn. 
Being your slave, what should X do but tend 
Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
I nave no precious time at all to spend, 
Nor services to do, till you require. 
Nor dare I chide the worldwithout-end hour. 
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour. 
When you have bid your servant once adieu; 
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose. 
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought. 
Save, where you are now happy you make those : 
So true a fool Is love, that in vour will 
(Though you do anything) he thinks no IIL 

Lvni. 
That God forbid, that made me first your slave, 
X should In thought control your times of pleasure, 
Jr at your hand the account of hours to crave. 
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! 
O, let me suffer (being at your beck) 
The imprison'd absence of your liberty, 
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check 
Without accusing you of Injury. 
Be where you list ; your charter is so strong. 
That you youi-self may privilege your time : 
Do what you will, to you it doth belong 
Yourself to pardon of self -doing crime. 

X am to wait, though waiting so be hell ; 

Not blame your pleasure, be it 111 or weU. 



If there be nothing new, but that which Is 
Hath l)een before, how are our brains begull'd, 
Which labouring for invention bear amiss 
The second burthen of a former child ! 
O, that record could with a backward look. 
Even of five hundred courses of the sun. 
Show me your image in some anticpie book. 
Since mind at first in character was done ! 
That I might see what the old world could say 
To this composed wonder of your frame ; 
Whether we are mended, or wh"r better they. 
Or whether revolution be the same. 
O ! sure X am, the wits of former days 
To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 



Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, 

So do our minutes hasten to their end; 

Each changing place with that which goes before, 

In sequent toil ail forwards do contend. 

Nativity, once In the main of light. 

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. 

Crooked eclipses "gainst his glory flght. 

And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound. 

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth. 



And delves the parallels In beauty's brow; 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth. 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. 
And yet, to times In hope, my verse shall stand, 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 

LXI. 
Is it thy will thy image should keep open 
M.y heavy eyelids to tne weary night'-' 
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, 
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight? 
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 
So far from homo. Into my deeds to pry; 
To find out shames and 'die hours in me, 
The scope and tenor of thy Jealousy? 
O no! thy love, though much, is not so great; 
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake; 
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat. 
To play the watchman ever for thy sake: 
For thee watch 1, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, 
From me far off, with others all-to-near. 

LXII. 

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, 
And all my soul, and all my every part; 
And for this sin there is no remedy. 
It is so grounded inward in my heart. 
Methlnks no face so gracious is as mine. 
No shape so true, nt> truth of such account. 
And for myself mine own worth to define, 
As I all other in ail worths surmount. 
But when my glass shows me myself Indeed, 
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity. 
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read. 
Self so self-loving were iniquity. 
■T is thee (myself) that for myself I praise, 
Painting my age with beauty of thy days. 



Against my love shall be, as X am >iow. 

With Time's Injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn; 

When hoars have drain'd his blood and fiU'd his 
brow 

With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful mom 

Hath traveli'd on to age's .steepy night; 

And all those beauties, whereof now he 's king. 

Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight. 

Stealing away the treasure of his spring; 

For sucn a time do I now fortify 

Against confounding age's cruel knife. 

That he shall never cut from memory 

My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. 
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen. 
And they shall live, and he in them, still green. 



When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd 
The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; 
When sometime lofty towers I see down-ras'd. 
And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage; 
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore. 
And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main. 
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; 
When I have seen such interchange of state. 
Or state itself confounded to decay; 
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
That Time will come and take my love away. 
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 

LXV. 
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea. 
But sad mortality o'ersways their power. 
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea. 
Whose action is no stronger than a fiower? 
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
Against the wreckfui siege of battering days. 
When rocks Impregnable are not so stout. 
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? 
O fearful meditation! where, alack! 
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? 
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? 
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? 
O none, unless this miracle have might, 
That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 

LXVI. 

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,— 
As, to behold desert a beggar born. 
And needed nothing trimm'd in jollity. 
And purest faith unhappily forsworn. 
And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd. 
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted. 
And right perfection wrongfully disgrao'd. 
And strength by limpingsway disabled. 
And art made tongue-tied by authority. 
And folly (doctor-Tike) controlling skill. 
And simple truth mlscall'd simplicity, 
And captive good attending captain ill: 
Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, 
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 



Ah! wherefore with infection should he live. 
And with his presence grace impiety. 
That sin by him advantage should achieve. 
And lace itself with his society;-' 
Why should false painting imitate his cheek, 
And steal dead seeing of his living hueX 
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek 
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true''' 
Why should he live now Nature bankrupt Is, 
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins? 
For slie hath no exchequer now but his. 
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains. 
O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had 
In days long since, before these last so bad. 

LXVIII. 

Thus ia his cheek the map of days outworn. 
When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, 
Before these bastard signs of fair were born, 
Or durst inhabit on a living brow; 
Before the golden tresses of the dead. 
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away. 
To live a second life on second head. 
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: 
In him those holy antique hours are seen, 
Without all ornament, itself, and true. 
Making no summer of another's green. 



Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; 
And him as for a map doth Nature store. 
To show false Art what iieauty was of yore, 

LXIX. 

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view 
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend: 
All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee thut due. 
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. 
Thine outward thus with outward praise is crown'd. 
But those same tongues that give tliee .so thine own. 
In other accents do this praise confound. 
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. 
They look Into the beauty of thy mind, 
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; 
Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes 

were kind. 
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: 
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show. 
The solve is this,— that thou dost common grow. 



That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect, 
For slander's mark was ever .yet the fair ; 
The ornament of beauty is su.spect, 
A crow that flies In heaven's sweetest air. 
Sotliou be good, slander doth but approve 
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time ; 
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, 
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. 
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days. 
Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd ; 
Yet this thy praise cannot'be so thy praise. 
To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd : 
If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show. 
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should'st owe. 

LXXI. 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so. 
That I in j'our sweet thoughts would be forgot. 
If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
O, if (I say) you look upon tills verse, 
when I perhaps confounded am with clay. 
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse ; 
But let your love even with ir.y life decay : 
Lest the wise world should look into your moan. 
And mock you with me after I am gone. 

I.XXII. 

O, lest the world should task you to recite 
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love 
After my death,— dear love, forget me quite, 
For you in me can nothing worthy prove ; 
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, 
To do more for me than mine own desert. 
And hang more praise upon deceased I 
Than niggard truth would willingly impart : 
O, lest your true love may seem false in this. 
That you for love speak well of me untrue. 
My name be buried where my body is. 
And live no more to shame nor nie nor you. 
For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth. 
And so should you, to love things nothing worth. 

LXXIII. 

That time of year thou may'st In me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. 
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
In me thou seest the twilight of such day 
As after sunset fadeth in the west. 
Which by and by black night doth take away. 
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
In me thou seest the glowing of such (ire. 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie. 
As the death-bed whereon It must evpire, 
Consum'd with that which it was iiJjaiisii'd by. 

This thou perceiv'st which makes tliy love more 
strong. 

To love that well which thou must .eave ere long ; 

LXXIV. 

But be contented ; when that fell arrest 

Without all bail shall carry me away, 

M.y life hath in this line some Interest, 

■Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. 

When thou reviewest this, thou dost review 

The very part was consecrate to thee. 

The earth can have hut earth, which is his due ; 

My spirit is thine, the better part of me ■ 

So then tliou hast but lost the dregs of life. 

The prey of worms, my body being dead ; 

The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, • 

Too base of thee to be remembered. 
The worth of that, is that which It contains. 
And that is this, and this witli thee remains. 

LXXV. 

So are you to my thoughts, as food to life. 

Or as sweet-seasoned snowers are to the ground 

And for the peace of you I hold sucii strife 

As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found: 

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 

Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; 

Now counting best to be with you alone. 

Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure: 

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight. 

And by and by cleaned starved for a look; 

Possessing or pursuing no delight. 

Save what is had or must from you be took. 

Thus do I pine and .surfeit day by day. 

Or gluttonlng on all, or all away. 

LXXVI. 

Why is my verse so barren of new pride? 

So far from variation or quick change? 

Why, with the time, do I not glance aside 

To new-found methods and to compounds strange? 

Why write I still all one, ever the same. 

And keep invention in a noted weed. 

That every word doth almost tell my name. 

Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? 

O know, sweet love, I always write of you. 

And you and love are still my argument; 

So all my best Is dressing old words new. 

Spending again what Is already spent; | Past iS.) 



346 



SONSETS. 



For (IS the sun Is dally new and old, 
So Is my love still telling what Is told. 

LXXVII. 

Thy Klass will phow thee how thy beauties wear, 
Thy (Hal how thy precious minutes waste; 
The VHcaut leaves thy mind's imprint will bear. 
And of tills book this learning may 'st thou taste. 
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, 
or mouthed gravies will give thee memory; 
Thou by thy (lial's shady stealth may'st know 
Time's thievisli progress to etei'nity. 
Look what thy memory cannot, contain, 
Commit to these waste blanks and thou shalt find 
Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, 
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
These oRlces, so oft as thou wilt look, 
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. 

LXXVIII. 

So oft have I Invok'd thee for my muse'. 
And found such fair assistance in my verse. 
As every alien pen natli grt my use. 
And under thee their poesy disperse. 
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing. 
Ami heavy Ignorance aloft to fly. 
Have a<lded feathers to the learned's wing. 
And given grace a double majesty. 
Yet be most proud of that which I compile, 
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee; 
In other's works thou dost but mend the style, 
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; 
But thou art all my art, and dost advance 
As high as learning my rude ignorance. 

LXXIX. 
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid. 
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace; 
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd. 
And my sick muse doth give another place. 
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen; 
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent. 
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. 
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give. 
And found it in thy cheek: he can afford 
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. 
Then thank hira not for that which he doth say, 
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. 

LXXX. 

O, how 1 faint when I of you do write. 
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name. 
And in the praise thereof spends all his might, 
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame; 
But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) 
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 
My saucy bark, inferior far to his. 
On your broad main doth wilfully appear, 
■your shallowest help will hold me up afloat. 
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; 
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat. 
He of tall building, and of goodly pride; 
Then if he thrive, and I be cast away. 
The worst was this;— my love was my decay. 

LXXXI. 

Or I shall live your epitaph to make. 
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; 
From hence your memory death cannot take, 
Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
Your name from hence immortal lite shall have. 
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: 
The earth can yield me but a common grave, 
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
Your monument sliall be my gentle verse, 
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er -read; 
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse. 
When all the breathers of this world are dead; 
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen) 
Where breath most breathes,— even in the mouths 
of men. 

LXXXII. 
1 grant thou wert not married to my muse. 
And therefore may'st without attaint o'erlook 
The dedicated words which wiiters use 
Of their fair subject, blessing every book. 
Thou art as fair in knowlede as in huge. 
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise; 
And tlierefore art enforc'd to seek anew 
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
And do so, love; yet when they have devis'd 
What strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd 
In true pla' \ words, by thy true-telling friend; 
And their gross painting might be better us'd 
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd. 

LXXXIII. 

1 never saw that you did painting need, 
And therefore to your fair no painting set. 
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed 
The barren tender of a poet's debt: 
And therefore have I slept in your report 
That you yourself, being extant, well might show 
How tar a modern quill doth come too short. 
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. 
This silence for my sin you did impute. 
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb; 
For I impair not beauty being mute, 
When others would give life, and bring a tomb. 
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes 
Than both your poets can In praise devise. 

LXXXIV. 

Who is it that says most? which can say more 
Than this rich praise,— that you alone are you? 
In whose confine Immured is the store 
Which should example where your equal grew? 
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell. 
That to his subject lends not some small glory; 
But he that writes of you, if he can tell 
Thai you are you. so dignlfles his story. 
Let him but copy what in you Is writ. 
Not making worse what nature made so clear. 
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit. 
Making his style admired everywhere. 
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse. 
Being fond ou praise, which makes your praises 
worse. 



My tongue-tied muse In manners hold her still, 

while comments of your praise, richly compil'd, 

Reserve their character with golden quill. 

And precious phrase by all the muses flU'd. 

I think good thoughts, while others write good 

words. 
And, like unlettered clerk, still cry ' Amen ' 
To every hymn that able spirit aitords. 
In polish'd form of wellreflned pen. 
Hearing you prais'd, I say, ' 'T is so, 't Is true,' 
And to the most of praise add something more: 
But that is In my thought, whose love to you. 
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank be- 
fore. 
Then others for the breath of words respect. 
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 

LXXXVI. 
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse. 
Bound for the prize of all-too-preclous you. 
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse. 
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? 
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? 
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night 
Giving hira aid, my verse astonished. 
He, nor that affable familiar ghost 
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, 
As victors, of my silence cannot boast; 
I was not sick of any fear from thence. 
But when your countenance fll'd up his line, 
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine. 

Lxxxvir. 
Parewelll thou art too dear for my possessing, 
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate; 
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; 
My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? 
And for that riches where is my deserving^ 
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting. 
And so my patent back again is swerving. 
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not know- 
ing. 
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; 
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing. 
Comes home again, on bettar judgment making. 
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter. 
In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter. 

LXXXVIII. 

When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light. 
And place my merit in the eye of scorn. 
Upon thy side against myself I 'II fight. 
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn: 
With mine own weakness being best acquainted, 
Upon thy part I can set down a story 
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted; 
That thou, in losing me, shall win much glory; 
And I by this will be a gainer too; 
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee. 
The injuries that to myself I do. 
Doing thee vantage, double vantage me. 
Such is my love, to thee I so belong. 
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. 

LXXXI.X. 

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, 
And I will comment upon that offence: 
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt; 
Against thy reasons making no defence. 
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so HI, 
To set a form upon desired change. 
As I '11 myself disgrace, knowing thy ■will, 
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange; 
Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue 
Thy sweet-beloved name no more shall dwell; 
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong. 
And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
For thee, against myself I '11 vow debate. 
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. 

ic. 
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; 
Now while tiie world is bent ray deeds to cross. 
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow. 
And do not drop in for an after-loss; 
Ah! do not, when my Iieart hath scap'd this sorrow. 
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe. 
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow. 
To linger out a purpos'rt overthrow. 
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last. 
When other pretty griefs liave done their spite. 
But in the onset come; so shall I taste 
At first the very worst of fortune's might; 
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so. 

xci. 
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill. 
Some in tlieir wealth, some in their body's force: 
Some in their garments, though newfangled ill; 
Some in their hawks and hounds, some In their 

horse; 
And every humour hath its adjunct pleasure. 
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest; 
But these particulars are not my measure. 
All these I better in one general best. 
Thy love is better than high birth to me. 
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost. 
Of more delight than hawks and horses be; 
And, having thee, of all men's pride I boast. 
Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take 
All this away, and me most wretched make. 

xcii. 
But do thy worst to steal thyself away, 
For term of life thou art assured mine; 
And lite no longer than thy love will stay. 
For It depends upon that love of thine. 
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs. 
When in the least of them my life hath end. 
I see a better state to ine belongs 
Than that which on thy humour doth depend. 
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind. 
Since that my life on thy revolt doili lie. 
O what a happy title do I find, 
Happy to have thy love, happy to die 
But what 's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?— 
Thou may'st be false, and yet I know It not: 



So shall I live, supposing thou art true. 
Like a deceived husband; so love's face 
May still seem love to me, though altered new; 
Thy looks with me, thy heart In other place: 
For there can live no hatred in thine eye. 
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. 
In many's looks the false heart's history 
Is writ, In moods and frowns and wrinkles strange: 
But heaven in thy creation did decree 
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; 
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings.be. 
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell. 
How like Eve's apple diith thy beauty grow. 
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show? 



They that have power to hurt and will do none. 
That do not do the thing they most do show. 
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
Unmov'd, cold, and to temptation slow; 
They rightly do Inherit Heaven's graces. 
And husband nature's riches from expense; 
They are the lords and owners of their faces. 
Others but stewards of their excellence. 
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet 
Though to itself it only live and die; 
But if that flower with base infection meet. 
The basest weed outbraves his dignity; 

For sweetest things turn sourest hv their deeds; 

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 



How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame. 
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose. 
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name ! 
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose ! 
That tongue that tells the story of thy days. 
Making lascivious comments on thy sport. 
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; 
Naming thy name blesses an ill report. 
O, what a mansion have those vices got 
Which for their habitation chose out thee ! 
Where beauty's veil d ith cover every blot. 
And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see ! 

Take heed, deai; heart, of this large privilege ; 

The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. 

XCVL 

Some say, thy fault is youth, some wantonness; 
Some say, thy grace is youth and gentle sport ; 
Both grace ana faults are lov'd of more and less: 
Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. 
As on the finger of a throned queen 
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd; 
So are those errors that in thee are seen 
To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. 
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
How many gazers might'st thou lead away. 
If thou would'st use the strength of all thy state 1 
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort. 
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 

xcvn. 
How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ! 
What old December's bareness everj'where ! 
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time. 
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase. 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : 
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee. 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
Or, if tdey sing, 't is with so dull a cheer. 
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 

XCVIIL 

From you have I been absent In the spring. 

When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim. 

Hath put a spirit of youth in everything. 

That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 

Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 

Of different flowers in odour and in hue. 

Could make me any summer's story tell. 

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they 

grew : 
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white. 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight. 
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
Yet seem'd it winter still, and you, away. 
As with your shadow I with these did play : 

xcix. 

The forward violet thus did I chide ;— 

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that 
smells. 

It not from my love's breath ! The purple pride 

Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells. 

In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd. 

The lily I condemned for thy hand. 

And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair ; 

The roses fearfully on thorns did stand. 

One blushing shame, another white despair; 

A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both. 

And to his robbery liad annex'd thy breath ; 

But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 

A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see. 
But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. 

c. 
Where art thou Muse, that thou forgett'st so long 
To speak of tiiat which gives thee all thy might? 
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, 
Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light? 
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
In gentle numbers tinie so idly spent; 
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem. 
And gives thy pen botli skill and argument. 
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey. 
If Time have any wrinkle graven there: 
If any, be a satire to decay. 
And make Time's spoils despised everywhere. 

Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life; 

So thou preveut'st his scythe and crooked knife. 



SONNETS. 



347 



CI. 

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends 
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd? 
Both truth and beauty on my love depends; 
So dost thou too, and therein dignified. 
Make answer. Muse: wilt thou not haply say, 
■ Truth needs no colour with his colour flx'd. 
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay; 
But best is best, if never interinix'd?— 
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? 
Excuse not silence so; for it lies in thee 
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb. 
And to be prais'd of ages yet to be. 
Then do thy office. Muse; I teach thee how 
To make him seem long hence as he shows now. 



My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seem- 
ing; 
I love not less, though less the show appear; 
That love is merchandiz'd whoserich esteeming 
The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere. 
Our love was new, and then but in the spring, 
When I was wont to gretU it with my lays; 
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing. 
And stops her pipe In growth of riper days: 
Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, 
But that wild music burthens every bough. 
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
Therefore, like her, I .sometime hold my tongue, 
Because I would not dull you with ray song. 



Alack!, what poverty my Muse brings forth. 
That having such a scope to show her pride. 
The argument, all bare, is of more worth. 
Than when it hath my added praise beside. 
O blame me not if I no more can write! 
Leok in your glass, and there appears a face 
That over-goes my blunt invention quite. 
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. 
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, 
To mar the subject that before was weltf 
For to no other pass my verses tend. 
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; 
And more, much more, than in my verse can s!t, 
Your own glass shows you, when you look in it. 



To me, fair friend, you never can be old. 

For as you were when first your eye I eyed. 

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold 

Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; 

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turu'd 

In process of the seasons have I seen; 

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 

Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand. 

Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd. 

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth 

stand. 
Hath motion, and mine eye may be decelv'd. 
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, 
Ere you were born, w£is beauty's summer dead. 



Let not my love be call'd idolatry, 
Nor my beloved as an idol show. 
Since all alike my songs and praises be, 
"To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind. 
Still constant in a wondrous excellence; 
Therefore my verse, to constancy confiu'd, 
One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
Fair, kind, and true, is ail my argument. 
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words; 
And in this change is my invention spent. 
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. 
Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone. 
Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. 



When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights. 
And beaut.v making beautiful old rhyme. 
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, 
TTien in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have express'd 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So all their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
And, for they iook'd but with divining eyes. 
They had not skill enough your worth to sing: 
For we, which now behold these present days. 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise, 
cvn. 
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, 
Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd. 
And the sad augers mock their own pressage; 
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd. 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now with tne drops of this most balmy time 
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes. 
Since spite of him I '11 live in this poor rhyme. 
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. 
And thou in this shalt find thy monument. 
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. 

cvm. 
What 's in the brain that Ink may character. 
Which hath not flgur'd to thee my true spirit? 
What 's new to speak, what new to register. 
That may express my love, or thy dear merit? 
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, 
1 must each da> say o'er the very same; 
Counting no old thing old, thou mme, I thine, 
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. 
So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
Weighs not the dust and injury of age. 
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place. 
But makes antiquity for aye his page; 
Finding the first conceit of love there bred, 
Where time and outward form would show it dead, 
cix. 
O, never say that I was false of heart. 
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify! 



As easy might 1 from myself depart. 
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie: 
That is my home of love: if I have rang'd. 
Like him that travels, I return again; 
Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd,— 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, tliough in my nature reign'd 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood. 
That it could so preposterously be stain'd. 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; 
For nothing this wide luiiverse I call. 
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all. 

ex. 
Alas, 't is true, I have gone here and there. 
And made myself a motley to the view, 
Gfor'd mine own thouglits, sold cheap what Is most 

dear. 
Made old oftences of affections new. 
Most true It is, that I have Iook'd on truth 
Askance and strangely ; but, by all above, 
These blenches gave my heart another youth, 
And worst essaj's prov'd thee my best of love. 
Now all is done, have what shall have no end : 
Mine appetite I never more will grind 
On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
A God in love, to whoin I am conHn'd. 
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best. 
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 

CXI. 

O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide. 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds. 
That did not better for my life provide. 
Than public means, which public manners breeds. 
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand. 
And almost thence my nature is subdued 
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: 
Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd ; 
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
Potions 6t eysell, 'gainst my strong infection ; 
No bitterness that I will bitter think. 
Nor double penance, to correct collection. 
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye. 
Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 



Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow ; 
For what care I who calls me well or ill. 
So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow ? 
You are my allthe-vvorld, and I must strive 
To know my shames and praises from your tongue ; 
None else to me, nor I to none alive, 
That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. 
In so profound abysm I throw all care 
Of other's voices, tliat my adder's sense 
To critic and to flatterer stopped are. 
Hark how with my neglect I do dispense ;— 
You are so strongly in my purpose bred. 
That all the world besides methinks are dead. 

cxni. 
Since I left you, mine eye is In my mind ; 
And that which governs me to go about 
Doth part his function, and is partly blind, 
Seems seeing, but effectually is out ; 
For it no form delivers to the heart 
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch ; 
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part. 
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; 
For If it see the riid'st or gentlest sight. 
The most sweet favour, or deformed'st creature. 
The mountain or the sea, the day or night. 
The cnw, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. 
Incapable of more, replete with you. 
My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. 

cxiv. 
Or whether doth my mind being crown'd with you. 
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery, 
Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true. 
And that your love taught it this alchy my. 
To make of monsters and things indigest 
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble. 
Creating every bad a perfect best, 
As fast as objects to his beams assemble ? 
O, 't is the first; 't is flattery in my seeing. 
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up : 
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing, 
And to his palate doth prepare the cup : 
If it be poison'd, 't is the lesser sin 
That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. 

cxv. 
Those lines that I before have writ, do lie; 
Even those that said I could not love you dearer; 
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why 
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. 
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents 
Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, 
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents. 
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; 
Alas! why, fearing of Time's tyranny. 
Might I not then say, 'Now I love you best,' 
When I was certain o'er iucertainty. 
Crowning the present doubting of the rest? 
Love is a babe; then might I not say so. 
To give full growth to that which still doth grow? 

cxvi. 
Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments. Love is not love 
Which alters when it alteration finds. 
Or bends with the remover to remove: 
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, 
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; 
It is the star to every wandering bark. 
Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be 

taken. 
Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come; 
Love alters not with liis brief hours and weeks. 
But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

If tills be error, and upon me prov'd, 

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. 

CXVII. 

Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all 
Wherein I should your great deserts repay; 
Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 



Whereto nil bonds do tie me day by day; 
That I have frequent been with unknown minds. 
And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right; 
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
Which shoiilil transport me farthest from your sight. 
Book both my wilfulness and errors down, 
And on just i)ioofs surmise accumulate, 
Bring me within the level of your frown. 
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate: 
Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove 
The constancy and virtue of your love. 

cxviii. 
Like as, to make our appetites more keen. 
With eager compounds we our palate urge; 
As, to prevent our maladies unseen. 
We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge; 
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness. 
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding. 
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness 
To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. 
Thus policy in love, to anticipate 
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured. 
And brought to medicine a healthful state. 
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured. 
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true. 
Drugs poison him so that fell sick of you. 

CXIX. 

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, 
Distill'd from limbecs foul as hell within. 
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, 
Still losing wlien I saw myself to win! 
What wretched errors hath my heart committed. 
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! 
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted, 
In the distraction of this madding fever! 
O benefit of ill! now I find true 
That better is by evil still made better; 
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew. 
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
So I return rebuk'd to my content. 
And gain by ill thi-ice more than I have spent. 

cxx. 
That you were once unkind, befriends me now. 
And for that sorrow, which 1 then did feel. 
Needs must I under my trangression bow. 
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. 
For if you were by my unkindness shaked. 
As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time; 
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 

that our night of woe might have remember'd 
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits. 
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd 
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits! 

But that your trespass now becomes a fee; 
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. 

cxxi. 
'T is better to be vile than vile esteem'd. 
When not to be receives reproach of being, 
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd 
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing 
For why should others' false adulterated eyes 
Give salutation to my sportive blood? 
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies. 
Which in their wills count bad what I think good? 
No.— I rim that I am; and they that level 
At my abuses, reckon up their own: 

1 may be straight, tnough they themselves be bevel; 
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown; 

Unless this general evil they maintain,— 
All men are bad, and in their badness leign. 

cxxn. 
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain 
Full character'd with lasting memory. 
Which shall above that idle rankr emain. 
Beyond all date, even to eternity: 
Or at the least so long as brain and heart 
Have faculty by nature to subsist; 
Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part 
Of thee, thy record never can be missed. 
That poor attention could not so much hold. 
Nor need £ tallies thy dear love to score; 
Therefore to give tiiem from me was I bold. 
To trust those tables that receive thee more: 

To keep an adjunct to remember thee. 

Were to import forgetfulness in me. 



No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: 
Thy pyramids built up with newer might 
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; 
They are but dressings of a former sight. 
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire 
What thou dost foist upon us that is old; 
And rather make them born to our desire. 
Than think that we before have lieard them told. 
Thy registers and thee I both defy. 
Not wondering at the present nor the past; 
For thy records and what we see do lie, 
Made more or less by thy continual haste: 
This I do vow, and this shall ever be, 
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee: 

cxxiv. 
If my dear love were but the child of state. 
It might for Fortune's bastard be untather'd. 
As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate. 
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers ga- 

ther'd. 
No, it was builded far from accident; 
It suffers not in smillinj pomp, nor falls 
Under the blow of thralled discontent. 
Whereto the inviting time our fasliiou calls; 
It fears not policy, that heretic. 
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours. 
But all alone stands hugely politic. 
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with 
showers. 
To this I witness call the fools of time. 
Which die for goodness, who have Uv'd for crlxae. 

cxxv. 
Were it aught to me I bore the canopy. 
With my extern the outward honouring. 
Or lain great bases for eternity, 
Wliich prove more short than waste or ruining? 



348 



SONNETS. 



Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour 
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, 
tor compound sweet foregoing simple savour. 
Pitiful thrivers. In theirgazing spent? 
No;— let me be obsequious iu tliv heart, 
And take thou my oblation, poor but free, 
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art. 
But mutual render, only me tor thee. 
Hence, thou suborn'd Informer! a true soul. 
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control. 

cxxri. 
O thou, my lovely boy, who In thy power 
Dost hold Time's fickle glass his sickle hour; 
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st 
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st! 
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack. 
As tliou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back. 
She keeps thee ro this purpose, that her skill 
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. 
Yet fear her, O thou minion of iier pleasure; 
She may detain, but not still keep lier treasure: 

Her audit, though delay 'd, answer'd must be. 

And her quietus is to render thee. 

cxxvii. 
In the old age black was not counted fair. 
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; 
But now is black beauty's successive heir. 
And beauty siauder'd with a bastard shame: 
For since each hand hatli put on nature's power. 
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face. 
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour. 
But is protan'd, if not lives in disgrace. 
Therefore my mistress' eyes arc raven black. 
Her eyes so suited; and they mourners seem 
At such, who, not born fair, no beauty lack, 
Slandering creation with a false esteem; 
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe. 
That every tongue says, beauty should look so. 



How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, 
Ujjon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
\\ ith thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st 
The wiry concord t hat mine ear confounds, 
Do I envy those jacks, tliat nimble leap 
To kiss the tender inwa rd of thy hand. 
Whilst my poor lips, which sliould that harvest reap, 
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! 
To be so tickled, they would change their state 
And situation with those dancing chips. 
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, 
Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. 
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this. 
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 

cxxix. 
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
Is lust in action; and till action, lust 
Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame. 
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; 
Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight; 
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had. 
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait, 
Ou j)urpose laid to make the taker mad: 
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; 
Hud, having, and in quest to have, extreme; 
A bliss iu proof,— ana prov'd, a very woe; 
Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream; 

All this the world well knows; yet none knows 
well 

To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 



Ky mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; 

Coral is far more red tliau her lips' red: 

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; 

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. 

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, 

But no sucli roses see I in her cheeks; 

And in some perfumes is there more delight 

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. 

I love to hear her speak,— yet well I know 

'1 liat music hath a tar more pleasing soimd; 

I grant I never saw a goddess go,— 

My mistress when she walks, tieads on the ground; 
And yet, by heaven. I think my love as rare 
As any she belied with false compare. 



Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art. 
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; 
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart 
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. 
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, 
Tliy face hath not the power to make love groan: 
To say they err, I dare not be so bold, 
Altliough I swear it to myself alone. 
And, to be sure that is not false 1 swear, 
A thousand groans, but thinking on tli.v face. 
One on another's neck, do witness bear 
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. 
In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds. 
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. 

CXXXII. 

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me. 
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, 
Have put on black, and loving mourners be, 
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 
And truly uot the morning sun of heaven 
Hotter becomes the grey cheeks of the east, 
Nor that full star that ushers in the even 
Uoth half that glory to the sober west, 
-Vs those two mourning eyes become tny face: 
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart 
To mourn tor me, since mourning doth thee grace, 
And suit thy pity like in every part. 
Then will I swear beauty herself Is black. 
And all they foul that thy complexion lack. 

CX.\X1II. 

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan 

P'or that deep wound it gives my friend and me! 

Is 't not enough to torture me alone. 

But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? 

Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, 

And my next self thou harder hast engross'd; 

Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken; 

A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd. 



Prison my heart In thy steel bosom's ward. 
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail; 
Who e'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard: 
Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol: 
And j'et thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee 
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 

cxxxiv. 
So now I have confess'd that he is thine, 
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will; 
Myself I '11 forfeit, so that other mine 
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: 
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free. 
For thou art covetous, and he is kind; 
He learn 'd but, surety-like, to write for me, 
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. 
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take. 
Thou usurer, that putt'st forth all to use. 
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake; 
So him I lose through my unkind abuse. 

Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me; 

He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. 

cxxxv. 

WTioever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, 
And will to boot, and will in over-plus; 
More than enough am I that vex thee still. 
To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious. 
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? 
Shall will in others se-,m right gracious. 
And in my will no fair acceptance shine? 
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still. 
And in abundance addeth to his store; 
So thou, being rich in will, and to thy will 
One will of mine, to make thy large will more. 

Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; 

Think all but one, and me in that one Will. 



If thy soul check thee that I come so near. 
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, 
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; 
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfiL 
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love. 
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. 
In things of great receipt with ease we prove; 
Among a number one is reckon'd none. 
Then in the number let me pass untold. 
Though in thy stores' account I one must be; 
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee; 
Make but my name thy love, and love that still, 
And then thou lov'st me,— for my name is Will. 

cxxxvii. 
Thou blind fool. Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, 
That they behold, and see not what they see? 
They know what beauty is, see where it lies. 
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. 
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks. 
Be ancnor'd in the bay where all men ride. 
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks. 
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? 
Why should my heart think that a several plot. 
Which my heart knows the wide world's common 

place? 
Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not, 
■ro put fair truth upon so foul a face? 
In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd. 
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. 

cxxxviii. 
When my love swears that she is made of truth, 
I do believe her, though I know she lies; 
•That she might think me some untutor'd youth. 
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. 
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me yonng, 
Although she knows my days are past the best. 
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue; 
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. 
But wherefore says she not she is unjust? 
And wherefore say not I that I am old? 
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust. 
And age in loves not to have years told: 
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, 
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 



O, call not me to justify the wrong 

That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; 

Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue; 

Use power with power, and slay me not by art. 

Tell me thou loVst elsewhere; but in my sight. 

Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. 

What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy 

might 
Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide? 
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows 
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies; 
And therefore from my face she turns my foes. 
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: 
Yet do not so: but since I am near slain. 
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. 



Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press 
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; 
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express 
The manner of my pity-wanting pain. 
If I might teach thee wit, better it were. 
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; I 

(As testy sick men, when their deaths be near. 
No news but health from their physicians know;) 
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, 
And in my madness might speak ill of thee: 
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad. 
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. 
That I may not be so, nor thou belied. 
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart 
go wide. 

CXLI. 
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes. 
For they in thee a thousand errors note; 
But 't is my heart that loves what they despise. 
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote. 
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted; 
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone. 
Nor taste nor smell, desire to be Invited 
To any sensual feast with thee alone: 
But my Ave wits, nor my five senses can 



Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee. 
Who leaves nnsway'd tlie likeness of a man. 
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: 
Only my plague thus far I count my gain. 
That she that makes me gin, awards me pain. 

CXLU. 
Love is mj' sin, and thy dear virtue hate. 
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: 
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, 
And thou Shalt find it merits not reproving; 
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine. 
That have profan'd tliose scarlet ornaments. 
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine; 
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents. 
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those 
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee; 
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows. 
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. 
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost bide. 
By self -example may'st thou be denied! 

CZLIII. 

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch 
One of her feather'd creatures broke away. 
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift despatcb 
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; 
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace, 
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent 
To follow that which files before her face. 
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; 
So lunn'st thou after that which flies from thee. 
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; 
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me. 
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind: 
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, 
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 

CXLIV. 

Two loves I have of comfort and despair. 
Which like two spirits do suggest me still: 
The better angel is a man right fair. 
The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill. 
To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
Tempteth my better angel from my side. 
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil. 
Wooing his purity with her foul pride. 
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, 
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; 
But, being both from me, both to each friend, 
I guess one angel in another's hell. 
Yet this shalll ne'er know, but line In doubt, 
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 

CXLV. 

Those lips that Love's own hand did make 
Breath'd forth the sound that said, ' I hate. 
To me that languish'd for her sake: 
But when she saw my woeful state. 
Straight in her heart did mercy come. 
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet 
Was used in giving gentle doom; 
And taught it thus anew to greet: 
' I hate ' she alter'd with an end. 
That follow'd it as gentle day 
Doth follow night, who like a fiend 
From heaven to hell is flown away. 

' I hate ' from hate away she threw. 

And sav'd my life, saying—' not you.' 

CXLVI. 

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
Fool'd by these rebel powers that thee array. 
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth. 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?. 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? 
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss. 
And let that pine to aggravate thy store; 
Buy terms divine In selling hours of dross; 
Within be fed, without be rich no more: 
So Shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men. 
And, Death once dead, there 's no more dying 
then. 

CXLVII. 

My love is as a fever, longing still 

For that which longer nurseth the disease; 

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, 

The uncertain, sickly appetite to please. 

My reason, the physician to my love. 

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept. 

Hath left me, and I desperate now approve 

Desire is death, which physic did except. 

Past cure I am, now reason is past care. 

And frantic mad with evermore unrest; 

My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are. 

At random from the truth vainly express'd; 

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee 
bright, 

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 

CXLVIII. 

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head. 
Which have no correspondence with true sight! 
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, 
That censures falsel/ what they see aright? 
It that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
What means the world to say it is not so? 
If it be not, then love doth well denote 
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no. 
How can it be? O how can Love's eye be true. 
That is so vex'd with watching and with teais? 
No marvel then though I mistake my view; 
The sun itself seas not till heaven clears. 
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind. 
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 

CXLIX. 

Canst thou, cruel', say I love thee not, 
When I, against myself, with thee partake? 
Do r not think on thee, when I forgot 
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake? 
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? 
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon? 
Nay if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend 
Revenge upon myself with present moan? 
What merit do I in myself respect. 
That Is so proud thy service to despise. 
When all my best doth worship thy defect. 



i\ 



I 



A LOVER'S COitPLAINT. 



SA» 



Commanded by the motion ot thine eyes? 
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; 
Those that can see thou tov'st, and lam blind. 



O, from what power hast thou this powerful might, 

With insufflciency my heart to sway? 

To inalve me give the lie to my true sight, 

And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? 

Whence hast thou tliis becoming or things ill. 

That in the very refuse of thy deeds 

There is such strength and warrantlse of skill. 

That ill my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? 

Who taught thee how to make me love thee more. 

The more I hear and see just cause of hate? 

O, though I love what otliers do abhor. 

With others thou shouldst not abhor my state; 

If thy unwortliiness rais'd love in me. 

More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. 



Love Is too young to know what conscience is: 
Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love? 
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my ami.ss. 
Lest guilty of my faults tliy sweet self prove. 
For thou betraying me, I do betray 
My nobler part to my gross body's treason; 
My soul doth tell my body that he may 



Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason: 
But. rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this prize. 
He is contented thy poor drudge to be. 
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. 
No want of conscience hold it that 1 call 
Her— love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. 

CLII. 

In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn. 
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; 
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn. 
In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
When I break twenty? lam perjur'd most; 
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, 
And all niy honest faith in thee is lost: 
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness. 
Oaths of thy love, tliy truth, thy constancy; 
And, to enligliten thee, gave eyes to blindness. 
Or made them swear against the thing they see; 
For I liave sworn thee fair: more perjur'd I, 
To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie! 



Cupid lay by his brand, and fell asleep: 
A maid of Dian's this advantage found, 
And his love-kindling tire did quickly steep 



In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; 
Which borrow'd from tliis holy fire of love 
A dateless lively heat, still to endure. 
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove 
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-flr'd. 
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; 
I, sick withal, the help of bath desir'd. 
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest. 
But found no cure: the batli for my help lies 
Where Cupid got new Are,- my mistress' eyes. 



The little love-god, lying once asleep 
Laid i)y liis side his heart inflaming brand. 
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep 
Came tripping by; but In her maiden hand 
The fairest votary took up that Are 
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd; 
And so tlie general of hot desire 
Was sleeping by a virgin hand di.sarm'd. 
This brand she quenclied in a cool well by, 
Whicii from Love's flre took heat perpetual. 
Growing a Ijath and healthful remedy 
For men diseas'ri; l)iit I, my mistress' thrall, 
Came tliere for cure, and this by that I prove. 
Love's flre heats water, water cools not love. 



A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 



From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded 

A plainttul story from a sistering vale. 

My spirits to attend tliis double voice accorded. 

And down I laid to list the sad-tun'd tale: 

Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale. 

Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain. 

Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 

Upon her head a platted hive of straw. 

Which fortified her visage from the sun. 

Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw 

Th' carcase of a beauty spent and done. 

Time had not scythed all that youtli begun, 

Nor youth all quit; but, spite of Heaven's fell rage, 

Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. 

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne. 
Which on It had conceited characters, 
Laund'ring tlte silken figures in the brine 
Tliat season'd woe had pelleted in tears. 
And often reading what contents it bears; 
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe, 
In clamours of ail size, both high and low. 

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride; 
As thej' did battery to the spheres intend: 
Sometimes diverted their poor balls are tied 
To th' orbed earth: sometimes they do extend 
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend 
To every place at once, and nowhere flx'd. 
The mind and sigh distractedly commix'd. 

Her hair, nor loose, nor tied In formal plat. 

Proclaim 'd in her a carele-ss hand of pride; 

For some, untuck'd, descended her slieav'd hat. 

Hanging lier pale and pined cheek beside; 

Some in ner threaden flliet still did bide. 

And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, 

Though slackiy braided in loose negligence. 

A thousand favours from a maund she drew 
Ot amber, crystal, and of bedded jet. 
Which one by one she in a river threw. 
Upon whose weeping margent she was set; 
Like usury, applying wet to wet. 
Or monarch's hands, that let not bounty fall 
Where want cries 'some,' but where excess begs 
all. 

Of folded schedules had she many a one, 
Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood; 
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone. 
Bidding them find their sepulclires in mud; 
Found yet mo letters sadly peiin'd in blood. 
With sleided silk feat and affectedly 
Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secresy. 

These often bath'd she In her fluxive eyes. 

And often kiss'd, and often gave to tear; 

Cried, ' O false blood, thou register of lies. 

What unapproved witness dost thou bear! 

Ink would have seem'd more black and damned 

here!' 
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, 
Big discontent so breaking their contents. 

A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh, 

Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 

Of court, of city, and had let go by 

The swiftest hours, observed as they flew. 

Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew; 

And, privileg'd by age, desires to know 

In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe. 

So slides he down upon his grained bat. 
And comely-distant sits he by her side; 
When he again desires her, being sat. 
Her grievance with his hearing to divide: 
If that from him there may be aught applied 
Wliich may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 
"T is promis'd in the cliarity of age. 

' Father,' she says, ' though in me you heboid 
The injury of many a blasting hour. 
Let it not tell your judgment t ain old; 
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power: 
I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 
Fresh to myself, it I had self-applied 
Love to myself, and to no love beside. 

' But woe is me! too early I ttended 

A youtiiful suit (it was to gain my grace) 

Of one by nature's outwards so commended, 



That maiden's eyes stuck over all his face: 
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place; 
.\nd when in his fair parts she did abide, 
She was new lodg'd, and newly deified. 

• His browny locks did hang in crooked curls; 
And every light occasion of tlie wind 

Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
What 's sweet to do, to do will aptly find; 
F.ach eye that saw him did enchant tlie mind: 
For on his visage was in little drawn. 
What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn. 

• Small show of man was yet upon his chin; 
His phoenix down began but to appear, 
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, 
"Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seemed to wear; 
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear; 

And nice affections wavering stood in doubt 
It best 't were as it was, or best without. 

' His qualities were beauteous as his form, 

For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; 

Yet, if men mov'd him, was he such a storm 

As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, 

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be. 

His rudeness so with his authoriz'd youth 

Did livery falseness In a pride of truth. 

'Well could he ride, and often men would say 
That horse his mettle from his rider takes: 
Proud ot subjection, noble by the sway. 
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop 

he makes! 
And controversy hence a question takes, 
Whether the horse by him became his deed. 
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. 

' But quickly on this side the verdict went; 

His real habitude gave life and grace 

To appertainings and to ornament, 

Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case: 

All aids, themselves made fairer by their place. 

Can for additions; yet their puiTpos'd trim 

Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him. 

'So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
All kind of arguments, and question deep. 
All replication prompt, and reason strong. 
For his advantage still did wake and sleep: 
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep. 
He had the dialect and different skill 
Catching all passions in his craft of will; 

'That he did In the general bosom reign 
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted, 
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
In personal duty, following where he haunted: 
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted; 
And dialogued for him what he would say, 
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. 

' Many there were that did his picture get. 

To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; 

Like fools that in the imagination set 

The goodly objects whicli abroad they find 

Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd; 

And labouring in mo pleasures to liestow tliem. 

Than the true gouty landlord whicli doth owe them: 

•So many have, that never touch'd his hand. 
Sweetly suppos'd them mistress ot his heart. 
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, 
And was my own fee-simple, (not in part,) 
Wliat with his heart in y(mth, and youth in art. 
Threw my affections in his charmed power, 
Eeserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower. 

'Yet did I not, as some my equals did, 

Demand of liim, nor being desired yielded; 

Finding myself in honour so forbid, 

With safest distance I mine honour shielded: 

Experience for me many bulwarks builded 

Of proofs new-bleeding, wliich remain'd the foil 

Ot this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 

' But ah! who ever shunn'd by precedent 

The destin'd 111 she must herself assay? 

Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content. 

To put the by-pass'd perils in her way? 

Counsel may stop a while, what will not stay; 

For when we rage, advice is often seen 

By blunting us to make our wits more keen. 



' Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood. 
That we must curb it upon others' proof. 
To be forbid the sweets that seem so good, 
For fear ot harms that preach in our behoof. 

appetite, from judgment stand aioof! 
The one a palate hath that needs will taste. 
Though reason weep, and cry it Is thy last. 

' For further I could say. This man 's untrue. 
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; 
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew. 
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; 
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling: 
Thought characters and words, merely but art, 
And bastards of his foul adulterate lieart. 

' And long upon these terms I held my city. 
Till thus he 'gan besiege me: Gentle maid. 
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity. 
And be not of my holy vows afraid : 
That 's to you sworn, to none was ever said; 
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto. 
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow. 

' All my offences that abroad you see 

Are errors ot the blood, none ot the mind; 

Love made them not; with acture they may be, 

Where neither party is nor true nor kind: 

They sought their shame that so their shame did 

find; 
And so much less ot shame in me remains. 
By how much of me their reproach contains. 

'Among the many that mine eyes have seen, 

Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd, 

On my affection put to the smallest teen. 

Or any of my leisures ever charm'd: 

Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd; 

Kept hearts in liveries, but mine o^vn was free. 

And reigu'd, commanding in his monarchy. 

' Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me, 

Ot paled pearls, and rubies red as blood; 

Figuring that they their passion likewise lent me 

Ot grief and blushes, aptly understood 

In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;' 

Effects of terror and dear modesty, 

Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. 

' And lo! behold the talents of thy hair. 
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, 

1 have receiv'd from many a several fair, 
(Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,) 
With the annexions ot fair gems enrich'd. 
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify 
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. 

'The diamond, why 't was beautiful and hard. 

Whereto his invis'd properties did tend; 

I'he deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard 

Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend; 

The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 

With objects manifold; each several stone, 

With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some moan. 

'Lo! all these trophies of affections hot. 

Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender. 

Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not. 

But j'ieid them up where I myself must render. 

That is, to you, my origin and ender: 

For these, ot force, must your oblations be. 

Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 

' O then advance of yours that phraseless hand. 
Whose white bears down the airy scale of praise; 
Take all these similes to your own command, 
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise; 
What me your minister, for you obeys. 
Works under you; and to your audit comes 
Their distract parcels in combined sums. 

' Lo! this device was sent me from a nun. 
Or sister sanctified of holiest note; 
Which late her noble suit in court did shun. 
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; 
For she was sought by spirits ot richest coat. 
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove. 
To spend her living in eternal love. 

'But O, my sweet, what labour is 't to leave 
The thing we have not, mastering what not strives?" 
Paling the place which did no form receive. 
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves: 



ISO 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



She that her fame so to herself contrives, 
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight, 
And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 

'O pardon me, In that my boast Is true; 
The accident which brought me to her eye. 
Upon the moment did her force subdue. 
And now she would the caged cloister fly: 
Religious love put out religion's eye: 
Not to be tempted, would she be immur'd, 
And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd. 

' How mighty then you are, O hear me telU 

The broken bosoms that to me belong 

Have emptied all their fountains In my well. 

And mine I pour your ocean all among: 

I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong, 

Must for your victory us all congest. 

As compound love co physic your cold breast. 

' My parts had power to charm a sacred sun, 
Who, dlsclpUn'd and dieted In grace, 
Bellev'd her eyes when they to assail begun, 
All vows and consecrations giving place, 
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space. 
In thee nath neither sting, knot, nor confine. 
For thou art all, and all things else are thine. 

'When thou Impressest, what are precepts worth 
Of slale example? When thou wilt inflame. 
How coldly those Impediments stand forth. 
Of wealth, of fllial fear, law, kindred, fame! 
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 
'gainst shame. 



And sweetens, in the sufferings pangs it bears. 
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 

' Now all these hearts that do on mine depend. 
Feeling It break, with bleeding groans they pine. 
And supplicant ihelr sighs to you extend. 
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine. 
Lending soft audience to my sweet design. 
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath. 
That shall prefer and undertake my troth. 

' This said, his watery eyes he did dismount. 
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face ; 
Each cheek a river running from a fount 
With brinish current downward flow'd apace : 
Oliovv the channel to the stream gave grace ! 
Who, glaz'd witli crystal, gate the glowing roses 
That flame through water which their hue encloses. 

' O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 

In the small orb of one particular tear! 

But with the inundation of the eyes 

What rocky heart to water will not wear? 

What breast so cold that Is not warmed here ? 

O cleft effect ' cold modesty, hot wraih. 

Both Are from hence and chill extlncture hath ! 

' For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft. 
Even there resolv'd my reason into tears ; 
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd, 
Shook off my sober guards, and civil tears ; 
Appear to him, as he to me appears. 



All molting ; though our drops this difference bore, 
His polsonM me, and mine did him restore. 

'In him a plentltude of subtle matter. 

Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives. 

Of burning blushes or of weeping water. 

Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves. 

In cither's aptness, as it best deceives. 

To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes. 

Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows; 

' That not a heart which in his level came 

Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim. 

Showing fair nature is both kind and tame; 

And, veil'd In them, did win whom he would malm: 

Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; 

when he moetburn'd in heart-wish'd luxury. 

He preached pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity. 

'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 
The naked and concealed flend he cover'd. 
That the unexperienced gave the tempter place. 
Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd. 
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd? 
Ah nie! I fell; and yet do question make 
What I should do again for such a sake. 

' O, that infected moisture of his eye, 
O, that false fire whicli in his cheek so glow'd, 
O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly, 
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd, 
O, a'l that borrowed motion, seenungow'd, 
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, 
And new pervert a reconciled maid!' 



t 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



I. 

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument. 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
Vows for tliee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I for-wore ; but I will prove. 
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
Thy grace being galn'd cures all disgrace in me. 
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ; 
Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine, 
Exale this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 
If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 

If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 

To lose an oath, to win a paradise ? 

IL 

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook 

With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green. 

Did court the lad with many a lovely look. 

Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. 

She told him stories to delight his ear ; 

She show'd him favours to allure his eye ; 

To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there : 

Touches so soft still conquer chastity. 

But whether unripe years did want conceit, 

Or he refus'd to take her flgur'd proffer. 

The tender nibbler would not touch the bait. 

But smile and jest at every gentle offer : 

Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward; 

He I'ose and ran away ; ah, fool too froward ! 

HI. 

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? 

O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd ; 

"Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant 
prove ; 

Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers 
bow'd. 

Study his bias leaves, and make his book thine eyes. 

Where all those pleasures live that art can compre- 
hend. 

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suf- 
fice; 

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee com- 
mend; 

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without won- 
der; 

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire: 

Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his 
dreadful thunder, 

Wlilch (not to anger bent) is music and sweet Are. 
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong. 
To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly 
tongue. 

IV. 

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy mom. 

And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade. 

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, 

A longing tarriance for Adonis made. 

Under an osier growing by a brook, 

A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen. 

Hot was the day; she hotter that did look 

For his approach, that often there had been. 

Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by. 

And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim; 

The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye. 

Yet not so wlstly as this queen on liim: 

He, spying lier, bounc'd in, whereas he stood; 

O Jove, quoth she, why was not la flood? 



Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle; 
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty; 
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle; 
Softer than wa.x, and yet, as iron, rusty: 

A lily pale, with damask die to grace her. 

None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 

Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd. 
Between each kiss her osiths of true love swearing. 
How many tales to tell me hath shecoin'd. 
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing! 
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings. 
Her faith, her oatlis, her tears, and all were jest- 
Ings. 



She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth. 
She Imrn'd out love, as soon as straw out bui'iieth; 
She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing 
She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning. 

Was this a lover, or a lecher whether? 

Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. 

VI. 

If music and sweet poetry agree. 
As they must needs, the sister and the brother. 
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, 
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. 
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; 
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such. 
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound 
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes; 
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, 
Whenas himself to singing he betakes. 

One god is god of both, as poets feign; 

One knight loves both, and both in thee remai.i. 

VII. 

Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love. 



Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove. 
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild; 
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill: 
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds; 
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will. 
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds. 
Once, quoth she. did I see a fair sweet youth 
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar. 
Deep in tlie thigh, a spectacle of ruth! 
See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore: 
She showed hers; he saw more wounds than one. 
And blusliing fled, and left her all alone. 



Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely plucked, soon 
vaded, 

Pluck'd in the bud and vaded in the spring! 

Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded! 

Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting! 
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree. 
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be. 

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have; 
For why y thou left'st me nothing in thy will. 
And j-et thou left'st me more than I did crave; 
For why? I craved nothing of thee still: 

O yes, dear friend, I pai-don crave of thee; 

Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 

IX. 

Venus, with Adonis sitting by her. 

Under a myi'tle shade, began to woo him: 

She told the youngling how god Mars did try her, 

And as he fell to her, she fell to him. 

Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd me; 

And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms: 

Even thus, quoth she, the warlike God unlac'd me; 

As if the boy should use like loving charms. 

Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips. 

And with her lips on his did act the seizure; 

And as she fetched breath, away he skips. 

And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. 

Ah! that I had my lady at this bay. 

To kiss and clip me till I run away! 



Crabbed age and youth 

Cannot live together; 
Youth is full of pleasance, 

Age is full of care 
Youth like summer morn. 

Age like winter weather; 
Youth like summer brave, 

Age like winter bare. 
Youth is full of sport. 
Age's breath is short. 

Youth Is nimble, age is lame ; 
Youth is hot and bold. 
Age is weak and cold ; 



Youth is wild, and age Is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee. 
Youth, I do adore thee ; 

O, my love, my love is young 1 
Age, I do defy thee ; 
O sweet shepherd, hie thee. 

For methinks thou stay'st too long. 



Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, 

A shining gloss, that vadeth suddenly ; 

A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud ; 

A brittle glass, that 's bioken presently : 
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower. 
Lost, vaded, broken, dead wt;hin an hour! 

And as goods lost are seld or never found. 
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh, 
AS flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground, 
As broken glass no cement can redress. 
So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever 's lost. 
In spite of physio, painting, pain, and cost. 

XII. 

Good night, good rest. Ah ! neither be my share: 
She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; 
And dafC'd me to a cabin liang'd with care. 
To descant on the doubts of my decay. 

Fai-ewell, quoth she, and come again to-morrow; 

Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. 

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, 
In scorn or friendship, ntll I construe whether : 
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 
'T may be, again to make me wander thither : 
Wander, a word for shadows like myself. 
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. 



Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! 

Hy heart doth charge the watch ; the morning rise 

Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 

Not daring trust the office of mine eyes 
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark. 
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; 

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty. 
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night ; 
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty: 
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight ; 

Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow; 

For why? she sigh'd, and bade me come to-morrow. 

Were_I with her, the night would post too soon ; 
But n'ow are minutes added to the hours; 
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ; 
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers ! 
Pack night, peep day ; good day, of night now 

borrow ; 
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to- 
morrow. 



SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC. 

XIV. 

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three, 
That liked of her master as well as well might be. 
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye 

could see, 
Her fancy fell a turning. 
Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love 

did fight. 
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant 

knight; 
To put in practice either, alas it was a spite 

Unto the silly damsel. 
But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain. 
That nothing could be used, to turn them both to 

gain. 
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with 

disdain: 
Alas, she could not help It! 
Thus art, with arms contending, was victor of the 

day. 
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; 
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay; 
For now my song is ended. 



THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 



35t 



On a day (alack the day!), 
Love, whose month was ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing; fair, 
Playing In the wanton air: 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, 'gan passage find; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
WIsh'd himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 
Air, would I might triumph sol 
But, alrts, my hand hath sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: 
Vow, alack, tor youth unmeet, 
Youth, 8o apt to pluck a sweet, 
Thou tor whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethlope were; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 



My flocks feed not, 

My ewes breed not. 

My rams speed not. 

All is amiss: 



Love Is dying, 
Faith 's defying. 
Heart '8 denying. 

Causer of this. 
All my merry Jigs are quite forgot. 
All my lady's love Is lost, God wot: 
Where her faith was firmly flx'd in love. 
There a nay Is plac'd without remove. 
One silly cross 
Wrought all my loss; 

O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame! 
For now I see, 
Inconstancy 

More in women than In men remain. 

In black mourn I, 
All fears scorn I, 
Love hath forlorn me, 

Living In thrall: 
Heart is bleeding, 
All help needing, 
(O cruel speeding!) 

Fraughted with gall. 
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal, 
My wether's bell rings doleful knell; 
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd. 
Plays not at all, but seems afraid; 
With sighs so deep. 
Procures to weep. 

In howllng-wlse, to see my doleful plight. 
How sighs resound 
Through heartless ground, 

Like a thousand vanqulsh'd men In bloody flght! 

Clear wells spring not. 
Sweet birds sing not, 
Green plants bring not 

Forth; they die: 
Herds stand weeping, 
Flocks all sleeping. 
Nymphs back peeping 

Fearfully. 
All our pleasure known to us poor swains. 
All our merry meetings on the plains. 
All our evening sport from ns is fled, 
All our love is lost, for Love Is dead. 
Farewell, sweet lass. 
Thy like ne'er was 

For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan: 
Poor Coridon 
Must live alone, 

Other help for him I see that there is none. 



Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame. 
And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike. 
Let reason rule things worthy blame. 
As well as fancy, partial night: 
Take counsel of some wiser bead. 
Neither too young, nor yet unwed. 

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell. 
Smooth not t;hy tongue with filed talk, 
Lest she some subtle practice smell; 
(A cripple soon can find a halt:) 

But plainly say thou lov'st her well. 

And set her person forth to sell. 

What though her frowning brows be bent, 

Her cloudy looks will calm ere night; 

And then too late she will repent. 

That thus dissembled hei delight; 
And twice desire, ere it be day. 
That which with scorn she put away. 

What though she strive to try her strength, 
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay. 
Her feeble force will yield at length. 
When craft hath taught her thus to say; 
'Had women been so strong as men. 
In faith you had not had it then." 

And to her will frame all thy ways; 
Spare not to spend,— and chiefly there 
where thy desert may merit praise, 
By ringing in thy lady's ear: 

The strongest castle, tower, and town, 

The golden bullet beats it down. 



Serve always with assured trust. 

And In thy suit be humble, true; 

Unless thy lady prove unjust. 

Press never thou to choose anew: 
When time shall serve, be thou not slack 
To proffer, though she put thee back. 

The wiles and guiles that women work, 
Dissembled with an outward show. 
The tricks and toys that In them lurk. 
The cock that treads them shall not know. 
Have you not heard It said full oft, 
A woman's nay doth stand for nought? 

Think women still to strive with men. 

To sin, and never for to saint; 

There is no heaven, by holy then, 

When time with age shall them attaint. 
Were kisses ail the joys in bed. 
One woman would another wed. 

But soft; enough,— too much I fear, 
Lest that my mistress hear my song; 
She '11 not stick to round me 1' th' ear. 
To teach my tongue to be so long: 
Yet will she blush, here be it said, 
To hear her secrets so bewray'd. 

XVIII. 
Live with me. and be my love. 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dales and fields. 
And all the craggy mountains yields. 

There will we sit upon the rocks, 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, by whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee a bed of roses, 
With a thousand fragrant poises, 
A cap of flowers and a kirtle 
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 

A belt of straw and ivy buds. 
With coral clasps and amber studs; 
And if these pleasures may thee move. 
Then live with me, and be my love. 

Love's Answer. 

If that the world and love were young. 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue. 
These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee and by thy love. 



As it fell upon a day, 

In the merry month of May, 

Sitting in a pleasant shade 

Whicll a grove of myrtles made. 

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing. 

Trees did grow, and plants did spring, 

Everything did banish moan. 

Save the nightingale alone: 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 

Lean'd her breast viptill a thorn. 

And there sung the dolefull'st ditty 

That to hear it was great pity; 

Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, 

Teru, Teru, by and by: 

That to hear her so complain, 

Scarce I could from tears refrain; 

For her griefs so lively shown. 

Made me think upon mine own. 

Ah thought I, thou mourn'st in vain; 

None take pity on thy pain: 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee. 

Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee. 

King Pandion, he is dead; 

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; 

All thy fellow-birds do sing, 

Careless of thy sorrowing. 

Even so, poor bird, like thee. 

None alive will pity me. 

Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd. 

Thou and I were both beguil'd. 

Every one that flatters thee 

Is no friend in misery. 

Words are easy like the wind; 

Faithful friends are hard to find. 

Every man will be thy friend, 

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; 

But if store of crowns be scant. 

No man will supply thy want. 

If that one be prodigal. 

Bountiful they will him call: 

And with such-like flattering 

'Pity but he were a king.' 

If he be addict to vice, 

Quickly him they will entice; 

It to women he be bent, 

They have him at commandement; 

But if fortune once do frown. 

Then farewell his great renown: 

They that fawn'd on him before. 

Use his company no more. 

He that is thy friend indeed. 

He win help thee in thy need; 

If thou sorrow he will weep. 

If thou wake, he cannot sleep: 

Thus of every grief in heart 



He with thee doth bear a part. 
The.se are certain signs to know 
Faithful friend from flattering toe. 



SONG. 

Take, oh, take those lips away. 
That so sweetly were forsworn. 

And those eyes, the break of day. 
Lights that do mislead the morn: 

But my kisses bring again. 

Seals of love, butseal'd in vain. 

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, 
Which thy frozen bosom bears; 

On whose tops the pinks that grow 
Are of those that April wears. 

But flrst set my poor heart free. 

Bound in those icy chains by thee. 



VERSES AMONG THE ADDITIONAL POEMS 
TO CHESTER'S LOVE'S MARTYR, 1601. 

Let the bird of loudest lay. 

On the sole Arabian tree. 

Herald sad and trumpet be. 

To whose sound chaste wings obey. 

But thou, shrieking harbinger. 
Foul pre-currer of the fiend, 
Augur of the fever's end, 
To this troop come thou not near. 

From this session interdict 
Every fowl of tyrant wing. 
Save the eagle, feather'd king: 
Keep the obsequy so strict. 

Let the priest in surplice white. 
That defunctive music can. 
Be the death-divining swan. 
Lest the requiem lack his right. 

And thou, treble-dated crow, 
That thy sable gender mak'st 
With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st, 
'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 

Here the anthem doth commence; 
Love and constancy Is dead; 
Phoenix and the turtle fled 
In a mutual flame from hence. 

So they lov'd, as love in twain 
Had the essence hut In one; 
Two distlncts, division none: 
Number there in love was slain. 

Hearts remote, yet not asunder; 
Distance, ana no space was seen 
'Twixt the turtle and his queen; 
But in them it were a wonder. 

So between them love did shine. 
That the turtle saw his right 
Flaming in the phoenix' sight: 
Either was the other's mine. 

Property was thus appall'd, 
That the self was not the same; 
Single nature's double name 
Neither two nor one was called. 

Reason, in itself confounded. 
Saw division grow together; 
To themselves yet eltner-neither. 
Simple were so well compounded: 

That it cried how true a twain 
Seemeth this concordant one! 
Love hath reason, reason none. 
If what parts can so remain. 

Whereupon it made made this threne 
To the phoenix and the dove, 
Co-supremes and stars of love; 
As chorus to their tragic scene. 

Threnos. 

Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
Grace in all simplicity. 
Here enclos'd in cinders lie. 

Death Is now the phoenix' nest; 
And the turtle's loyal breast 
To eternity doth rest. 

Leaving no posterity: — 
'T was not their infirmity. 
It was married chastity. 

Truth may seem, but cannot be: 
Beauty brag, but 't is not she; 
Truth and beauty buried be. 

To this urn let those repair 
That are either true or fair; 
For these dead birds sigh a praj-er. 



as2 



GLOSS ART. 



GLOSSARY. 



ABATE, to blunt. 
Abated, subdued, depressed. 
Abhomlnable, antiquated spelling of abominable. 
Abide, to pay the penalty. 
Abide, sojourn. 

Abjects, thinprs thrown away as worthless. 
Able, to qualify. 
Aboding, foreboding. 
Abraham, Cupid. 
Abridgiiient, pastime. 
Abroad, disbursed, expended. 
Abseyboolc, ABC book, catechism. 
Abuse, delusion, deception. 
Aby, to pay dear for. 
Accidence. 
Accite, to summon. 

Accordingly, conformably, proportionately. 
Accost, approach. 
Account of, to value, to appreciate. 
Ache (a noun), pronounced ache, and forming a rid- 
dle with the letter H. 
Aches (a noun), pronounced akes. 
Acknown, known. 
Acquaintance, amity. 
Across, to break, a tilt-yard technical. 
Acture, action. 
Adamant, loadstone. 
Adam, old, a sergeant. 
Addiction, inclination. 
Additions, qualities, titles, characteristics. 
Address, to prepare, to make ready. 
Admittance, vogue, fashion. 
Advice, consideration, representation. 
Advised, assured, aware, persuaded. 
Affect, to love. 

Affect the letter, to use alliteration. 
Affect ioi., affectation, imagination. 
Affectioned, affected. 
Affeer, to assess, or confirm. 
Affined, bound. 
Affray, to frighten. 
Affront, to confront, to encounter. 
Affy, betroth. 
Affy, to confide. 

Against the hair, against the grain. 
Agate-ring. 

Aglet-baby, a diminutive figure carved on a jewel. 
Agnize, to acknowledge. 
Agood, in good earnest. 
Aim, to guess, to surmise. 
Aim! cry aim! to encourage. 
Aim, to give, to direct. 
Ajax, a Jakes. 

Albany, an ancient name for Scotland. 
AlderUefest, all dearest, dearest of all. 
A'life, as life. 
All at once, a trite phrase. 
Allons! let us go. 
Allow, to approve. 
Allowed, licensed. 
Allowing, allowed, lawful. 
AU-thiiig, every way. 
Alms-drink, a portion of liquor drunk to relieve a 

companion. 
Althea's dream.' 

Amazing, confounding, appalling, 
Ames-ace, both aces. 
Amiss, a fault. 
Amort, dejected. 
Anchor, an anchorite. 
Ancient, ensign, an ensign bearer. 
Andrew, a name for a ship. 
Angerly, angi-ily. 
Appaid, pleased, satisfied. 
Apparent, nearest. 
Apparent, manifest. 

Apparitor, an officer of the spiritual cotirt. 
Apperil, danger, peril. 
Apple-John. 
Apply, to ply. 

Apprehension, conceit, sarcasm. 
Approbation, proof. 
Approve, to justify, to confirm. 
Araise, to raise, to upraise. 
Argosy, a large vessel. 
Argument, conversation. 
Arm-gaunt. 

Aroint! begone! avaunt! 
A-row, one after another, successively. 
Arrive, to arrive at. 
Articulate, to enter into articles. 
Articulated, circumstantially drawn out. 
Artificial, ingenious. 
Artist, a scholar. 
Aspersion, sprinkling. 
Assinego, an ass. 
Assured, affianced. 
Astonished, thunderstruck. 
At friend, on terms of friendship. 
Atomies, mites. 
Atomies, atoms. 
Atone, to reconcile. 
Attasked, taxed, charged. 
Attorney, advocate, pleader. 
Aunts, wenches. 
Awful, authorized, lawful. 
Awful men, men of worth and authority. 
Awkward, distorted, contrary. 

Baccahe, stand back. 

Baffled, treated with ignominy. 

Baldrlck, a belt. 

Balked, ridged, heaped up. 

Balk logic, to dispute, to wrangle. 

Hallow, a pole or staff, 

Ban, to curse. 

Baubury cheese, a thin cheese. 

Band, a bond. 

Ban-dog. perhaps a dog chained or banded. 

Banquet, a dessert. 

Barbason, a fiend. 

Barbed, caparisoned. 

Bare the beard, to shave the beard. 



Barm, yeast. 

Bams, bairns. 

Base-court, lower court. 

Bases, an embroidered mantle, hanging from the 
waist to the knee, worn by knights on horse- 
back; also the housings of a horse; also, the 
hose. 

Basilisks, huge pieces of ordnance. 

Basta, enough. 

Bastard, a sweet wine. 

Bat, staff or club. 

Bate, to blunt. 

Batlet, a bat to beat linen with. 

Batten, to feed. 

Battle, an army. 

Bavin, a faggot of brushwood. 

Bawcock, beau coq, fine fellow. 

Bay-window, bow-window. 

Bead's-man, one whose duty It is to offer up prayers 
for anotlier. 

Bear a brain, to remember well. 

Bear hard, to rein in from mistrust or fear. 

Bearing-cloth, an infant's mantle in which It is car- 
ried to the font. 

Bear in hand, to encourage, to buoy up. 

Beaver, the lower part of a helmet, sometimes used 
for the helmet itself. 

Beck, a bow. 

Become, to adapt, to render fit. to adorn. 

Becoming, self -restrained. 

Bed-fellow, intimate friend. 

Beetles, overliangs. 

Beg a fool, to ask in wardship. 

Begetter, one who gets or proctires. 

Beguiled, masked, disguised. 

Behave, to control. 

Belike, to favour, to aprove. 

Be-mete, to beat with a yard measure. 

Bemoiled, bedraggled. 

Be naught a while, a mischief on you! 

Bench hole, forica. 

Benefit, a beneficiary. 

Benumbed, stiff, inflexible. 

Bergomask, a dance. 

Bermoothes, the Bermudas. 

Beshrew, to curse, to imprecate sorrow or evil on a 
person. 

Besmirch, to soil, to befoul. 

Bessy, o'er the bourn. 

Best, best one, an epithet of endearment. 

Bestowed, secreted, stowed. 

Bestraught, distacted. 

Beteem, to allow, to suffer. 

Better penny, a proverbial phrase. 

Bevel, crooked. 

Bewray, to betray, to discover. 

Bezouian, a term of contempt. 

Bias, a swelling out. 

Bid, to invite- 
Bid forth, invited out. 

Biggin, a coif. 

Bilberry, the wliortleberry. 

Bilbo. 

Bilboes, Instruments of torture, fetters. 

Bills, halberds, battle-axes. 

Bissoii, blind. 

Biting the thumb, a contemptuous action. 

Blacks, mourning habiliments. 

Blank, a mark In gunnery. 

Blench, to flinch, to start off. 

Blend, blended. 

Bless the mark. 

Blind-worm, slow worm. 

Block, a hat-mould. 

Blood in, with the blood up. 

Blood-boltered, clotted with blood. 

Blow, to swell. 

Blue caps, the Scotch. 

Blunt, dull, insensible. 

Board, to accost. 

Bob, to rap, to hit. 

Bobbed, tricked. 

Bodged, bungled. 

Bodkin, a stiletto, a dagger. 

Body kins, God's, an oath. 

Bolds, emboldens. 

Bolted, sifted. 

Boltered, clotted. 

Bolt6i*s sieves. 

Bolting-hutch, the bin into which meal is boulted. 

Bombard, or bumhard, a barrel, a capacious vessel, 
sometimes of leather, for holding drink. 

Bombast, a sort of wadding used to fill out dresses. 

Bona-robas, \vomen of pleasure. 

Bone-ache, the Neapolitan. 

Boot, help, advantage. 

Bordered, restrained. 

Borne in hand, encouraged by delusive promises. 

Borrowed, assumed. 

Bosky, woody. 

Bosom multiplied, many-stomached. 

Bots, worms in the stomach of a horse. 

Bottled, bloated. 

Bottom, to wind round, or upon. 

Bought and sold, entrapped, betrayed, made a vie 
tlm. 

Bourn, boundary. 

Bow, yoke. 

Bowed, bent. 

Brach, a hound bitch. 

Braid, false, deceitful. 

Braved, bedizened, ornamented. 

Bravery, finery, ostentation. 

Braving, blustering, hectoring. 

Break up, to carve. 

Break with him, to open the subject to him. 

Breast, voice. 

Breath, a breathing, a combat for exercise. 

Breathe in watering, to take breath while drinking. 

Breeched, sheathed, mired. 

Breed-bate, an exciter of quarrels. 

Brewer's horse. 

Brew good ale, a proverb. 



Bribe-buck. 

Brlze, the gad, or horsefly. 

Broken music, the music of stringed InstrumantsI 

Broker, a pander, a procuress, a cneat. 

Brooched, adorned, decorated. 

Brooded, watchful. 

Broom-groves. 

Brown-bastard, a sweet wine. 

Brown-bill, a battle-axe. 

Brownlst, a follower of Brown, a sectary. 

Bruit, report. 

Buckle, to bend. 

Buff, the dress of a sergeant. 

Bug, a bugbear, a goblfii. 

Bulk, the breast. 

Bully-rook, a jolly dog. 

Bung, a cutpurse. 

Burgonet, a helmet. 

Burst, broken. 

Busky, bosky, woody. 

Buxom, lusty, sprightly, buoyant. 

Buz, buz !— an interjection of impatience. 

Buzzard, a beetle. 

By day and night, at all times. 

By these ten bones, a common adjuration. 

Buy 'rlakin, by our ladykin, or little lady. 

Caddis, worsted galloon. 

Cade, a barrel. 

Cadent, falling. 

Cake is dough, hopes are frustrated. 

Cality, construe me. 

Caliver, a handgun. 

Call, a bird call. 

Callet, a strumpet. 

Calm, a mispronunciation of qualm. 

Canary, a dance with castanets. 

Candle-wasters, Bacchanals, revellers. 

Canker, the dog rose. 

Canstick, a candlestick. 

Cantie, a slice, a corner. 

Cantons, cantos. 

Canvas, to toss. 

Can you hit it?— a song, or dance. 

Capable— impressible, susceptible. 

Capitulate, to confederate. 

Capocchio, a simpleton. 

Capricious, goatish. 

Captain-jewels, superior jewels. 

Captious, capacious. 

Carbonado, a collop cooked on the coals. 

Carcanet, a necklace. 

Card, by the, according to the book of manners. 

Card, to, to mix, or mingle. 

Career, or Careire, a term of the metiage. 

Careful, painful, anxious. 

Carkanet, a necklace. 

Carlot, a churl. 

Carpets, coverings for the table. 

Carping, taunting. 

Carrack, a ship of great burden; 

Carry coals, to suV)mit to indignities. 

Carry out a side, a card-table phrase. 

Carrying diead bodies off the stage. 

Carve, to give an amorous sign. 

Case, a brace, a pair. 

Case, a skin. 

Casque, a helmet. 

Cassock, a horseman's coat. 

Cast, dismissed. 

Castiliano vulgo. 

Castle, a helmet. 

Catalan, a term of reproach. 

Gates, cakes, dainties. 

Cautel, crafty, circumspection. 

Cautelous, treacherous, insidious. 

Censer, a firepan for perfumes. 

Ceremony, pronounced as a trisyllable. 

Certes. 

Cess, measure. 

Chambers, small pieces of ordnance. 

Chances, crosses, casualties. 

Changeling, a child changed by fairies or gipsies, 

Channel, kennel. 

Character, handwriting, ciphers. 

Chares, drudgery, 

Charles's-wain, the constellation called the bear. 

Charm, to conjure. 

Charm the tongue, to restrain or put a spell upon 

the tongue. , 

Charmer, an enchantress, one who works by spells. 
Charming, magical, fascinating. 
Charneco, a sort of wine. 
Chases, a term of tennis. 
Chaudron, entrails. 
'Cheater, an escheater. 
Cheater, a gamester, a cozener. 
Check, to fly from, or shy at. 
Cheer fare. 
Che visage, aspect. 
Ch' pit, a game. 
C il, a soft leather. 

ewet, a noisy chattering bird. 
Jhlde, to rebuke, to re-sound, 
Chide with, to quarrel with. 
I Child, a female Infant. 
Childing, teeming. 

Children that have no names, illegitimate children. 
Chop logic, a nickname; also, to exchange logic. 
Chuck, chicken, term of endearment. 
'Cide, to decide. 
Cinque-pace— a dance. 
Circle, diadem. 

Circumstance, conduct, circumstantial deduction. 
Circumstance, circumlocution. 
'Cite, to incite. 

Cittern, a musical instrument. 
Civil, sour, bitter. 
Clack-dish, a beggar's dish. 
Clamour, to refrain or silence. 
Claw, to flatter. 
Clean, utterly, completely. 
Clean kain, rigmarole. 






I 



GLOSSARY. 



353 



Cleave the pin, to split the wooden pin in a target. 

Clerlcly. scholarly. 

Cling, to shrivel, to shrinlc. 

Clip, to embrace. 

Close, to wheeiile, to fawn, to flatter. 

Close, wanton. 

Clothot-gold of tissue, cloth of gold on a ground of 

tissue. 
Cloud in the face, a dark spot in the forehead of a 

horse. 
Clout, the white maris in a target. 
Clouted brogues, nailed shoes. 
Coast, to advance. 
Coat, coat of jtrms 
Cock and pye, a popular adjuration. 
Cockle-hat, a pilgrim's hat. 
Cockney, a spooney, a cook. 
Cock-shut, twili<;ht. 
Coffin, the crust of a rai.sed pie. 
Cog, to load dice, to cheat, to defraud. 
C )gnizance. a b.idge. 
Coil, trouble, turmoil. 
Coibrand the giant. 
Cold to bed, to thy cold bed. 
Collied, smutted, blackened, obscured. 
Colours, artifices. 
Colt, to gull. 
Combinate, contracted. 
Combination, contract. 
Come off, to pay. 

Comforting, encouraging, abetting. 
Commend, to commit, to submit, to resign. 
Commission, warrant, authority. 
Commodity, advantage, self-interest. 
Common, public. 
Common liar, rumour. 
Compact, made up, compounded. 
Companion, alow fellow. 
Company, companion. 

Comparative, ready in comparisons, or similes. 
Compassed, .archi-d. 

Competitor, coadjutor, confederate, auxiliary. 
Compliments, point-de-vice manners. 
Comply, to fraternise, to play the courtier. 
Compose, accord, agree. 
Composure, oomposture, composition. 
Compt, in, in trust, to be accounted for. 
Comptlble, susceptible, sensitive. 
Con. to know, to allow, to award. 
Conceit, imagination. 
Conceited, conceptive, apprehensive. 
Conclusions, experiments. 
Coocolinel. 

Condition, nature, disposition. 
Conduct, a conductor, a guide. 
Coney-catcher, to cheat. 
Coney-catch, a sharper, a trickster. 
Confess and be hanged, a cant phrase. 
Conger and fennel. 
Consent, agreement, unison. 
Consigned, sealed. 
Consort, fellowship; fraternity. 
Consort, a band of musicians. 
Conspectuity, vision, perception. 
Constancy, consistency. 
Contain, to hold, to retain. 
Contemptible, mocking, contemptuous. 
Coutent, acquiescence. 
Content, coutinent, self-restrained. 
Continent, capacious. 
Continuate, uninterrupted. 
Contraction, marriage-contract. 
Convent, to agree, to be convenient. 
Convent, to summon, to cite. 
Convert, to turn. 
Convertlt?, a penitent, a convert. 
Convicted, vanquished. 
Convince, to conquer. 
Convive, to feast together. 
Cooling-card. 

Copataln-hat, a high-crowned hat. 
Cope, to encounter. 
Copy, theme. 
Coranto, a dance. 

Corinth, a cant name for a bordello. 
Corinthian, a wencher. 
Cornuto, a cuckold. 
Corollary, an overplus. 
Corporal of the field, an aide-de-camp. 
Costard, the head. 
Coted, came alongside. 
Cot-quean, a molly-coddle. 
Couching, crouching. 
Counsel, in counsel, secret, in secret. 
Countenance, to receive, to entertain. 
Counter-caster, a disparagin-g term for merchant. 
Counterfeit, a portrait. 
Counterfeit, a false piece of money. 
Counterpoints, counterpanes. 
Countervail, to make equal or equivalent. 
Couplement. 
Courage, mettle, spirit. 
Courser's hair. 
Court-cupboard, a cabinet. 
Court hol.v-water, glozing speeches. 
Courts, a term in tennis. 
Cousin, a kinsman. 
Covent, a convent. 
Cover, to prepare the table. 
Cower, to bend or sink. 
Cowl-staff, a pole used to carry a bucket. 
Coystril, a mean groom, or peasant. 
Cozier, a botcher of clothes or shoes. 
Crack, a manikin. 
Grants, crowns, garlands. 
Crare, a small vessel of burden. 
Credent, credible, plausible. 
Credit, information. 
Crescive, increasing, growing. 
Crewel, worsted. 
Critic, a cynic. 
Critical, cynical, censorious. 
Crooked, bowed or crouched. 
Cross, a coin stamped with a cross. 
Cross, to pass across the path of a spectre. 
Crush a eup of wine, an invitation to a carouse. 
Cry, a pack, a troop or company. 
Cry aim, to encourage. 

Cry Havoc! a signal for indiscriminate slaughter. 
Cry in the top of question, to crow over or challenge, 
Cry on, to announce, to assert. 
Crystal-button. 

Cue, a stage term for the last words of a speech. 
Cuisses, armour for the thighs. 



Cunning, knowing, skilful. 

Curb, to bow or truckle. 

Curiosit.v, tinical refiement. 

Curious, scrupulous, over punctilious. 

Curious-good, fastidiously precise. 

Curious-knotted, abounding in Intricate figures. 

Curled, an epithet ot gentility. 

Cursed, under the influence of a malediction. 

Curst, cross-grained, sour, intractable, malicious. 

Curtall-do^', a halting-dog. 

Curtle-ax, a cutlass. 

Customer, a loose woman. 

Cut and long tall, good and bad. 

Cyprus, or Cypress, a stuff like crape. 

Daff, or doff, to put off. 

Damn, to condemn. 

Danmable, damnably. 

Danger, power. 

Dangerous, biting, mischievous. 

Dank, wet, rotten. 

Danskers, Danes. 

Dare larks, to. 

Darkling, m the dark. 

Darraign, boldly prepared. 

Daubery, juggling. 

Day-woman, dairy-\vonian. 

Dealt on lieutenantry, fought by prox.v. 

Dear, choice, rare, momentous, extreme. 

Death's-man, executioner. 

Death-tokens, plague-spots forewarning death. 

Debitor-and-creditor, the title of some old treatises 

on book-keeping. 
Deeeptlous, deceiving. 
Decked, sprinkled. 
Deck of cards, a pack of cards. 
Defeat, to disfigure the countenance. 
Defeatures, ill-Tooks, defacement. 
Defend, to forbid- 
Deftly, smartly, featly. 
Defunctlve. mortuary. 
Defy, to contemn or spurn. 
Defy, to renounce. 
Delighted, delighting. 
Denierits, good or ill deserts. 
Demit, to depress or cast-down. 
Demi-wolves, a species of dog. 
Denay, to deny. 
Denier, a French coin. 
Denunciation, annunciation. 
Depart, to part with. 
Depart, to separate. 
Deprive, to disinherit, to depose. 
Deracinate, to root up. 
Derne, earnest, eager. 
Descant, variation in music. 
Design, to point out, to designate. 
Desire you of, desire of you. 
Despatched, bereft. 
Detect, to exhibit, to display. 
Determine, to end, to melt away. 
Dewberry, a sort of blackberry. 
Dich, do it. 

Diet, to take, to be under regimen. 
Difference, distinction. 
Diffuse, to disguise. 
Diffused, wild, irregular. 

Dilations, delations, accusations, distillations. 
Dlldosand fadings, obscene burdens of old ballads. 
Direct, explicitly, without ambiguity. 
Disability, disparagement. 
Disabled, disparaged, impugned. 
Discandylng. liquefying. 
Disclose, disclosure. 
Dishabited, dislodged. 
Dislike, to express disapprobation. 
Dislinin, to render Indistinct, to obliterate. 
Dlsmes, tenths- 
Dismount thy tuck, draw thy rapier. 
Dispark, to destroy the enclosures of a park. 
Dispute, to reason, 
Dlsseat, depose. 

Distain, to cloud, to cast into the shade. 
Distempered, disordered. 
Distinctly, separately. 
Distractions, detachments. 
Distraught, distracted. 
Divisions, variation in music. 
Do, do, an expression of contempt. 
Doff, to do off. to put off. 
Dole, distribution. 
Do me right, accept my challenge. 
Don, to put on. 
Done, destroyed. 

Double-cracks, double-thunderclaps. 
Double-dealer, one unfaithful in love or wedlock. 
Double-pictures, pictures that showed two faces by 

turning. 
Double-set, twice around. 
Dout, to extinguish. 
Dower, gift. 

Dowle, a feather, down. 
Down-gyved, hanging down loose. 
Dowzabel. 

Drachma, a Greek coin. 
Draught-house, forica, drain, sewer, &c. 
Drawer, a waiter. 
Drawn fox. 

Dreams, John-a-, a sleepy, muddle-headed fellow. 
Dress, to address, to prepare. 
Drive, to rush pell-mell. 
Drollery, a puppet-show. 
Drugs, drudges. 

Dudgeon, the wooden handle of a dagger. 
Due, to endue. 
Dullard, a dull observer. 
Dumbed, silenced, rendering mute. 
Dumps, heavy, mournful tunes. 
Dupp, to lift up, to open. 
Dwell, to abide, to continue. 

Eageb, aigre, sour. 
Ear, to plough. 
Ecstasy, aberration of mind. 
Eftest, quickest, readiest. 
Egal, equal. 

Eggs for money, will you take, a proverbial phrase. 
Eisel, wormwood, vinegar. 
Eld, old, old age. 

Elements of the body, principles of life. 
Else, in other words. 

Emoalling, the bestowal of roj-al dignity by the em- 
blem of the ball. 
Embarquemeuis, impediments. 



Embossed, a term of the chase, signifying exhausted 

and outrun. 
Emmew, a terni in falconry, to paralyse. 
Empery, empire, sovereignty. 
Engaged, detained as a hostage. 
Engross, to fatten. 
Ensconce, to hide, to shelter. 
Ensign, a standard-bearer. 
Entertainment, reinstatement. 
Entitled, ennobled. 
Entrance, trance, reverie. 
Entreat, to entertain. 
Envy, hatred, malice. 
Ephesian, a slang term. 
Equinoctial of Queubus. 
Erring, erratic. 
Escoted, paid. 
Esperance, hope. 
Essay, to assay. 
Estate, affairs. 

Esteem, the sum of what is held estimable. 
Estimation, supposition, conjecture. 
Estrldges. 
Eterne, eternal. 

Even, to strike a balance with, to equate. 
Even Christian, fellow-christian. 
Evident, inevitable. 
Evils, forica. 
Exactly, duly. 
Except, to stay. 
Excrement, hair, the beard. 
Executors, executioners. 
Exempt, separated, parted. 
Exhale. 

Exhibition, pension, allowance. 
Exigent, end, exigency. 
Expect, to anticipate. 
Expect, to attend, pay attention. 
Expedience, expedition. 
Expedient, expeditious. 
Expiate, to terminate. 

Exsufflicate, exsufflate, puffed out, exaggerated. 
Extended, seized. 
Extern, external. 
Extraught, extracted. 
Extravagant, wandering. 
Eyases, nestlings, unfledged hawks. 
Eyas musket, a young male sparrow-hawk. 
Eyry, an alery, a nest or brood of hawks. 

Face, to bully, to orave. 
Faced, turned over with facings. 
Facinorous, wicked. 
Fact, crime, deed. 
Fadge, to fit, to suit, to agree with. 
Fair, beauty. 
Fairy, an enchantress. 
Faitor, a rascal, a traitor. 
Falcon, the female hawk. 
Familiar, a demon. 
Fancies, lyrical pieces. 
Fancies, tlie humour of forty. 
Fancy, affection, love. 
Fantastical, visionarv. 
Fap, cant term for drank. 
Farced, stuffed, tumid. 
Fardel, a pack, a burden. 
Fashions, a disease in horses. 
Fast and loose, a game. 
Fat, o'ercloylng, sickening. 
Fault, misfortune. 

Favour, countenance, features, good graces. 
Fear, to frighten. 
Fearful, causing fear. 
Feat, neat, dexterous, nicely. 
Feated, moulded, fashioned. 
Feature, comeliness of person. 
Fecks, i', in faith. 
Feeders, nickname for servants. 
Fee grief, peculiar sorrow . 
Fell, skin, coat of an animal. 
Fell of hair, any part covered with hair. 
Fellow, a companion. 
Feodary, a vassal, a federate. 
Fere, feer, or phere, companion, husband or wife. 
Fet, fetched. 
Fettle, to prepare. 
Few, in, in brief. 
Fico, a term of contempt. 
Fifteen, an impost. 

Fights, waste-cloths round a ship in a fight. 
Figo for thy friendship, a fig for. 
Filed, defiled. 

Filed, marched in equal pace. 
Filed, polished. 

Fills, thills, the shafts of a wragon. 
Find, to detect. 
Fine, to embellish, to refine. 
Fine, the conclusion. 
Fine less, endless, unnumbered. 
Fire, a dissyllable. 
Fire-drake, a meteor or firework. 
Fire-new, bran-new, freshly coined. 
Fit, a song, division of a song, strain of harmony. 
Fit, to start. 
Fitchew, a polecat. 

Fives, a disease in horses called the vive.s. 
Flamen, a priest. 
Flap-jack, a pan-cake. 
Flask, a soldier's powder-horn. 
Flaw, a gust of wind. 
Flecked, spotted, dappled, flaked. 
Fleet, float. 

Fleshed, eager from the taste of flesh. 
Fleshed, made to taste flesh. Initiated. 
Fleshment, eagerness gained by successful Initia- 
tion. 
Flewed, having large, hanging chaps. 
Flibbertigibbet, a fiend. 
Flirt-gills, wild, flirting, romping wench. 
Florentius' Love. 

Flj ing at the brook, hawking at water-fowl. 
Foin, to pass, or thrust in fencing. 
Foi.son, aoundance. Autumn. 
Folly, wantonness. 
Fond, foolish. 
Fools, the begging of. 
Foot-cloth, housing for horses. 
For, because. 
For, for fear of. 
For, 'fore. 

For all waters, plays any character. 
For and, and eke. 
For the Heaveus, by peaven! [Part 44. 1 



364 



GLOSSABY. 



For why, beenuse, for this reason. 
Forage, to raiiKi' abroad. 
Forbid, fori-spuken, bewitched, 
p'orce, to care, to regard, to value. 
Force, plijsieal vigour. 
Force, to strengthen. 
Forced, stuffea. 
Fordo, to destroy. 
Foreslow, to delay, to loiter. 
Forespoke, prejudiced, forbidden. 
Korfcus, niuli-ts imposed by barbers. 
l-'orfeiul, to torljid. 
Forgetive, inventive. 
Forked, liorned. 
Forlorn, fore-lost. 
Form, the place where a hare sits. 
Formal, reasonable, sober-niinded. 
Former, fore, foremost, 
forth, out. 

Fortlirlght, a straight path. ..a„„.„i,„,. 

Forty, a word expressing an indefinite numbei 
Foul, plain, homely. 
Four, colloquiaiism for some. 
Fox, a cant term for a sword. 
Frame, order, limit, 
Krampold, cantankerous. 

Frank, a sty. , , !,*<,_ i„i,. 

Fraughting. constituting the fraught or freight. 
Frayed, alarmed, frightened. , • „^ ,.,,, 

Fret, a key, and also a stop-point, of a stringed mu- 
sical instrument. 
Friend, a lover. , , . , 

Frippery, a shop for second hand apparel. 
From the teeth, in pretence. 
Front, beginning. 
Frontier, tlie forehead. 

Froth and lime, a cant phrase for a tapster. 
Frush, to bruise, to break. 
FulflUed, filled to repletion. 
FuUam, false dice. 

Gaberdine, a large, loose cloak. 

Gad, a sliarp-pointed instrument. 

Gain-giving, misgiving. 

Gait, step, progress. 

Galliard. 

Gallias, a huge galley. 

Gallimaufry, a medley. 

Gallow, to afi:right. 

Gallowglasses, Irish fool soldiers. 

Gap, a parenthesis. 

Gape, to yell, to roar, 

Oarboiis, turmoils, commotions. 

Garish, gaudy, blazing. 

Gasted, dismayed. 

Gaudy, festival. 

Gaunt, fierce, eager. 

Geek, a person derided. .... 

General, the generality, the multitude. 

Generous, noble, nobly born. _ ^ 

Gentle, gentle-one, an epithet of endearment. 

Gentry, courtesy. 

German, akin. 

Germens, seeds. . . 

Gest, scroll containing the route of a progress, &c. 

Gests, exploits. 

Ghostly, spiritual. „„.,,. , 

Gib, a cat, contraction of Gilbert. 

Giddy, inconstant. 

Giglot, a wanton. 

Giilivors, gillyflowers. 

Gimmal-blt, a bit in two parts. 

Ging, a gang. 

Gird, a sarcasm, a taunt. 

Gis, by, by Jesus. 

Give aim, to direct. 

Give out, to surrender, to relinquish. 

Give the nod, to ridicule by gesture. 

Gleek, to Hout or scorn, to jest. 

Glib, to geld. 

Glorious, ambitious, ostentatious. 

Gloze, to wheedle. 

God bless the mark. 

God buv you, God be with you. 

God, dig you den, God, give you good even. 

God 'ild you, God reward you. 

God save the mark. 

God warn us. 

Gongarian. 

Good cheap, a bon marche. , . ,., 

Good even and twenty, a popular salutation. 

Good goose bite not, a proverbial saying. 

Good leave. 

Good life. 

Good man, a man of substance. 

Gorbellied, pot-bellied, swag bellied. 

Go to the world, a matrimonial saying. 

Gourds, false dice. 

Gouts, drops. ,, ^ , 

Government, moderation, forbearance, self control. 

Gracious, loving, comely, gentle. 

Grange, a solitary farm or lone liouse. 

Grave, pernicious, fatal. 

Graves, armour for the legs. 

Greenly, immaturely, unwisely. 

Green Sleeves, a tune. 

Griefs, grievances. 

Grise, a step. 

Gross, palpable. 

Groundings. 

Growing, accruing. 

Grow to a point, come to business. 

Grudges, murmurs of discontent. 

Grype, the gryphon, or griffln, a vulture. 

Guard, to ornament witn a border. 

Guidon, a standard. 

Gules, in heraldry, red. 

Gulf, the throat, the swallow. 

Gull, a young, unfeathered bird. 

Gust, taste. 

Gyve, a shackle, a fetter. 

IlACKET, Marian, of VVincot. 

Haggard, a wild, unreclaimed hawk. 

Halcyon, a bird. 

Halidom, by my, an old oath. 

Hall, a halil make room. 

Hand, to bear in, to encourage, to buoy up. 

Handfast, malnprize, at largi; on security. 

Handsaw, corruption of hernsliavv, or lieron. 

Hangman, rogue, rascal, a name given to Cupid. 

Happy, acomplishPd. 

Happy man be his dole, a trite phrase. 

Hard to bear, to mistrust, to doubt, to fear. 



Harlocks, wild mustard. 

Harlotry, a term of reproach. 

Harlots, base companions, villains. 

Harness, armour. 

Harrow, to subdue, to overcome. 

Harry, to harass. ^ , ^t. 

Has the mends in his own hands, must make the 

best of it. 
Haughty, high. 
Haunt, company. 
Have an eye of, to see through. 
Having, foftune, revenue, po-ssfsslon. 
Havoc, cry, a signal for indiscriminate slaughter. 
Hay, a dance. 
Hazard, a term in tennis. 
Headborough, a constable. 
Heaven to earth, an asseveration. 
Heavy night, a thick, cloudy night. 
Hefts, heaving.s. 
Helpless, giving no help. 
Hence, henceforward. 
Henchman, a page. 
Hent, to take. 
Hent, a purpose. 
Herb-grace, rue. 
Here be with me, mocking me with opprobrious 

gestures. 
Hereby, as it may liappen. 
Hermits, beadsmen. 
Hest, command. 

Hey non nonny, old ballad burden 
Hide fox and all after, the game of hide and seek. 
High-men, false dice. 
Hight, called, named. 
High-tides, high-days. 
Hild, held. 

Hilding, degenerate. ^ , ,, , 

Hillo, ho, boy! falconers' encouragement to hawks. 
His, used for the impersonal its. 
Hit it, can you, a song or dance. 
Ho! stop! , , , 

Ho! ho! ho! a fiendish or supernatural laugh. 

Hoar, to make white with leprosy. 

Hobby-horse, a byword for an abandoned woman. 

Hob-nob, hit or miss. 

Holla! a term of the manege. 

Hood, in falconry, to cover the hawk's eyes wit.i a 
hood. 

Hope, to expect. 

Horologe, a clock. 

Hot-liouse, a house o£ ill fame. 

Housewife, a hussy or harlot. 

However, anyway. 

Hox, to hough, to hamstring. 

Hugger-mugger, secretly, by stealth. 

Hull, to toss to and fro like a ship. 

Humorous, perver.se, capricious. 

Humorous-man, the actor who personates fantastic 
characters. 

Humour of forty fancies. 

Hundred merry Tales. 

Hunt counter, to track the scent backward. 

Hurley-burly, uproar, tumult. 

Hurtling, justling. 

Husbandry, thrift. 

Hyen, a hyaena. ,,,... .v. 

Hysterica passio, the disease called the mother. 

I, the old form of ay. . . ^ 

Ides, the Eoman name for particular days. 

Idle, crazy, wild, mad-brained. 

Idle, infertile. 

Idle bed, bed of dleness. 

I' fecks, in faith, 

Ignomy, ignominy. 

'Ild you, yield you, reward you. 

Ill, badly. . 

Ill-erected, erected for evil. 

Ill inhabited. Ill-lodged. 

Ill-sorted, ill-accompanied. 

Imbared, to lay bare. 

Imraanity, cruelty, ferocity. 

Imp, son. 

Imp, to amend a hawk's wing. 

Impair, unsuitable, unbecoming. 

Impartial, neutral. 

Impeachment, hindrance. 

Imperious, imperial. 

Imperseverant, imperceptive. 

Impleached, interwoven, iniertwined. 

Importance, significance. 

Important, importunate. 

Impose, bidding, requirement. 

Impossible, incredible. 

Impress, a device, a motto. 

Imputation, reputation. 

In blood, with the blood up. 

In by the week, a saying. 

In deed, in fact, in form. 

In tew, in short, in brief. 

In print, precisely, to the letter. 

Incapable, insusceptible, unintelligent. 

Incarnadine, encriinson. 

Inch, island. 

Inclip, to embrace. 

Incony, delicate, fine, pretty. 

Indent, contract. 

Indifterent, impartial, passable, moderate. 

Indirectly, wroncfuliy. 

Induction, beginning, entrance. 

Indurance, confinement. 

Informal, deranged. 

Ingaged, disengaged. 

Ingenier, orlngener, an ingenious person, an artist. 

Ingeniously, ingenuously. 

Inhabitable, not habitable. 

Inherit, to obtain possession, to possess. 

Inhibit, to prohibit. 

Iniquity, a Morality character. 

Inkhorn, a bookman, a pedant. 

Inkle, a kind of tape. 

Inland, opposed to upland, urbanely-bred. 

Inn, mansion, abode. 

Innocent, a natural, a fool. 

Innocent, foolish. 

Inquisitive, inquisitor. 

Inset, to set. 

Instance, object, purpose. 

Instance, indication, proof. 

Intend, pretend. 

Intenible, incapable of holdin;;. 

Intention, intensity. 

Intergatories, interrogatories. 

Intrinse, intricate. 



Intrinslcate, Intricate. 
Invention, imagination. 
Inwardness, confidence, intimacy. 
In years, in wrinkles. 
Irremoveable, irremoveabiy. 
I wis, certainly, truly. 

Jack-a-lent, a puppet to be thrown at in Lent. 

Jack Guardant, Jack in office. 

Jack, or Mistress, In bowling. 

Jack shall have Jill, a proverbial saying. 

Jacks, keys of virginals. 

Jacks and gills, drinking vessels. 

Jar, or tick, of clocks, or watches. 

Jaunciug, hard riding. 

Jay, a prostitute. 

Jealous, suspicious. 

Jephthah and ids daughter, a popular ballad. 

Jerk, a twitch, a sudden movement. 

Jesses, short tliongs attached to the foot of a haw k. 

Jest, to take part in a mask or rev el. 

Jet, to strut. 

Jew, incony. 

Jig, an extempore performance of the clown after a 

play. 
John-a -dreams, a sleepy, muddle-headed fellow. 
Joint-ring, a divided ring used as a love-token. 
Joint-stool, a, an old proverbial saying. 
Judas and his red beard. 
Jump, to agree. 
Jump, Just. 

Justice, a Morality character. 
Justice)', a justice. 
Jutty, to project, to jut out. 

Kam, clean, rigmarole. 

Keech, ox or cow fat. 

Keel, to cool or skim. 

Keep, to guard. 

Keep, to live or reside. 

Keep the weather, keep the windward, hold the su- 
premacy. 

Kendal-green. 

Key -cold, cold as iron. 

Kibes, chilblains. 

Kieky-wicky, term of endearment for a wife or mis- 
tress. 

Kind, nature, natural. 

Kindle, to Instigate. 

Kindless, unnatural. 

Kindly, pertinently, appositely, appropriately. 

Kindly, according to nature- 
King's evil, the scrofula. 

Knap, to break or crack. 

Knave, a servitor. 

Knot-grass, a plant supposed to possess the property 
of stunting animal growth. 

Knots, garden figures. 

Label, a seal. 

Labras, the lips. 

Lady-bird, a female of loose manners. 

Lady of my earth, fiUe de terre, lady of my corporal 

part. 
Laid on with a trowel, laid on thickly. 
Lakin, ladykin or little lady. 
Land-carack, a dissolute expression. 
Lapwing, allusions to the. 
Larks, to dare. 
Lash, to fasten with a cord. 
Lass-lorn, forsaken by a mistress. 
Latch, to catch. 
Latched, latched, licked over. 
'Lated, belated, benighted. 

Latten-bilbo, a sword wanting both ledge and temper. 
Lattice, red, denotement of an ale-house. 
Laund, a lawn. 

Laundry, a laundress. _ , 

Lead apes in hell, employment of a bearward. 
Leaguer, a camp. 
Learn, to teach. 
Leasing, lying. , . ^ , , 
Leather-coats, a kind of apple. 
Leathern -jerking. 
Leave, licence. 
Leave, to cease, to part with. 
Leer, countenance, favour. 
Lease, old form of lose. 
Leet, tlie court-leet. 
Leg, to make a, to make obeisance. 
Leman, paramour, mistress, sweetheart. 
Lenten, meagre. ~ . . ,.. 

L'envoy, a postscript or epilogue in old writing. 
Let, to forbear. 
Let, stop, bar, hindrance. 
Level, range in gunnery. 
Lewd, wicked, base, malicious. 
Llbbard, leopard. 
Liberal, licentious. 
Lick his fingers, an old saw. 
Lie, to reside. 
Liefest.'dearest. 
Lieger, a resident ambassador. 
Lieu, guerdon. 
Lift, lifted. 
Lifter, a thief. 
Lightly, commonly, usually. 
Likes, pleases. 

Liking, condition of body. j, »•,,■ 

Limbeck, an alembic, a vessel used in distilling. 
Limbo, a prison. 

Limbs of Limehouse, the long shore rabble. 

Limited, appointed. 

Line, to strengthen. 

Line, lineage. 

Linstock, a match used by gunners. 

Lip, to kiss. 

Lither, lazy, idle. 

Little, miniature. 

Lively, living. 

Liver, the seat of love. 

Living, riches, possessions, resources. 

Lob, clown, fool. 

Lockrem, coarse linen. 

Lodged, laid. 

Loggats, a game like skittles. 

'Long of, because of. 

Loose, to discharge. ,i, „„,.„= 

Loose-bodied gown, dress supposed to be indicative 
of a loose woman. 

Lop, faggot wood of a tree. 

Losel, a worthless fellow. 

Love in idleness, a flower. 

Lover, a friend. 



( 



EQB 



GLOSSARY. 



355 



I 



Loves, of all, for love's sake. 

Low-crouched, low-crooked. 

Low-men, false cllce. 

Lower messes, inferior persons. 

Luce, a pike. 

Lunes, lunacy, inad freaks. 

Lurch, to gain an easy victory at cards. 

Lush, succulent. 

Lustique, lusty. 

Luxury, concupiscence. 

Lym, a bloodhound. 



Maculate, stained, spotted. 

Hade up, finished, accomplished. 

Macot-pies, magpies. 

Mahu, a tlend. 

Mailed up, wrapped up. 

Main, main land. 

Malnoflight, flood of light. 

Make, a mate. 

Make a leg, to make obeisance. 

Make a shaft or a bolt, here goes, hit or miss. 

Make, Make the door, to do, to bar the door. 

Makeiess, mateless. 

Malkin, a homely wench. 

Mall. Mistress, her picture. 

Mallecho, malefaction. 

Malt-worms, drunkards. 

Mammering, hesitation. 

Mammet, a puppet, a doll. 

Mammock, to rend, to tear. 

Manage, to govern. 

Mandragora, a powerful opiate. 

Mandrake, fabulously endowed with life. 

Mankind-woman, a termagant, a virago. 

Maniiep, mainour, a tiling stolen. 

Manner, with the, in the tact. 

Mannlngtree ox roasted. 

Manqueller, manslayer. 

Many-many, numberless. 

Map, a picture. 

Marches, borders, boundaries. 

Marclipane, a confection. 

Marian, Maid, Robin Hood's mistress. 

Marigold, the sunflower. 

Match, to set a, to plan a robbery. 

Mate, to confound, to bewilder, to destroy. 

Material, full of matter. 

Maugre, in spite of, notwithstanding. 

Maund, a basket. 

Meacock, a chicken-hearted fellow. 

Mealed, mingled. 

Mean, a term in music. 

Measure, a dance. 

Medicine, a physician. 

Meiny, retinue. 

Mell, to mi.x, to meddle. 

Memory, memorial. 

Mends in his own hands, must make the best of It. 

Mephostophilus, a cant word tor a gaunt-faced fel- 
low. 

Mercatante, a merchant. 

Mere, quite. 

M^re, sole, absolute, certain. 

Mei 'd, entire, sole. 

Merri greek, a wag or humourist. 

Metapli.vsical, supernatural. 

Methoughts, methought. 

Mewed, a term of falconry. 

Micher, a vagabond. 

Miching, skulking. 

Slilch, moist. 

Mill-sixpences. 

Mineral, a metallic vein in a mine. 

MIrable, admirable. 

MIscreate, spurious. 

Miser, miserable caitlir. 

Misprised, mistaken. 

Misprising, undervaluing, despising. 

Misprision, mistake, misunderstanding. 

Missives, messengers. 

Mistful, ready to weep. 

Mobled, muffled. 

Mock, to scoff, to -jibe. 

Model, a mould. 

Modo, a flend. 

Moe, to make mouths. 

Moist star, the moon. 

Mold-warp, the mole. 

Mome, a block-head, a dolt. 

Monstrous, unnatural, om'nously prophetic. 

Montanto, a term of fence. 

Mooncalf, a false conception. 

Moouish, variable, inconstant. 

Moralize, to interpret. 

Mort o' the deer, a strain on the horn. 

Most an end, constantly, perpetually. 

Motion, puppet-show or puppet. 

Motion, the impulse of desire. 

Moughf, might. 

Mousing, gorging, devouring. 

Mosves, mouths, ludicrous antics. 

Much, an expression of contempt. 

Muieters, muleteers. 

Murderlng-piece, a piece of artillery with several 
barrels. 

Musit, or Muset, a gap in a hedge. 

Muss, a scramble. 

My cake Is dough, a proverbial saying, 

Napkins, handkerchiefs. 

Naught a while, be, a mischief ou youl 

Nay-word, a watch-word. 

Near be, ne'er the near— a proverbial phrase. 

Neat slave, a base cow-herd. 

Neglection. neglect. 

Neit, fist. 

Nether-stocks, short stockings. 

Next wa.v, the nearest way. 

Nicely, scrupulously. 

Nicholas' clerks, St., cut-purses. 

Nick, to mark like a fool. 

Nick, out of ail, beyond ail reckoning. 

Nicked, emasculated. 

Night-rule, a night-revel. 

Nlil, will not. 

Noble, a coin. 

Noddy, a game at cards; also a noodle, a simpleton. 

No had, an archaic expression. 

Noise, a band of musicians. 

Nook-shotten, spawned In a corner. 

No poynt, non point. 

Nott-pated. round-headed. 



Novum, a game played with dice. 
Nut-hook, a beadle or catchpoll. 

O, orb, circlet, or round. 

Oaths taken on the sword. 

Ob, obolum, a halfpenny. 

Obidlcut, a fiend. 

Obsequious, funereal. 

Observation, rites or observoncos. 

Observed, respectfully treated. 

Obstacle, corruption of obstinate. 

Oddly, unoqualiy. 

Odds, quarrel. 

Od's pittlkins, God me pity. 

CEiiiads, ogles. 

O'erparted, not equal to a part or character. 

Oes, circular bosses of sliiiiing metal. 

Oes, smallpox marks. 

Of all loves, for love's sake. 

Old, old utis, rare, rare fun. 

Once, for the nonce, sometimes. 

One.vers, owners. 

Oosel-cock, the blackbird. 

Opinion, reputation. 

Or e'er, before, sooner than. 



Or, ore, gold. 

Orbs, field fairy-rings. 



Order, to take, to adapt measures. 

Orgulous, proud, haughty. 

Orient, pellucid, lustrous. 

Orthography, orthographer. 

Orts, scraps. 

Ostent, appearance, parade. 

Otherwhere, other place. 

Ouphes, elves, goblins. 

Out, past. 

Out ot all nick, beyond all reckoning. 

Out ot thy star. 

Overlook, Overlooked, to overbear, to overcome, to 

bewitch. 
Overscutched. 
Oversee, to execute, to superintend the execution of 

a will. 
Overwrested, overwound. 
Ovvches, bosses of gold set in diamonds. 
Owe, to own, to possess. 

Pack, to scheme, to complot. 

Packed, confederate. 

Packing, plotting, chicaning. 

Paddock, a toad. 

Paid, punished. 

Painted-cloth, hangings for rooms. 

Palock, peacock. 

Palabras, few words. 

Pale, to impale. 

Palled, decayed, waned. 

Pallalment, a robe. 

Pantaloon, the Italian. 

Parcel, parcel-gilt, part, parti-gllt. 

Parish-top for the public amusement. 

Paritor, an apparitor. 

Parle, speech. 

Partake, to impart, to participate. 

Partake, to take the part ot. 

Partaker, a partner, a tactionary. 

Parted, endowed, imparted. 

Partially, by partiality. 

Partisan, a weapon, half-pike and half-halberd. 

Partlet, Dame, a name for the hen. 

Pash, head or brow. 

Passage, passengers. 

Passionate, perturbed, agitated. 

Passioning, displaying emotion. 

Pass not, regard not. 

Pass on, pass upou, to sentence. 

Passy-measure's pavin, ada:ice. 

Pastry, the room where paste was made. 

Patch, fool or Jester. 

Patchery. roguery, villainy. 

Patience perforce, an adage. 

Patient, to make patient. 

Pauca, pauca verba, paucas, pallabris, few words. 

Pavin, a dance. 

Peat, a pet. 

Pedant, a schoolmaster. 

Pedascule, a pedant. 

Peevish, childish, simple, headstrong. 

Pelse, to weigh down. 

Peised, balanced, weighted. 

Pelting, paltry, despicable. 

Penitent, doing penance. 

Pensioners, a band of gentlemen in immediate at- 
tendance on the sovereign. 

Perdui*able, enduring. 

Perdy, corruption ot par Dieu. 

Periapts, amulets. 

Perjure, a perjurer. 

Person, old form of parson. 

Perspectives, to be viewed obliquely. 

Peruse, to examine. 

Pervert, to avert. 

Pestered, impeded, encumbered. 

Pew-tellow, companion, sharer. 

Pheere, companion, htisband or wife. 

Pheeze, to tickle. 

Philip, a name for the sparrow. 

Physical, medicinal. 

Pick, to pitch. 

Pickt-hatch, the manor of. 

Pled ninny, a jester, a tool. 

PIght, fixed. 

Pilcher, pilch, an outer garment of leather. 

Pin, to cleave the, to split the wooden pin in a tar- 
get. 

Pin and web, the cataract in the ej'e. 

Pink eyne, small eyes. 

Pioners, or pioneers, degraded soldiers. 

Pitch, or pith, eminence. 

Pittlkins, 'ods, God me pity. 

Place, seat of authority. 

Places, dignities, honours. 

Placket, a petticoat. 

Planched, planked, made of boards. 

Plantage, the moon's Influence over planets. 

Plants, the soles ot the feet. 

Plates, silver coin. 

Plausibly, with expressions ot applause. 

Plauslve manners, gracious, popular, winning man- 
ners. 

Pleached, intertwined. 

Plurlsy, repletion. 

Point-device, precise, with great nicety. 

Point of war, a strain ot military music. 



Points, long tagged laces to fasten dresses. 

Polacks, Poianders. 

Politician, a schemer for his own advantage. 

Pomander, a ball (*f perfume. 

Pomewater, a kind of apple. 

Poor John, hake, a flsh. 

Poppinjay, a parrot, a trining fop. 

Porpentine, porcupine. 

Port, a gate. 

Port, show, state, appearance. 

Portable, bearable, supportable. 

Portage, portholes. 

Portance, carriage, mien, bearing. 

Potents, potentates. 

Poulter, a poulterer. 

Powder, to salt. 

Poynt, no, non point. 

Practice, conspiracy, machination, collusion. 

Praise, to appraise. 

Prank, to adorn, to dress ostentatiously. 

Precedent, a sign, an indicator. 

Precepts, warrants. 

Pregnancy, ready wit. 

Pregnant, supple, ready. 

Prenomlnate, forenamed. 

Preposterous, misplaced. Inversely. 

Presence, presence-chamber. 

Presently, immediately. 

Pressed, ready, bound, urged. 

Pretence, design, device. 

Pretend, to intend. 

Pretend, to portend. 

Pretty, petty, little. 

Prevent, to anticipate. 

Prick-song, music pricked, or noted down. 

Prime, the spring. 

Primero, an old game at cards. 

Principality, a celestial. ■•• 

Princox, a coxcomb. 

Print, in, precisely, to the letter. 

Prize, privilege. 

Prob; 1, probable. 

Proceeiling, advancement. 

Process, citation. 

Prodigious, monstrous, portentous. 

Proface, welcome. 

Prognostication, almanac. 

Project, to shape. 

Projection, forecast, preparation. 

Prolixious, coy, delaying. 

Pronipture, suggestion. 

Prone, ardent. 

Proof, armour. 

Proper-false, handsome-false. 

Propertied, circumscribed, appropriated. 

Properties, a theatrical term. 

Proposing, discoursing. 

Prorogue, to deaden or benumb. 

Provincial, of the ecclesiastical province. 

Provincial, from Provins, celebrated for roses. 

Prune, to plume. 

Pruning, trimming up, adorning. 

Pugging, prigging. 

Puke-stocking, puce-stocklng. 

Pun, to pound, 

Punk, a prostitute. 

Purchase, proflt, advantage. 

Purchase, booty, plunder. 

Putter out, an adventurei" of money. 

Puttock, a buzzard. 

Puzzel, a foul drab. 

Quail, to slacken. 

Quaint, dainty, clever, nimble. 

Quaintly, clever, adroit. 

Qualification, temperament. 

Quarry, a pile of slaughtered game. 

Quart d'ecu, or cardeuce, a coin, the fourth part of a 

French gold crown. 
Quat, a pimple or scab. 
Quell, murder. 
Question, to converse. 
Qu istion, motives, reason. 
Queubus, equinoctial of. 
Quick, alive, quickening, quiclc-witted. 
Quick recreation, lively pastime. 
Quilt, a flock bed. 
Quips, sudden, angry gibes, scoffs. 
Quit, to requite. 

Quittance, requital, to make requital. 
Quiver, smart, nimble. 
Quote, to look into, to scan. 

Rabato, or rebato, an ornament tor the neck, a kind 

of ruff. 
Rabbit sucker, a sucking rabbit. 
Bag, a term ot contempt. 
Ragged, rough, rugged, base. 
Ragged, beggared. 
Rake up, to cover up. 

Rampallian, a low, creeping, mean wretchi 
Rank, chorus, rhyme. 
Bank, brimming full. 
Baps, transports. 
Rapture, a fit. 
Rascal, a lean deei*. 
Rates, counts tor, is equivalent to. 
Rather, hasty, quick. 
Rauglit, reft, reached, grasped. 
Ravined, ravenous. 
Rayed, chafed, excoriated. 
Razed, slashed, opened. 
Razes, roots. 
Read, to tread. 
Rearmice, bats. 
Reason, to discourse. 
Reasonable swiftness, speed of thought. 
Rebato, a kind of ruff, an ornament tor the neck. 
Rebeck, a sort of fiddle. 
Receipt, receptacle. 
Recheat, a note on tlie horn. 
Reck, to regard. 
Record, to chant. 

Recover the wind ot me, a hunting expression. 
Recure, to recover. 
Rede, counsel, advice. 

Bed-lattice, the denotement ot an ale-house. 
Reechy, discoloured by smoke. 
Retelled, refuted. 
Regard, refiection, observation. 
Regiment, directorship, rule. 
Beguerdon, recompence. 
Remarkable, profoundly striking. 
Remember thy courtesy, discontinue ceremony. 



856 



OLOSSARr. 



Remembered, reminded. 

Remembrance, memi)rlal. 

Remonstrance, exhibition, manifestation. 

Remorse, pity, tenderness of feeling. 

Remotion, removal. 

Removed, remote, private. 

Removes, stages. Journeys. 

Render, to describe, to represent. 

Reneges, denies, renounces. 

Repeal, to recall from exile, to bring back. 

Repetition, recrimination. 

Repine, vexation, discontent. 

Reproof, refutation, disproof. 

Repugn, to resist. 

Reputing, boasting. 

Reserve, preserve. 

Resolve, be assured. 

Respect, self-command, prudence. 

Rest, a term in music. 

'Rest, arrest. 

Resty. immobile, dull, uneasy. 

Retire, to withdraw. 

Retiring, returning. 

Retort, to refer back. 

Reverb, to reverberate. 

Reverso, a term in fencing. 

Reword, to echo. 

Rich coat, a full charged escutcheon. 

Rid, to destroy. 

Rides the wild mare, plays at see-saw. 

Riggish, wanton. 

Rigol, a circle. 

Rim, a part of the Intestines. 

RIvaee, the shoie or bank. 

Rlvality, participation, copartnership. 

Rivals, associates, partners. 

Rlvu. a drinking exclamation. 

Rolled, colled. 

RoTOf ge, commotion, turmoil. 

Rondure, round or belt. 

Ronyon, a scurvy old woman, a witch. 

Rook, to squat down, to roost. 

Ropery, rope-tricks, libaldry. 

Rother, red cattle. 

Round, plain spoken. 

Round, roundel, roundelay, a dance. 

Rounded, Insinuated. 

Rounding, whispering, insinuating. 

Roundure, a circle. 

Royal, a coin so called. 

Royuish, scurvy. 

Ruddock, the redbreast. 

Rudesby, blusterer, swaggerer. 

Ruff, the top of the boot turned over. 

Ruin, rubbish. 

Rushes strewed on room floors, and on the stage. 

Sables, the wearing of. 

Sackerson, the name of a bear. 

Sacred, devoted, dedicated. 

Sdcrlng-bell, the bell rung on the elevation of the 
host. 

Safe, sound. 

Saffron, the colour of Judas' hair, the dissembling 
colour. 

Sag, to droop, to flag. 

Sagittary , otWcers' residence at the arsenal of Venice. 

S,ald, done. 

Sallet, a helmet. 

Sallets, or sake. Atticism, piquancy. 

Salt, salt-cellar. 

Saltiers, corruption of satyrs. 

Salute, to move, to exhilarate. 

Samingo, San Domingo, an old burden to drinking 
songs. 

Saucy, prurient. 

'Sayed, assayed. 

Scaled, dispersed. 

Scamble, to seize, to scramble, to rifle. 

Scamels, or sea-mells, sea-bird. 

Scapes, lapses, slips. 

Scarfed bark, vessels decorated with flags. 

Sconce, the head. 

Scorn it with the heels, a manner of scornful rejec- 
tion. 

Scotch, to wound, to notch. 

Scrimers, fencers. 

Scroyles, scabby rogues. 

Scrubbed, stunted. 

Sculls, shoal.s. 

"Sense, excuse. 

Sear, to stigmatize to close up. 

Season, preservative. 

Seciet, separated, devoted. 

Secure, careless, do make overconfident. 

Secure, to assure. 

Securely, carelessly, over-confidently. 

Security, carelessness, over-confidence. 

Seel, In lalconrj', to sew up the eyes. 

Seen, versed, practii^ed, skilled. 

Seldom comes the better, a proverbial saying. 

Sense, to the, to the quick. 

Septentrion, the north. 

Sequester, a separation. 

Sere, tickled o' the easily moved to mirth. 

Serpigo, leprosy. 

Sessa, be quiet. 

Set, a term in music. 

Set a match, to plan a robbery. 

Shale, a case, a shell. 

Shards, scaly wings of a beetle. 

Siraven Hercules, the. 

Shent, undone, ruined, reproved. 

Ship-tire, a fanciful head dress for ladies. 

Shive, a slice. 

Shog, to Jog off. 

Shotten, spawned, projected. 

Shoughs, shaggy dogs. 

Shoulder-clapper, a bailiff. 

Shovel-boarclb, broad slilllings used In the game of 
shove-groat. 

Shriving- time, time of shrift or confession. 

Siege, a seat, place, state. 

Sightless, invisible. 

Sightless, unsightly. 

Slights, apertures for seeing through in a lielmet. 

Sign, to give an omen. 

Sinmlar, counterfeit, deceitful. 

Single, simple, feeble. 

Sink-apace, cinque-pace, a dance. 

Sir reverence, an apology for any unseemly saying. 

Sir, the, tlie gallant, the courtier. 

^Irs, an old form of addressing women. 

Sizes, allowances. 



Skalnsmates, reckless fellows. 

Skill, cunning, design, reason. 

Skills not. Is of no importance. 

Skimble-skamble, Jumbled, deranged. 

Skinker, drawer ot liquor. 

Skirr, to scour. 

Slander, to abuse. 

Sleave, unwrouglit silk. 

Sledded, sledged. 

Sleided, untwisted. 

Slipper, slippery. 

Slips, counterfeit pieces of money. 

Slop, loose knee-breeclies. 

Smoke, todiscovei*. 

Smoothed, fawned on. 

Smug, spruce, smart. 

Sneap. a sarcasm, a set-down. 

Sneap, to nip or check. 

Siieck-up, go hang. 

Snipe, a fool, a blockhead. 

Snuff, to take Jn— to take it in dudgeon. 

Snuffs, tlfts. 

So like you he is the worst, a proverb. 

Solidares, a coin. 

Something nothing, neither here nor there. 

Sometnnes, formerly. 

Sontles, corruption of sanctities. 

Soon at, al)ont. 

Sorry, dismal, sorrowful. 

Sort, lot. 

Sort, to suit. 

Sort, gang, crew, company. 

Sort, rank, degree, quality. 

Sot, a fool. 

Sowle, to lug, to drag. 

Speak by the card, to speak precisely, or according 

to the book of manners. 
Speak to, to aspire or lay claim to. 
Speculation, view, espial. 
Sped, done, settled. 
Sped, promised. 
Speed, fortune. 
Sperr, to shut up. 
Spleen, flash. 

Spiag, quick, ready, sprightly. 
Sprited, haunted. 
Square, equitable. 
Square, a quarrel, to quarrel- 
Square, a stomacher. 
Squire, a rule. 

Staggers, perplexities, incertitudes. 
Stale, insipid, out of date. 

Stand on, stands me upon, it is incumbent on me. 
Stannyel, a kind of hawk. 
Starve, to perish. 
State, a chair or throne. 
Statuas, statues. 
Statue, picture, ima^e. 
Stern, rigid, unyieldmg. 
Sternage, steerage, course. 
Stickler, an arbitrator in combats. 
Stlgmatical, branded with deformity. 
Still an end, constantly, perpetually. 
Stinted, stopped. 
Stlth, an anvil. 

Stoccado, or stoccata, a term of fencing. 
Stomach, haughtiness. 
Stood upon, plumed or presumed upon. 
Stops, a technical term In music. 
Strain courtesy, to, to avoid the post of honour in a 

perilous undertaking. 
Strict, liarsh. 
Strike, to tap, to broach. 
Stroke, rule. 
Strossers, trousers. 
Stuck, a sword, a thrust. 
Stuck in, a corruption of stoccata. 
Stuff, luggage. 

Stuffed, furnished, endowed. 
Subject, people, subjects. 
Subscribes, succumbs. 
Success, consequence, succession. 
Sudden, violent. 
Suffer to punish, to afflict. 
Suffered, unrestrained, indulged. 
Suggesting, enticing, tempting, seducing. 
Sullen, melancholy. 
Su))poses, Impostors. 
Surcease, end. 

Swartli. the com cut with one stroke of a scythe. 
Swasher, swaggerer. 
Swasliing, crushing, smashing. 
Swear over, to out-svveai'. 
Sweet and twenty, a proverbial endearment. 
Sweltered, weltered. 
Swinge-buckler, a bully. 
Sword, swearing by the. 
Sworn brothers, men bound to share each other's 

fortunes. 
Sympathy, equalitj'. 

Table, a table-book. 

Table, a picture, board or canvas on which any ob- 
ject Is painted. 

Tabourines, drums. 

Tag, the rabble. 

Tailor cries. 

Tainture, defilement. 

Take, to bewitch, to blast, to paralyse. 

Take a truce, to make peace. 

Take in, to conquer, to overcome. 

Take it in snuff, to take it in dudgeon. 

Take out, to copy. 

Take thought, to abandon oneself to grief. 

•Talent, a talon. 

Talents, riches. 

Tallow-keech, a i-ound lump of tallow tor the chand- 
ler. 

Tame-cheater, a petty rogue. 

Tarre, to Incite. 

Tartar, Tartarus. 

Tawdry-lace, a neck ornament. 

T.ixation, sarcasm, satire. 

'!V-en, grief, sorrow. 

'J eruperance, temperature. 

Teiuler hefted. 

Tents, hangings. 

Tercel, the male hawk. 

Tharborough, a constable. 

Theorick, theory. 

Thick, rapidly. 

Thills, the shafts of a wagon. 

Thought, melancholy. 

Thrasonical, bragging, boastful. 



Three-man beetle, an Implement for driving piles 
Three-men song-men, singeis of songs in thiee parts. 
Three merry men be we, the burden of a song. 
Three-pile, three-piled velvet. 
Thronged, oppressed, crushed, shrunk. 
Thrummed, made of coarse woolen. 
Thunder-stone, the imaginary produce of thunder 
Tib, a loose wench. 
Tickle, ticklish. 

Tickled o' the sere, easily moved to mirth. 
Tightly, briskly, promptly. 
Tike, clown, clodpole. 
Tllly-fally, a ludicrous interjection. 
Time of life, duration of life. 
Tire, to peck like a bird, to tear. 
. To, an ellip.sls for equal to. 
To, to. ploughmen's words of encoura(>emeut. 
To friend, for friend, propitious. 
Toasts and butter, term ot contempt. 
Tokened pestilence. 
Took it on his death, an oath. 
Too too, exce.ssive, excessively. 
Top, the parish. 
Topless, supreme. 
Tottered, tottering. 
Touch a pang, a wound, sympathy. 
Touch, a touchstone. 
Touched, pricked. 
Touring, circling. 
Touse, to tug, to drag. 
Toward, In preparation. 
Towards, approaching, near at hand. 
Toys, idle runiois, tricks. 
Tranect, a ferry. 
Trash, to olog, to impede. 
Tra.v-trip, a game so called. 
Treacliers, traitors. 
Tribunal plebs, tribunls plebis. 
Trick, peculiarity. 
Tiifle, a phantom. 
Tropically, figuratively. 
Trundle tail, a species of dog. 

Tucket, a flourish on a trumpet. . 

Turk, to turn, proverbially, to apostatize. 
Turk Gregory, Pope Gregory the Seventh. 
Twiggen-bottle, wicker bottle. 

Umbered, shadowed. 

XJnaneled, without receiving extreme unction. 

Unavoided, unavoidable. 

Unbolt, to explain. 

Unbraided, unspoiled, unfaded. 

Uncape, to unearth a fox. 

Unclew, to unwind, to undo. 

Uncouth, unknown, strange. 

Undergo, to undertake. 

Underskinker, an underdraweror waiter. 

Undertaker, one who undertakes the quarrel of an 

other. 
Uneared, unploughed. 
Uneath, hardly, painfully. 
Unexpresslve, inexpressible. 
Unhappy, waggish, mischievous. 
Unhouseled, without receiving theeucharist 
Unimproved, unreproved, ungovernable. 
Union, an orient pearl. 
Unkind, unnatural. 
Unowed, unowned. 
Unpregnant, inapt, unable. 
Unproper, common. 

Unqualified, deprived of faculties or qualltk: 
Unquestionable, averse to dlscouise. 
Unready, undressed. 
Unrolled, struck off the roll. 
Unsmlrched, unsullied, pure. 
Untemperlng, unsoftenlng. 
Untented, unsearchable. 
Untraded, unused, uncommon. 
Unvalued, invaluable. 
Upland down, exactly. 
Usances, usury. 
Use, interest. 
Use, in, possession. 
Utis, oKi, rare fun. 
Utterance, to extremity. 
Uttered, expelled, or put away. 

Vantbrace, armour for the arm. 

Varlet, a servant, a footman. 

Varlet, a male harlot. 

Vaunt, the foregoing, the van. 

Venew, or Veney, a touch or hit in fencing. 

Ventages, holes of a flageolet or flute. 

Vice, lo .screw. 

Vice, a character or buffoon of the Moralities. 

Vie, to challenge, a card-table term. 

Villlaco, rascal, scoundrel. 

Vinewed, decayed, mouldy. 

Virginal, a stringed Instrument played with keys. 

Virginal Jacks, the keys of a virginal. 

Virtuous, healthy, beneficial. ' 

Visages, masks. 

Vlzameiit, advisement. 

Voluble, tickle. Inconstant. 

Waged, rewarded. 

Walk, a district in a forest. 

Walks, bounds. 

Wannion, vengeance. 

Wappened, withered, wizened. 

Wardens, a species of pear. 

Warn, to summon. 

Wassal candle, a candle used at festivals. 

Wat, an old name for a hai-e. 

Watch, a watch-light. 

Waich, to tame by deprivation of sleep. 

Waters, tor all, plays any character. 

VVaterwork, distemper. 

Wax, waxen tablets. 

Waxen, or Yexen, to hiccough. 

Way of life, periphrasis for life. 

Wealth, weal, advantage. 

Web and pin, the cataract in the eye. 

Wee, diminutive. . 

Weening, thinking, imagining. 

Weep a good, to ciy in good earnest. 

Weet, to wit, to know. 

Weinh out, outweigh. 

Well, an expression applied to the dead. 

Well appeared, rendered apparent. 

Well-liking, in good bodily condition. 

Well-said, well done. 

Well seen, well versed. 

What, for what? why? 



OLOSSAIiT. 



357 



What the Rood year! an exclamation. 

Wheel, lef rain, burden of a ballad. 

Whelked, having protuberances. 

When! an exclanta'lou of impatience. 

When? can you tell? a proverbial query. 

Whenas, wlien. 

Wherein, In that. 

Whiles, until. 

Whlpplng-cheer, flogging. 

Whist, silent, at peace, hushed. 

White, to hit thee, in archery. 

Whltingtlme, bleaching time. 

Whittle, a clasped knll'e. 

Whoobub, hubbub. 

Whoop, do me no harm, a tune or burden. 

Wicked, bai.eful. 

Widowhood, a dower. 

Wilderness, wildness. 

Wild mare, the game of seesaw. 

Will you take eggs for money? proverbial for will 
yon suffer yourself to be cajoled? 

Wimpled, hooded, veiled. 

WIncliester goose, a venereal pustule. 

Window-bars, lattice-work across the bos'^'n of a wo- 
man's dress. 

Windows, eyelids. 

Winking-gates, gates closed. 

Winter-ground, a technical term for protecting a 
plant from frost. 

Wis, I, certainly, truly. 



Wish, to commend. 

Wisp of straw, a punishment for a scold. 

WIstly, wistfully. 

Wit, knowledge, wisdom. 

Wit, whither wilt? a proverbial saying. 

Wit cracker, a joker. 

Wit-snapper, one who affects repartee. 

With himself, not beside himself. 

With the manner, In the fact. 

Without, beyond. 

Witnessed, evidenced. 

Wits, five, the five senses. 

Wittol, a contented cuclcold. 

Witty, discerning, judicious. 

Wonian-tlred, henpecked. 

Woman of the world, a married woman. 

Wood, mad, crazed, wild. 

Woodcock, a simpleton. 

Wooden, blockish. 

Woodman, cant term for a wencher. 

Woodman, huntsman. 

Woolward, wearing a woollen garment next the 

skin, going shirtless. 
Woosel-cock, or oosel-cock, the blackbird. 
World to see, a, wonderful to see. 
Worm, a serpent. 
Worth, wealth, fortune. 
Worts, coleworts, cabbages. 
Would I were dead!— an imprecatloa. 
Wreak, vengeance. 



Wrest, an Instrument for tuning the harp. 

Wretch, u tern\ of endearment. 

Writ, trutli, gospel. 

Write, to proclaim. 

Writliled, wrinkled. 

Wroth, calamity, misfortune. 

Wrying, deviating from the right path. 

Wry-iieck'd lite, flfe for lifer. 

Yarr, brisk, nimble. 

Ycleped, callfd, named. 

Year, what the good!— an exclamation. 

Yearn, to grieve, to vex. 

Yellowness, jealousy. 

Yellows, a disease of horses. 

Yeoman, a sheriff's officer. 

Yerk, to Jerk, to thrust with a quick motion. 

Yes; keep you warm. 

Yexen, or waxen, to hiccough. 

Yield, reward. 

Yield, to report. 

You may, you may, you have full liberty to diver: 

yourself. 
Youngest wren of nine. 
Younker, a youngling. 

Zany, a fool or gull. 

Zealous, pious. 

Zed, an unnecessary letter. 





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